LLP-203 The Polaroid Club Book Two
by William Davis


Chapter 1

Cindy had gone to the bathroom, but the tremendous, biting sensations 
which gripped her hungrily tingling body weren't relieved. If anything, 
in the privacy of the bathroom she was able to go over in her mind the 
set of photos, and their remembrance only inflamed her trembling loins 
all the more. She was being consumed by the alcohol and lust, slowly, 
slowly--and she wanted her husband, wanted his throbbing penis buried 
to its hilt in her teasingly convulsing pussy. Her cunt spasmed as 
though it was already in the throes of orgasm, and as she walked 
unsteadily out of the bathroom and started back to the living room, she 
knew that she couldn't go in there, go in and just sit down and act 
normal. No, she had to have Howard NOW!

She quickly crossed to the bedroom where Howard had placed their 
overnight bag, and shedding her clothes, she was soon wearing a long, 
filmy nightie, her blond hair cascading down her back. She stripped the 
covers back and lay down on the bed without even a sheet to cover her 
and waited for her husband.

When he didn't appear within a few minutes, she called out for him, and 
she heard him walk toward the room. When he opened the door, she said 
drunkenly; "Quick! Close it, Howie."

"Cindy ..." he said, again captivated by the sight of his tender young 
wife spread out waiting for him. "Cindy, I want you ..." He all but 
slammed the door, and then he came to the bed, on which she had stopped 
lying and had now risen into a kneeling position.

"I want you to fuck me ..." she breathed, unbuckling his pants. "Fuck 
me, Howie, fuck me ..."

"What?" He could hardly believe his ears! "Did you say what I thought 
you said?"

"Yes, Howie!" she slurred as her hand lowered his pants until they 
pooled down around his shoes. She moved to the waistband of his shorts, 
sliding under it. She felt the soft tendrils of his curly pubic hair 
and the touch of his skin sent ripples of sheer lust surging through 
her. Her hand went still lower, contacting the head of his prick and 
she ran a fingernail over it. Blood pounded through Howard's loins, 
causing his cock to leap into erection and palpitate excitedly under 
her careres.

"Howie ..." she moaned, pulling his underpants down. She was abandoning 
herself to lust, to the newly awakened fires within her; and she 
finally realized that she could admit her enjoyment, her arousal from 
the pictures without shame. "Howie, don't you want to fuck me?"

"Yes! Christ, yes!" All thought of his boss and his plans for the night 
were lost now as Howard began to squirm his hips. She stroked his cock 
and testicles, her fingers burning. He could barely contain himself to 
take the time to remove his clothes, and then he leapt naked on the bed 
to embrace his wildly hot wife. He entwined his fingers in her hair and 
jerked her head up, grinding his mouth down on hers, and her tongue 
flashed into his mouth like a purveyor of molten fire. His hand went to 
her nightie, feeling her trembling body through the thin material.

"Make me naked," she whispered against his mouth. "Rip my gown off, 
Howie, and make me naked!"

His hands bunched the garment and savagely he ripped it downward from 
her neck, shredding it from her taut, hard-nippled breasts and from 
around her pink, blond-crested pussy. She helped him by twisting and 
undulating, her hand still vibrantly fused to his genitals. He moved 
his hands down over her bare stomach, through the soft golden fleece of 
her pubic hair, finally touching the pulsating shaft of her erect 
clitoris. Her loins ground in uncontrolled counterpoint to his 
massaging fingers and she whimpered in unrestrained pleasure, her long 
blond hair flailing from side to side. 

Cindy continued to enfold her husband's granite-hard cock, feeling 
every ridge, every muscle of its hardened expanse. She suddenly wanted 
to know it better, to learn about every inch of it; she was completely 
lost in the torrent of passion the pictures, the alcohol, and perhaps 
most of all, her own mind had allowed her to experience.

"I'm going to kiss your penis tonight, Howie," she groaned. "I'm going 
to let you kiss me, too ... down there. I want that now, Howie, I want 
that very much! I'm going to do that, but I've got to have you inside 
me first ... to fuck me until I explode!"

"Yes!" he crooned, "oh, God yes, baby, yes!" Tremors of lewd desire ran 
rampant through Howard's flesh. This was what he had been dreaming of! 
This was what he had been trying to have his wife do to him for three 
years, and what he had thought he'd never achieve! And now she actually 
wanted to suck him off! Had literally begged to be allowed to do it! 
And all because of those pictures! How could he ever thank Ralph for 
giving him the Polaroid?

In that maddening moment, his rhetorical question went unanswered, for 
Howard's mind had blanked off all thought of what he had agreed to do, 
the swapping of his wife for Norma, his boss's wife ... yes, that 
thought and any other thought except the burning, surging, electrifying 
compulsion to fuck his wife. Yes, fuck her, just as she'd said; first 
her tender cunt and then later, her sensitive lips ...

But Ralph Taylor had answered that question. The manager grinned with 
wild-eyed lust at his wife, and Norma returned the insidious look. Then 
they turned their attention back to the little square loudspeaker box 
mounted over the head of their bed; the master unit of a three-station 
intercom system, especially installed so that they could monitor either 
of the two guest bedrooms. It was on, and the moaning, panting sounds 
of Howard and Cindy Jamison filled the bedroom, whipping the Taylors 
into further sex fever.

"Man, listen to them, lover," Ralph gloated. "She's going to go down on 
him, going to suck his cock for the first time. Well maybe her plans 
are going to be changed a bit."

His wife, whom he was fucking dog-fashion so that they could both face 
the intercom, turned her head around again, her features contorted with 
passion and urgency. "Yes, yes, you bastard, make her eat you instead. 
Take her then ... oohhhh ... but not before I cum, Ralph ... not before 
I cum!" And with that, Norma angled her cunt up backwards, impaling her 
wide-stretched buttocks on the erect, thrusting spear of her husband's 
great, swollen penis. "More, Ralph," she whimpered. "More cock!"

And from the speaker the Taylors heard Cindy chanting mindlessly, 
"You're wonderful, you're wonderful, you're wonderful ... and her 
rampaging husband's chorus of: "Baby ... baby ... I love to fuck you 
... love to fuck you ..."

The two couples, one very aware of the other's mating and the other so 
lost in their actions as to be oblivious to any outside interference, 
raced with demoniacal force to their respective orgasms. Howard rocked 
above his lovely wife, speaking obscenely into her ear, and that in 
turn made her rotate her buttocks still more insanely. Cindy reacted 
with chills of excitement and rapture spiraling the full length of her 
spine as she felt the tempo of her husband's burgeoning cock burrow 
deeper and deeper into her throbbing cunt.

"Fuck me ... Howie, fuck me ..." she responded, not knowing that her 
words were being picked up by the microphone overhead. "I'm ... almost 
there, darling!" She began to toss her head in frenzied, abandoned 
ecstasy, rapturous little moans escaping from his lips. She was so wild 
she was going out of her mind! This is what Norma had meant, about 
being free! How right she'd been! Oh! Oh! She'd never known anything 
this good existed!

Howard increased his pace and the length of his stroke, knowing that he 
couldn't last much longer, feeling the volcano of his sperm-filled 
balls ready to erupt. Cindy raised her widespread loins up to him in 
simultaneous rhythm to his downward thrusts, gurgling her 
encouragement, her every moan and word being transmitted to the 
adjoining bedroom and the greedy ears of her husband's boss and his 
wife. Howard pounded his pile-driving cock harder and harder into her 
eagerly sucking cunt, pressing his hands behind her knees and thrusting 
them back hard against her breasts until her head was framed between 
them, bringing the tableau of her soft, innocent pussy open yet wider 
to his lashing plunges.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooohhhhhh!" she chanted under him as she felt her 
orgasm reach its pinnacle and soar into the heavens. And then she 
convulsed beneath him, her mouth wide, and a cry of animal delight, of 
pure pagan rapture, tore from the core of her being. "AAAAAHHHHHH!" 
Never had she dreamed sex could be this wonderful!

"She's cum, she's cum!" wailed Ralph Taylor, and hammered deeper into 
his wife's warm, wet cavern. "Oh, Jesus, and ... and I'm going to cum, 
too!" He felt his insatiable young wife spasm wildly beneath him, the 
mouth of her bearded young pussy sucking his cock feverishly, her 
breath spewing raggedly, and his hot, churning-sperm raced through his 
prick and spurted deep, deep into her voraciously contracting belly ... 
it was a never-ending flow which caused her to cry out in 
indecipherable delight.

And as he overheard the banshee howls of his star salesman's climactic 
release, imagined the vast bursting of Howard's cum flooding his 
gorgeous young wife's rapidly undulating belly with surge after surge 
of hot semen, Ralph smiled cat-like and smug. "It's time now," he 
whispered to Norma. "It's time now that I change places with Howie."

As the torrent ended and Howard relaxed upon his supine wife, she in 
turn sighed and stretched out her legs, her heart still roaring and 
pounding like a mightily crashing surf. She felt Howard's penis grow 
limp inside her, and then he slowly slipped off of her and lay against 
her trembling, perspiring nakedness. He whispered in her ear, "Cindy 
... oh, God, darling, that was wonderful. It was beyond belief."

She kissed his cheek. "You've been right all this time, Howie. I should 
have let myself go a long time ago, and I sure fought it up to now ... 
but tonight, after those pictures of Norma and Ralph, and all we had to 
drink, I ... well, I found all the wonderful desires awakened which I'd 
kept repressed for so long."

Howard considered Cindy's still slurred words for a minute and then 
said, "I'm glad we came here."

"I am, too." She lovingly rubbed the palm of her hand up and down his 
stomach and side. "It's saved us, saved our marriage. Oh, Howie, I'm so 
sorry for what I've put you through for three years. I kept blaming you 
for being too demanding, and all the while it was my silly puritanical 
ways."

Howard was about to reply, when he suddenly felt a cold, strange hand 
on one buttock. He turned, unable to make out detail in the pitch-black 
bedroom, but the inky outline beside the bed needed no features. Howard 
instantly knew it was his boss, Ralph! His heart sunk in sudden shock. 
Ralph must have snuck in here on tiptoe--he was naked, standing there 
ready to take his place! A moan of abject pity broke from Howard's 
throat and he clenched his eyes shut in lewd remembrance of the 
horrible bargain he had made earlier in the evening.

"Howie? Is something the matter?" Cindy asked, her voice thick from the 
alcohol they had drunk.

What could he tell her? Terror seized his throat. If he blurted out the 
truth, that his boss was beside him, eagerly wanting to trade wives, 
the tremendous advances Cindy had taken tonight would be for nil. If 
she didn't leave him, she'd never make love with the same abandonment 
again. He knew it, knew how she would react to such faithless 
treachery. And Ralph would never forgive him either ... besides, maybe 
Ralph was right. Maybe with all the drinks they had had she wouldn't 
know the difference.

"Howie?" Cindy's head was to one side, one arm covering her eyes in a 
sign of limp contentment. "Howie?"

"No--nothing's the matter, honey," he managed. He looked up with 
pleading eyes at Ralph, knowing that his boss couldn't see his 
expression. Ralph nudged him on the rear end again, indicating his 
impatience. His brain reeled, searching for answers, but instead and 
with instant revulsion he realized that in his helpless position his 
cock was beginning to stir with life again ... the lewd thought of 
fucking Ralph's wife coming back, a betraying and prurient desire.

"I ... I have to go to the bathroom, that's all," he said in a leaden 
voice. He knew there was no way out, that he would have to play along 
with Ralph, and gritting his teeth he rolled from his wife and stood 
up. He looked down at her, splayed with satiated abandonment upon the 
bed, blessed darkness hiding the full splendor of her tender, 
passionate body from him. A tear began to form in his eye and he numbly 
nodded to Ralph beside him. "I'll only be a minute," he mumbled.

"Hurry back, lover," his wife crooned. "You know what I want to do next 
..."

No! Howard stumbled to the door and the well of blackness which was the 
hall. No, she can't! She promised she'd suck my cock. Oh, if I'd only 
known, I'd never have gotten myself into this! He leaned against the 
hallway wall, choking back a sob of self-pity, anger, and frustration. 
It isn't fair!

Then the bedroom door was closed by Ralph, the well-oiled hinges making 
hardly a sound, plunging Howard into absolute silence. But only for a 
second, and then tender, soft hands found his chest, and a cool voice 
breathed in the murkiness: "Come on, Howie-baby. You've got a date with 
me!"

His boss's wife curled him to her heaving breasts, and Howard could 
instantly tell she was as naked as he was. He tried to stop himself 
from reacting, from wrapping his arms around her in response ... but it 
was useless. After one frigid minute, his cock found a life of its own 
in reply to her rubbing stomach and thighs and lifted its head in the 
air ...

"That's it, Howie-baby. Get big and hard for little Norma." Her words 
were hungry and passionsated. "We're going to have a fine time 
together, you and me ..."

She led him into her bedroom, closed the door and by the dim light of a 
red-bulbed bedside lamp, crossed to the rumpled, still warm bed where 
she and her husband had just been fucking and listening on the intercom 
to the young couple wrapped in the throes of passion.

"Please ..." Howard moaned. "My wife ... I must ..."

Norma chuckled. "Don't worry about her. I bet she's already flat on her 
back, being fucked silly in that hot little pussy of hers."

"No! Never!"

"Want to bet?"

"Cindy wouldn't allow another man near her!" he groaned in vain hope. 
"I know it! She's going to realize it's not me and scream! I know it!"

"No, she isn't. She's past that point, past all caring who it is now. 
After all that liquor and absinthe, and then the pictures ..." Norma 
chuckled again. "No, Howie-baby, all she wants to do is have a man ... 
any man. Of course," she added to placate the distraught young man, "of 
course, she thinks it's you in there ... just like we planned."

"No! she'll know the difference right away!" he objected hotly.

"I'll prove it to you. Here, lie down on the bed." Gently she pushed 
him down so that he was lying on his back, staring upwards, his face 
evident of the mixture of horror, disbelief, and strange attraction for 
the beautiful, sensual woman hovering without any clothes on over him. 
"That's it, Howie-baby. Now listen ..."

She reached up and turned the volume control on the speaker.

Howard held his breath, straining his ears. What was she talking about? 
Listen to what? Then he began to hear small sounds, barely audible, but 
they were unmistakable sounds. Soft, wet sucking noises that he had 
heard for the first time in his life while in the hotel room with that 
lascivious whore, Bonnie. He heard the noise again and he frowned at 
Norma. Norma only smiled back and teasingly lowered her raven-haired 
head down ... down to where his cock was standing straight up. He 
jerked his loins at the electric contact of her lips upon his swollen 
penis. For a moment his thoughts of his wife and the strange sucking 
noises were lost in an explosion of idyllic feeling.

Then, from the intercom came the words: "Oh God, keep sucking, Howie 
... lick it! lick it!" It whispered through the room, and Howard 
recoiled with its blatant meaning. His breath caught in his lungs and 
he struggled to his elbows, wide-eyed. He tried to speak, to shout in 
anger ... but he couldn't. Instead he listened to the sounds of 
movement as though someone was struggling to pull someone else back to 
them ... and then ... the wet sucking sounds again but quieter this 
time. Ralph was sucking Cindy's cunt!

"That's right, Howie baby. That bedroom's wired for sound. Now you 
believe me?"

Norma plunged back to her task, finding no interference from the 
frozen, horrified young husband. She slaved over his cock, enjoying 
listening to the words herself. Howard moaned as if in some fever, 
thrashing his head back and forth and unconsciously thrusting his loins 
upwards to meet Norma's wildly milking mouth. Oh, God. how could Cindy 
be allowing that to happen to her, allow another man to suck her cunt? 
He wished he could see them. Was his wife straddling his boss with her 
legs open? Was she lying on her back spread-eagled with her legs open 
out wide? His tortured mind painted a thousand lewd scenes of Cindy 
with her legs splayed obscenely out over the sides of the bed while 
Ralph Taylor, that bastard, plundered her soft defenseless cunt with 
his hands and mouth ...

Cindy had waited with tingling anticipation for Howard's return, and 
when the bed lowered with the weight of a man's body, she assumed it 
was her husband. Her head was swimming, a whirlpool of blurred thoughts 
and emotions, fired by the lust-provoking pictures, the aphrodisiac rum 
and absinthe, and her newfound sexual freedom.

"Oooooh, God," she suddenly groaned, for there was the feel of wet, 
moist lips gently nibbling one tender nipple. She quivered from the 
unexpected sensation and dropped her hand down the smooth skin of the 
man beside her, rubbed the palpitating belly for a moment, and then 
plunged to her goal.

Ralph fastened tighter on his salesman's wife's breast, beginning a 
gentle sucking pressure against it. His hands lightly coursed over the 
soft firmness of her belly and thighs, and then his tongue trailed down 
over her now quivering belly, his penis sliding from her hand as his 
body moved away. He ground his tongue for a moment into her navel, 
bringing soft mewls of pleasure from Howie's wife, and then he moved 
lower, maddening patterns of indecent sensation trailing after his 
gently nipping teeth. Cindy felt her thighs being pressed gently open 
and she made no resistance as he haunched down between them. She sucked 
her breath as his fingers spread the soft hair-covered lips of her 
vagina and the coolness of the mountain air touched her there. His 
tongue flicked forward, the tip tossing the tiny bud of her clitoris, 
and then he spread the opening of her cunt wide with his fingertips and 
dropped his tongue from her clitoris and thrust it deep into the pink, 
moist flesh of her pussy.

"OOOhhhhhh," she moaned, and he held his tongue still for a moment, 
teasingly. She rotated her buttocks, and he began to nibble again. She 
held her breath with her mouth wide open, her lips drawn back over her 
teeth; then, after an eternity, she began to breathe again. Ralph 
started to lick and suck in earnest now, twisting his tongue and mouth 
so that every little detail of her vaginal orifice was brought under 
his searing wet touch. She began to thrust mindlessly as the powerful 
pleasures coursing through her pussy took hold of her. Her husband's 
friend and boss slid his free hands under her white buttocks and 
pressed them tight to his face, locking her to him in a wet connection 
of tongue and vagina, her soft curly pubic hair graced tantalizingly 
against his cheeks.

She had feared this; thought it disgraceful and sinful in the cold 
sober light of logical day--but now, now that she had allowed herself 
to submit to it, to see if she could please her husband and herself by 
letting him kiss her down between the legs, a strange and masochistic 
wildness enveloped her. Nothing mattered but the lovely swirling 
sensations rippling over every inch of her naked flesh. She writhed and 
bucked beneath his lingual impalement, gasping and screaming all the 
lewd words that came to her tortured mind.

Ralph thrust his tongue deeper, triumphantly hearing her cries. By God, 
he'd struck the nail on the head this time! Howard's wife was one hot 
little piece of tail, he thought through the haze of passion he was 
experiencing as he brought this tender young beauty to orgasm. He had 
waited his chance and planned well; now, by damned, he was going to 
reap all the reward he could get!

"Oh ... keep sucking, Howie! Lick it! Lick it!" she cried, her thighs 
pressed tighter into the sides of his head, jerking with the thrustings 
of his tongue. She was on the brink of climax, she knew ... not quite 
there ... but hanging on the verge. Her breasts heaved and danced on 
her chest wildly, her fingers twisting crazily in her husband's boss's 
hair. She arched her back, the cords of her neck standing out like 
steel cords, her face contorted and a low guttural scream rumbling deep 
in her throat, choked off at the last moment by a soulful gasp 
reminiscent of a dying animal.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" and then again: "AHHHHH!"

Cindy felt as if she were losing her insides as the cascading fluids of 
her orgasm gushed out around her supposed husband's still-thrashing 
mouth. She could feel it running down the crevice of her buttocks and 
to the sheet below. She gave one last gasp and collapsed, dropping her 
legs like heavy weights of lead to each side of Ralph's heaving body. 
She could not move. The world had ended and she had been consumed in 
the last great cataclysm. She lay absolutely immobile, useless as a rag 
doll.

"Rest for a moment, darling," Ralph panted in whispered tones from 
below. "And then ... then I want you to do me."

"Yes, darling. Anything." Cindy knew that this should be the moment she 
dreaded, but now it seemed like such a small thing to do for her 
husband who had given her such wild, delicious feelings, had made her 
respond so. Now she actually wanted to kiss his penis, she wanted to 
with all her loving heart to repay the man beside her for the ultimate 
sign of love he had just bestowed on her ...

All the while, Howard had been hearing his wife's obscene words, words 
he didn't know she knew, broken and slurred, mixed with the animal 
mewlings of passion from deep within her. Cindy groaned incessantly and 
he could hear the rustlings of her naked skin against the bed as she 
twisted and turned in response to his boss's hot licking tongue. He 
could picture his wife as in one of those Polaroid snapshots, her legs 
bent back nearly double, her whole young pussy presented lewdly up in 
defenseless sacrifice to his voraciously sucking mouth.

And it was exciting. He was excited, he had to admit it; excited from 
the wet sucking noises coming from the intercom, and excited from his 
boss's wife sucking his wildly throbbing prick. All the time he'd been 
listening to his wife being sucked by the manager, Norma had been 
sawing her mouth around his cock, and the sight of her ovaled lips 
caused him to tense and jerk until it seemed to him that he was sinking 
the full length of it all the way down her throat.

Her tongue, with a nerve-tingling lick on the outstroke, was making the 
head throb as though his heart was beating inside it, and he watched 
hypnotically, fascinated by the sounds of the lewd debauch of his wife 
and the sight of Norma's fleshy lips clinging as she sucked hungrily. 
Her breasts danced below her pumping torso, adding to the lust-inciting 
scene presented to him. He dropped his head to the pillow and pretended 
that it was his wife, Cindy, who was sucking him off. Cindy how he 
wanted to shove his cock in her mouth like he was doing to his boss's 
wife, how he wanted to shoot his own white hot semen down her throat 
and into that little belly of hers ... Cindy ...

And then he heard his wife clearly through the intercom as she emitted 
a sudden unearthly squeal that sounded as though his boss was killing 
her, although Howard knew he wasn't. She had reached her climax, and 
their bed groaned and creaked beneath her wild heavings. The wet 
sucking sounds coming from his wife's widespread cunt trailed off as 
she whimpered out her completion.

Howard's body was tense, and Norma's furious sucking couldn't kill the 
aching desire in his heart to be with Cindy now, to cradle her and 
comfort her as he always did after making love--and especially now, 
after hearing his wife being debauched as she'd never been debauched 
before. He wanted to run to her and bring out the same responses from 
his wife's lips that Ralph had, he wanted to show her--and himself--
that he could do it too and just as well.

There was a rustle of bedspread and the soft sounds of naked bodies 
twisting around on it. Soft whispers that he couldn't make out drifted 
to his straining ears. Then there was the audible sound of heavy, 
course male breathing becoming more and more excited by the second. His 
boss was whispering things which by their tone were lewd and forbidden. 
Suddenly there was a gasping from Ralph as though he'd been knifed, and 
through the darkness came the unmistakable words:

"Oohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!"

Howard groaned and clenched his eyes shut, wishing to blot out the 
horrible image forming in his mind of his wife's sweet, virginal lips 
slipping obscenely down over Ralph's glistening, thick cock. This was 
the ultimate humiliation, lying here with his own penis pressed tightly 
between another woman's, lips while his own beautiful, innocent wife 
sucked that very same woman's husband in the next room!

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," he heard the manager groan out in 
a muffled whisper, and Howard jerked his head up off the pillow. He 
could see nothing except Norma's ever increasing passion for sucking 
cock, but his imagination ran amok, the low, dim form of his wife 
hunched on all fours over Ralph's grinding loins with his prick buried 
deep in her mouth emerged clearly to mind. She was not fighting it and 
low soft mewls of pleasure filled Howard's pain-wracked ears from her 
cock-filled mouth ...

Cindy was surprised that the thought of kissing her husband's penis no 
longer repelled her as her own loins were still moist and warm from the 
pleasures he had just conferred upon her. Anything which made her feel 
that good could not be the degrading act she had imagined it to be.

When Ralph, still under the guise of her husband, had asked her, "Are 
you ready, dear?" she had promptly answered, "Yes, Howie."

Cindy began as slowly as he had done with her, working her way down his 
chest, licking his small male nipples and hearing him gasp, slowly 
lowering her tongue as she wetly licked his flesh. One hand grasped his 
hardened cock, teasing the shaft with her fingers that brought louder 
moans from his lips.

The position became uncomfortable for her, so she crawled over him, 
pushing his legs apart and kneeling on all fours between his thighs, 
her feet hanging over the edge of the bed. Her face was at his loins 
now and she continued the gentle skinning back and forth of his ever 
hardening cock. Her lips were a bare inch away from the tip and she 
opened her mouth and breathed softly against it, then she flicked out 
her tongue, circling the head as he groaned and twisted beneath her. 
The tip of her tongue found the tiny opening at the head's end and 
darted into it; the sharp, pungent taste of his seminal fluid caused 
her mouth to salivate and her nostrils to flare slightly from the 
pungent male odor. Her hands dropped to the base of the huge erection 
and she cupped his soft testicles, grazing her nails over the skin and 
curly pubic hair. She played longer than she should have, not being 
able to just yet bring herself to take the naked head and shaft in her 
soft mouth.

But Ralph could stand no more teasing. With a gurgle deep in his throat 
he reached down with his hands and tangling them in her hair, thrust 
his loins up. Cindy resisted by clenching her lips and teeth together 
for a moment, last-minute doubts racing through her mind, but was too 
late. His thick, spongy head rammed inside, crushing through her moist, 
now yielding lips and between the whiteness of her teeth and into the 
wet saliva of her mouth. She could feel the stiff shaft rub the full 
length of her tongue and bury itself deeply. She closed her eyes to 
keep from choking.

"Ooohhhh, God! Your mouth is like warm butter!" she heard him cry as he 
began a slow, rhythmic undulation of his hips up into her face.

"Tighten your lips and suck harder," Ralph hissed from above, his voice 
coarse and thick from passion.

Cindy did his bidding, feeling at the same time the excitement growing 
again in her own body from the hardened, excitedly throbbing cock she 
wax sucking. She worked slavelike, swishing her tongue around and 
around the head, sliding it in and out of her ovaled lips ...

Howard could stand no more. Yet, as the sounds of her sucking flowed 
from the speaker, and his own quivering penis was being expertly sucked 
by his boss's wife, he forgot that it was his wife in the next room 
with his boss, forgot that Ralph was bringing cries of newfound lust 
that he, her own husband, had never from his wife. It was just a woman, 
a hot passion-crazed woman in the throes of an act as old as time 
itself. He felt his cock throbbing and aching in the tender mouth of 
Norma Taylor, and he moaned in masochistic self-torture as he screwed 
his loins upwards and listened helplessly to his wife slavishly sucking 
at his own boss's lust-hardened penis. The wet sucking noises Cindy and 
Norma were both making with their ovaled lips and tongues and the 
grunts of pleasure coming from Ralph's mouth as Howard's wife labored 
over him were too much for his reeling confused brain to accept. 
Forgotten were the circumstances, the horror and guilt Howard felt. He 
was now a wild, uncontrolled animal, wanting nothing more than to ram 
his aching penis into the woman hovering over him. He wanted to punish 
his wife emphatically, just as she was punishing him by her mistaken 
submission to the man in the next room.

Howard locked his eyes on Norma's full, sensual lips locked tightly 
around his long white cock, and he moved up a bit so that she could 
suck in still more of his hardened length. She started using her 
tongue, surrounding him in a hot wet bath of saliva and tender inner 
flesh of her cheeks. Moaning, he pressed his hands on either side of 
her hollowing mouth and surged upwards. She nibbled and all her hunger 
burning deep in her vagina was now concentrated in one great gust of 
sensation in her mouth. Howard groaned incoherently and flexed his 
loins in and out of the open hole formed by her lips and watched wild-
eyed as his full glistening cock disappeared into her voraciously 
clasping mouth. He could feel all of himself, every nerve he possessed 
pulsing and throbbing between her lips.

He wanted to cum ... to make her swallow his sperm so that she would 
know later that he had dominated her as she would never be dominated 
again ... just as his own wife was being subjected to the domination of 
his own boss!

In the other room Cindy continued to manipulate Ralph Taylor's prick as 
her whole mouth opened wide and hungrily encompassed the smooth, 
rubbery head, letting it sink full length in her throat. I love it ... 
I love his penis in my mouth ... it tastes so good ... how stupid I've 
been before! The sweet young housewife went crazy with the frenzy of 
new emotions, thrilling to the effect it was having on the man she 
supposed was her husband. Her head bobbed up and down as Ralph fucked 
upwards beneath her. He slammed repeatedly in her mouth, over and over, 
and Cindy realized that she wasn't sucking his cock--he was actually 
fucking her in the face! And that knowledge only instigated more 
uncontrolled tremors through her. Yes! Yes! He was about to cum! He was 
about to shoot hot, sticky sperm in her mouth! Crazily she sucked her 
husband's boas, her tongue swirling voraciously as his blood-filled 
prick pumped into her slavering mouth. Her cunt began to quiver and 
pulsate and then ...

Ralph's cock began to suddenly spasm and he yelled: "I'm cumming! Oh, 
suck harder! Milk my balllllsssss!" He grabbed Cindy's head and held it 
to him as his giant penis spewed hot jets of sperm deep in her throat. 
Cindy continued to suck, swallowing the gushing orgasm, her Adam's 
apple bobbing in rapid sequence to keep from choking. She swirled her 
tongue to lick him dry as she heard his groans of pleasure simmer to 
sighs of contentment, his hands no longer pressing against her head.

The lovely debauched wife sighed and let the now limp prick of Ralph 
Taylor fall from her lips. Lovingly, with the caresses saved for her 
husband, Cindy cuddled the base of his penis, licking where the tiny 
tufts of hair were matted with the cum which had escaped her tightly 
closed mouth. A dreamlike, almost comatose lethargy possessed her, and 
she sank into a blissful semi-sleep of satiation ...

When Howard heard his manager, Ralph, suddenly scream, "I'm cumming! 
Oh, suck me harder! Milk my balls!" he was past any point where the 
knowledge that another man was fucking his wife in the mouth would have 
caused anger or hurt. It only spurred on his own intense pressure which 
was building in his testicles as they slapped hard up against Norma's 
chin. This hedonistic wife of the man who was with Cindy worked, in 
turn, with unbearable and excruciating passion, and Howard's cock 
seemed to inflate and lengthen beyond anything it had ever done before.

And then, as the lewd image of his wife accepting greedily the semen 
from Ralph's organ whirled madly in his brain, Howard's cock jerked and 
a liquid flow rushed like a waterfall up from his aching balls and out 
the tip of his jerking penis. Norma groaned as the first needle of 
fiery cum flooded the back of her mouth, filling her warm cavity and 
bloating her cheeks to the bursting point. Her throat worked 
gluttonously, swallowing and sputtering to keep up with the tide of cum 
as Howard emptied his balls relentlessly into the hungrily accepting 
depths of her gullet.

Howard's body quivered as he felt the lust of his masculinity drained 
from his rapidly deflated penis. He was momentarily exhausted and had 
to brace himself with his hands tangled in her hair to keep from 
falling off the side of the bed. He started to rise from her, but she 
would not let his cock go, continuing to suck gently, undulating her 
buttocks behind him and rubbing her legs together as he watched with 
disbelief the thin tiny trails of white cum running down the corners of 
her mouth. He had never felt anything like it and it seemed as though 
he had been completely drained of all the strength and desire he had 
ever possessed.

He was like that when, a few minutes later, the door opened and the 
naked, sweat-glistening form of his boss, Ralph, entered.

"Howie-boy," Ralph said, coming over to him, "Howie, that's some fine 
little piece of tail you've got in there."

Howard jerked his loins, acutely aware that Ralph's wife still was 
nibbling and licking his penis ... and in front of her own husband! He 
grinned awkwardly, unable to say anything except a feeble: "Yes ... I 
heard you both."

"That's quite a gadget, isn't it? Had the intercom put in just for that 
reason. Really turns you on, listening to other folks banging away."

Norma finally let loose of Howard's limp and slippery cock, and sitting 
up, she threw her arms around her husband's neck and murmured, "Good to 
see you, lover. Got any more for me?"

Ralph chuckled, and to Howard's amazement, the manager's penis began to 
rejuvenate, restoring itself to rigid hardness. "Always," he said. 
"There's always some left for you ..."

"Good ... then fuck me, lover ..."

Howard scrambled from the bed as Ralph and Norma lowered their now 
tightly clenched bodies to the sheet. "Howie," Ralph said as he 
fingered his wife's cunt, "you can stay here if you want and watch ... 
but I left a very lonely little wife in the next room," he chuckled 
obscenely. "I think she belongs to you."

The salesman staggered from the bedroom and back to his own, where he 
saw the blurred, black outline of his wife on the bed. He went to her 
and slipped in beside her, cradling her in his arms. Somehow, as he 
felt her breathing and contented cuddling to his chest, Howard couldn't 
resent what had happened. In the aftermath of the carnal exchange of 
mates, the guilt and anger he had feared he would experience didn't 
materialize, but only warm, deep, complete love for his wife. Perhaps 
Ralph was right, he thought dreamily ... perhaps when he said that 
making love to another woman is only a healthy, natural sport and 
increased one's devotion for one's mate, he really knew of what he was 
speaking ...

"Oh, Howie," murmured his wife, nestling closer, "oh, Howie, wasn't 
that wonderful?"

Quite truthfully, he replied, "Yes, Cindy my love, yes it was ..." He 
choked. "You don't know how good it was."

"And I'm going to do that to you all the time from now on."

"Good, Cindy. I'd like that."

"Goodnight, Howie," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Cindy," he replied tenderly and kissed her full on the 
lips, not caring that they were still moist from the warm gushing sperm 
his boss had flooded into her mouth a few short moments before ...



Chapter 2


On the Friday afternoon following that wild, orgiastic weekend at the 
Taylor's mountain retreat, Cindy was reading a woman's magazine in the 
living room of their small cottage and thinking about Howard.

She wished he were home now, wished he had not gone to Los Angeles with 
Ralph for a three-day automobile dealer's convention. But Ralph had 
insisted Howard accompany him as representatives of Auto Circus, to 
meet certain important people and see how the administrative end of the 
automobile business was handled, and he had eagerly agreed; it was what 
he had hoped for, he'd told Cindy, the break that meant Ralph and the 
powers-that-be at Auto Circus were considering him for loftier 
positions than the head salesman's job he now held.

Cindy, of course, had been excited for her husband and had wanted him 
to go to Los Angeles for the convention. But still, she harbored faint 
misgivings about Ralph's influence on Howard; she didn't want the 
Taylors to implant any more ideas in his head, ideas that went beyond 
the Polaroid Club and her emancipation into oral love with the man she 
had married. She was grateful to Ralph and Norma for what they had been 
strongly responsible in promoting, for she felt a new and freer woman, 
a more fulfilled woman, now that she had been initiated into sexual 
games she had always previously thought were degrading and sinful. And, 
too, she was grateful for them having assisted her in pleasing Howard 
to the very best of her abilities, giving him all that he wanted from 
their relationship--and, she hoped, even more than he expected.

The young wife sighed, smiling secretly, as she remembered that night 
in the darkened bedroom when she had first allowed Howard to kiss her 
between her widely spread thighs, when she had first tasted his hard, 
bittersweet masculinity. A ripple of pleasure coursed through her body 
at the recollection of that moment--and of the recalled joys she bad 
experienced the remainder of their stay at the mountain cabin and the 
nights which had followed it in hers and Howard's marital bed.

Oh, things were so wonderful now! They were making love two and three 
times a night, every night, and finding new and exciting and wild 
pleasures each and every time. Why, only last night they had lain in 
the classic sixty-nine position for over an hour, their lips and 
tongues giving spiraling joy rides to the other as they made oral love. 
Howard's tongue had sent her whirling to incalculable orgasms during 
that time, while she had sucked and milked his prick of sticky, hot, 
delicious loads of sperm twice, never allowing that marvelous penis of 
his to escape her lips ... even when it had deflated, she continued to 
nibble and suckle it until it once more grew to its monstrous 
proportions in the soft cushiony folds of her mouth ...

And the pictures, too, had been an aphrodisiac for both of them. She 
had allowed Howard to set up the Polaroid and the timer on more than 
one occasion, and had posed in lewd positions before its all-seeing 
eye; had posed with Howard's penis inserted in her vagina astraddle 
him, alongside him, beneath him ... but she had not allowed him to take 
photos of them enjoying oral love. No, that was a private thing, too 
private for the camera, and it was there she had gently refused 
Howard's insisting pleas; she just wasn't ready for that, yet, she had 
said (if she ever would be ready for it). At first, he had been a 
little put-out, but after she had showed him in every other way how 
much she loved him and wanted to please him, he had no longer been 
angry. They had looked at their pictures together, of them making love-
-and they had looked at the pictures of Ralph and Norma, which the 
Taylors had let them keep; then, when both were highly, erotically 
aroused, they had inverted their positions on the bed and licked and 
sucked one another to climax after wonderful climax ...

Cindy shifted slightly on the couch as spirals of passion began to flow 
through her, and she could feel her nipples harden beneath the plain 
cotton housedress she wore. Lord, but she wished Howard would be home 
tonight! She had never known she possessed such strong sex drives until 
now; she couldn't seem to get enough of her husband and his mouth, 
tongue, and penis.

The beautiful young wife sighed again, resignedly, and turned another 
page of her magazine. Well, she would just have to wait until Howard 
got home to satisfy her desires (no more masturbation for her! not with 
what she and her husband had together!). Boy, she giggled inwardly, 
would she give him a homecoming reception when he got home on Sunday 
night ...

The telephone rang.

Now who can that be? Cindy wondered, rising. She went into the hallway 
where the telephone was located, picked up the instrument, and said, 
"Hello?"

"Mrs. Jamison?" a thick voice asked. "Mrs. Cindy Jamison?"

The young wife frowned, for the voice seemed vaguely familiar to her. 
And yet, it was not the most pleasant she had ever heard, with its 
raspy quality. "Yes?" she finally answered hesitantly. "This is she."

"Steve Samuels here, from the post office. You remember me, Mrs. 
Jamison. I was the man who waited on you when you rented your post 
office box about ten days ago."

A little shiver of apprehension raced along Cindy's spine as the image 
of the wizened, gnome-like little postal clerk flashed into her mind. 
What did he want, calling her at home like this? Oh, God, had ... had 
something happened with those pictures she'd sent ...?

"Y-yes," she quavered. "I ... I remember you, Mr. Samuels."

"Good, good." A pause, during which Cindy had the impression the man on 
the other end was smiling. "The reason I called, Mrs. Jamison, "is that 
I have a large envelop here, addressed to you, from a certain couple in 
Chicago ..."

The young blonde wife stifled a fearful gasp. "Chicago?"

"That's right, Mrs. Jamison," the grating voice told her. "This couple 
is on the department's watch list as possible purveyors of pornographic 
material through our mails, and consequently the envelope must be 
opened in front of one of the post office personnel before delivery can 
be completed."

Cindy closed her eyes, feeling terror creep through her breast. The 
exchange photos from the couple in Chicago to whom she had sent the 
snapshots of her and Howard! She knew that was what was in that 
envelope the ugly postal clerk had, knew it beyond any doubt at all. 
Dear God, what was she going to do!

"Mrs. Jamison? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I ... I'm still here."

"Would you like to take care of this matter personally, Mrs. Jamison, 
or shall I"--a meaningful pause--"contact your husband?"

"No!" blurted Cindy. "No, I'll ... I'll take care of it." She swallowed 
deeply. "Should I come down to the post office now?"

"That won't be necessary," crooned Samuels smoothly. "Tell you what 
I'll do, Mrs. Jamison. I'll bring the envelope out to your house 
tonight, on my way home. That should be around eight or so, since I 
have quite a bit of work to take care of first. All right?"

"I ... I guess so, yes."

"Fine," the wizened postal clerk husked. "And don't worry, Mrs. 
Jamison. This might not be anything of a serious nature at all. For 
your sake, I hope not." Abruptly, he rang off.

The upset young wife stood holding the dead receiver in her hand, her 
eyes staring glassily at nothing. What would happen when that dirty-
eyed little clerk brought the envelope to her tonight? When he opened 
it and found photographs similar to those she had sent of her and 
Howie, Polaroid Club photographs? Would he arrest her? Did postal 
clerks have that power? She didn't know, and confusion reigned strong 
in her lithe body--confusion and a growing fear of discovery and 
exposure, of newspaper headlines linking her with a nationwide 
pornographic picture organization, of Howard losing his job and 
everything he had worked so hard to build ...

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! Why had she done it, why, why? She should 
have known better than to send those lewd snapshots of her and her 
husband through the mails. She should have, but she hadn't; and now, 
she was going to have to pay the devil his due ...

She flung the receiver down in its cradle and ran into the kitchen. She 
needed a drink, badly! In the cupboard under the drainboard, she found 
a half full bottle of vodka and in the refrigerator some quinine water. 
She mixed herself a strong vodka-and-tonic, without ice, and drank it 
down in two swallows. The fiery warmth of the liquor raced through her 
bloodstream, causing her face to flush. Another, mostly vodka this 
time, and she returned to the living room, aware only when she sat down 
on the sofa that she had brought the vodka bottle with her.

The rest of the afternoon, and the early part of the evening, was a 
torment for young Cindy Jamison. She finished all of the vodka in the 
bottle, becoming very high but seemingly not high enough to take the 
edge off her fear and apprehension. She kept glancing nervously at the 
clock; time appeared to crawl. She chain-smoked the nonfilter 
cigarettes she had been smoking since high school. Finally, eight 
o'clock approached and Cindy began to pace the living room like a 
sleek, lithe panther, her head swimming from the vodka and the imagined 
possibilities of what was to come. 

The doorbell rang at four minutes past eight.

The sudden sound startled the distraught young wife so much that she 
seemed to stagger forward, in danger of falling. Her heart hammered 
crazily in her chest. Have to compose myself, she thought blurrily, 
stubbing out her latest cigarette. She took a deep, shuddering breath 
and then went into the foyer and opened the door.

Steve Samuels stood on the porch outside, smiling his wicked, leering 
smile. He held a large manila envelope in his right hand. "Good 
evening, Mrs. Jamison," he breathed.

Cindy repressed a tremor of dread at the sight of the postal clerk. She 
had not liked him that day in the post office, feeling vulnerable and 
uncomfortable under his beady stare, and now that she had seen him 
again face to face her discomfiture grew by leaps and bounds. She was 
completely repelled by this gnome-like man, and afraid of him in the 
bargain. But there was nothing she could do now, under the 
circumstances, except admit him to her home.

She managed, "Won't ... won't you come in, Mr. Samuels?"

"Thank you," he said, and stepped past her, his right arm brushing 
casually over the swelling bosom of her housedress, feeling to Cindy 
like a reptile's touch on her clothed flesh. She almost gasped with 
revulsion. Had the contact been accidental? Or had he ...? She shook 
her head, trying to clear away some of the vodka swirl, and closed the 
door. No use thinking such thoughts, she told herself, no use at all 
...

She led the way into the living room, uncomfortably conscious of the 
clerk's eyes on the swaying motion of her voluptuous young buttocks. 
She turned abruptly once in the room and said, "Please sit down, Mr. 
Samuels."

Samuels nodded, grinning, and sat in the middle of the couch, his eyes 
moving restlessly over the nubile flesh of the young wife as she seated 
herself in the armchair some feet away. They feasted on the soft, warm 
satin of her exposed thighs where the housedress had pulled up. 
Goddamn! he thought. Oh, Jesus, but she's a hot looking little piece! 
Oh, this little Mrs. Cindy Jamison is going to be the best one yet ... 
the best of all of them! I can't wait to put my cock in that sweet 
tender mouth of hers ... in her clasping little asshole, too! I can't 
wait to fill her up with loads and loads of my hot sticky cum ...

Cindy became aware of the direction of the civil servant's eyes and 
hurriedly tugged her dress down low on her knees, pressing her columnar 
legs tightly together. She said tremulously, trying to pretend as if 
she was totally sober and in complete command of the situation, "You 
said something about this envelope for me being from a couple in 
Chicago who were on the postal department's watch list. What exactly 
does that mean, Mr. Samuels?"

"It means," Samuels explained with a gap-toothed smile, "that we at the 
post office have a book which contains the names and addresses of known 
pornographers and subversives. This box number is on that list ... as 
the senders of dirty, lewd photographs through our mails in the past."

"But ... but such a book is illegal!" protested Cindy.

"Not as far as we're concerned," said the wizened clerk. "We have to 
look after the interests of the American public, and preventing the 
wanton use of our mails for filth is in those best interests. A new 
postal regulation has been passed recently, allowing us to open mail at 
will if we suspect it contains harmful or subversive material."

"How can there be a law like that?" Cindy found herself becoming 
righteously angry. "It's unconstitutional! It's ... almost Communistic! 
This is a democracy, not some ... some dictatorship!"

Samuels drew himself up indignantly, his eyes flashing. "That's right, 
Mrs. Jamison. This is a democracy. And it's our job, as public 
servants, to see that it remains a democracy! If we allow filth and 
disgusting Fifth Column propaganda to be freely distributed throughout 
this great land of ours, what will happen to the foundations upon which 
our government is built? They will collapse, that's what! Filthy 
Commies will take over, as they're trying to do right now all over the 
country. They've got a toehold in our colleges and universities 
already, trying to subvert our education system, but they won't succeed 
in the government agencies, mark my words! We'll stop them, dedicated 
men like myself, empowered by our great Congress with the authority to 
crush subversion and drug shipping and yes, pornography, for garbage 
such as that is rotting the minds of our clear-thinking youth. It's all 
a Communist plot, Mrs. Jamison, every last bit of it!"

His eyes glittered almost maniacally, and the young housewife drew back 
in fear and trepidation. What kind of man was this Steve Samuels? 
Spouting rightist-extreme policy and belief, and yet having a position 
of authority in the post office. And, most terrifying of all, he seemed 
to possess an evil expression that forewarned her of the presence in 
his brain of the self-same lewdness against which he spoke so 
vehemently. She trembled violently as a possibility entered her mind: 
what if this little, ugly man who sat across from her was ... insane?

"So don't talk to me about illegality and Communism, Mrs. Jamison," 
Samuels continued. "This country is at last coming to its senses, and 
none too soon, let me tell you." He paused, swinging the manila 
envelope out in his hand, extending it to her. "Now then, let's see 
what this little parcel contains, shall we? Let's see if there is any 
sickness and evil inside that must be crushed."

Cindy took the envelope with trembling fingers, handling it as though 
it were a bomb which might explode in her hands. "If ... if what you 
say is true," she managed to quaver, "if you can open the public's mail 
at will without their knowledge, then why did you call me and tell me 
this had to be opened in front of a postal employee?"

"A good question, Mrs. Jamison," chuckled the civil servant. "And the 
answer is simply that I find myself feeling benevolent at times, when I 
suspect that something demeaning is being sent to a person who might 
deserve a second chance. In other words, Mrs. Jamison, a person who is 
not a leftist Commie or a sick perverted soul; a person who has made 
one mistake, and should, because that person is basically good and 
honest, be given a second chance. I think you're the kind of person, 
Mrs. Jamison, and I want to help you. I wouldn't want to see you 
exposed as a Commie, or a sex degenerate."

The lovely wife shuddered, for there was an oily, frightening quality 
to Samuels's voice that contained the consideration of things 
unspeakable. And his eyes ... his terrible eyes ... they seemed to be 
stripping her of her clothes, boring through her naked flesh underneath 
...

"Now then, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels said. "Let's open that envelope, 
shall we? Right now. I want to see what's inside."

Cindy willed her quaking fingers still, and managed to tear the top off 
the manila envelope. She reached inside, withdrew the contents 
partially. As she did so, Samuels suddenly leaped up and took two long 
strides across to her and jerked the contents out of her hands, causing 
her to gasp and draw back in fear against the cushions of the chair. 

Samuels limped back to the sofa and sat down with the material which 
had been in the envelope. His fingers rifled through it, and his smile 
grew wider, more venereous. "Aha!" he cried. "Just as I expected!" And 
it was: photos, six of them, bound together with a paper clip--and if 
the top one was any indication, they were some of the best he had ever 
seen in sharpness and detail. There was also a typewritten letter, and 
another typed sheet.

Samuels's fingers were palsied with excitement. He had known 
intuitively that these were what was in the envelope when it had come 
into the post office this afternoon, and he had had to resist an 
immediate impulse to open the envelope. Better, he finally decided, to 
bring it out here to this young bitch Mrs. Cindy Jamison, have her open 
it; it was the chance he had been waiting for! But he had to make sure 
her husband wouldn't be home, so he could have her all to herself, and 
thus he had called the automobile agency were he had learned Howard 
Jamison worked--Auto Circus--and asked to speak to him, thinking to 
find out surreptitiously what time Jamison quit work for the evening so 
as to plan his attack accordingly. His elation had been huge when he 
learned that Howard Jamison was out of town for three days, in Los 
Angeles for some kind of convention. He had immediately, then, called 
this haughty bitch and made his appointment for tonight; as he had 
hoped, she had become nervous and frightened by his call, and had been 
partaking of more than one glass of liquor. She was nice and high now--
and he had something in his pocket which would make her even higher. 
Oh, everything was working beautifully! He was really going to fuck 
this beautiful young wife tonight! Fuck her like he had never fucked 
anyone before in his life! His cock throbbed with anticipation and 
excitement.

He tore the paper clip off the pictures, and looked through them. Lewd, 
disgusting ... good, good, just what he had hoped for! He glanced 
through the letter, his mouth salivating slightly, and then looked up 
at the fear-immobilized young wife. "Mrs. Jamison, you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself, allowing yourself to be duped by these filth 
peddlers. You're very lucky I've decided to take pity on you and want 
to help you; very lucky. Listen to this: 'Dear friends,'" he quoted 
from the letter, "'Many thanks for your photos, which we've just 
received. They weren't bad, although some of them were lacking in 
detail; the camera angle seems to be wrong. You might try using 
closeups more often. We've discussed them at length, my wife and I, and 
have decided you're probably new at this so if there's any help we can 
give you, don't hesitate to ask us. We've been exchanging photos with 
other couples for some time, and have quite a bit of experience. 
Enclosed are some of our best shots, to give you an idea of what we 
mean. Hope you like them, and will be sending us others in the future 
of yourselves. Welcome to the Club. All best. Signed, Tom C.'"

Grinning obscenely, the postal clerk cast the letter from him. "Filthy, 
isn't it, Mrs. Jamison? Disgusting!"

Cindy could only nod her head numbly, staring out of rounded eyes at 
the man who sat on her sofa. The vodka was causing her temples to 
throb, and she tried to will her mind clear, so that she could think 
what to do, what to say. But it was useless; she had drunk too much, 
and the forceful, depraved nature of Steve Samuels appeared to have put 
her into an almost trance-like state.

Samuels picked up the second typed sheet from his lap, and read through 
it salaciously. It was a description of each of the return pictures, 
with side comments of a lascivious quality; the comments were numbered, 
and the venereous government employee saw that a corresponding number 
had been inked into the upper right hand corner of each photo.

He glanced up, licking his lips, his eyes fixing on the fear-whitened 
face of Cindy Jamison. "Come over here, Mrs. Jamison," he commanded 
harshly. "Come over here and sit next to me on the couch and look at 
these photos. That's part of your lesson Mrs. Jamison. You must look at 
them and listen while I read these lewd, filthy descriptions to you. Do 
you hear me, Mrs. Jamison?"

"No!" she heard herself cry out. "No, I ... I won't! Oh, God, I can't!"

"The hell you can't!" Samuels's wizened face turned more ugly. "You'll 
goddamned do what I tell you to do! That is, if you want me to go on 
being kind, Mrs. Jamison. If not, then I'll take these to my superiors, 
I'll report you, I'll make out like you've been sending these dirty 
things for months and months now. I'll ruin you, Mrs. Jamison, maybe 
even have you put in prison for violating our postal laws! I can do 
that, don't think I can't!"

Cindy stared in abject horror at this ... this monster who sat across 
from her. Could he ... could he actually do what he had threatened? 
Could he have her put in jail? Well, why not? He was in a position of 
authority, and if he lied and perjured himself, they would still take 
his word over hers--especially with that letter and these photographs. 
Oh, God, then she was completely at his mercy! Completely at the mercy 
of a man who was surely insane!

Quaveringly, the fearful and tormented young housewife stumbled to her 
feet and groped blindly to the couch, sitting next to Samuels fighting 
down the dread which rose in her throat at his nearness. His eyes 
feasted on her flesh, and he repressed a desire to grab her, throw her 
down, rape her right here and now; slowly, must go slowly, better that 
way, he told himself, oh, am I going to fuck you tonight, you snooty 
young bitch, I've thought of nothing else for the past week ...

Cindy's hands would not remain still, and she didn't want him to know 
the extent of her fear. Something to occupy her fingers, yes that wax 
it. She reached out for the package of her cigarettes on the coffee 
table.

Samuels put out his hand, claw-like fingers touching the back of her 
soft wrist and causing her to pull back as if she had come in contact 
with a snake. The venereous postal clerk smiled. "Won't you have one of 
mine, Mrs. Jamison? They're very good, a special blend ..."

As he spoke, he removed a slender brown, crudely formed cigarette from 
the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed it to her. She took it 
automatically, perhaps suspecting in her liquor--and fear--fogged mind 
that it was more than just a plain cigarette but beyond any rational 
consideration of the fact at that moment. She placed it between her 
lips, allowed him to light it for her with a battered Zippo.

She inhaled deeply, tasting harsh, acrid smoke and coughed instantly, 
even though her lungs were accustomed to unfiltered cigarettes. "Draw 
slowly on it, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels's voice intoned authoritatively. 
"Then hold the smoke in your lungs awhile before releasing it ... yes, 
that's it. Now you've got it. Again, Mrs. Jamison. It will relax you," 
he intoned hypnotically. "Again, again ... yes, and again ..."

The smoke no longer burned her throat and lungs, and Cindy began to 
experience a subtle relaxing of her muscles, of the edge of fear and 
near-hysteria which the vodka she had consumed had only brought into 
sharper focus. From somewhere in her subconscious a single word fought 
its way into her drugged conscious: Marijuana. And, in that moment, she 
knew what the brown cigarette was, knew fully and completely. And yet, 
instead of frightening her, she felt only gathering relaxation, as if 
it didn't matter that she was smoking pot. It was the liquor combined 
with the narcotic effects of the marijuana and the mind-numbing fear of 
the weaselly little civil servant which brought about this state of 
mind; young Cindy Jamison, as she finished the joint, was in a state of 
almost hypnotic submittal.

Samuels, realizing this, smiled salaciously. "Here," he commanded as 
Cindy put the roach butt out in the ashtray. "Here's another." She 
accepted it, almost gratefully, and he lit it for her; this one would 
really do the trick, he thought exultantly, she won't have an ounce of 
resistance left in her when she's smoked this joint down. 

He watched with salivating lips as she inhaled the sweetish marijuana 
smoke and finished the second reefer. Then, his cock ever-hardening in 
his pants now as the moment of his conquest, his subjugation, of this 
proud, snooty young bitch drew near, he thrust the set of photographs 
into the young wife's hand. "Now look at these pictures while I read 
what it says about them to you, Mrs. Jamison. That's it. Look at the 
top one now, number one. Good, good ..." On and on his voice droned 
mesmerically.

Perspiration blurred Cindy Jamison's vision as she focused on the first 
photo. Full color ... sharp and clear detail ... extreme closeup ... 
Samuels's soporific voice, reading from the typed sheet of paper in his 
hand: "'Here is one of our favorites, my wife and I in action. Note how 
she's lying on that waist-high table, with her legs raised up and 
ankles locked around my neck. You can see my cock half-buried in her 
cunt, the way she likes it. This is a good position, because it allows 
the camera to see all, even the pussy hairs, and at the same time gives 
the woman plenty of pleasure.'"

Cindy gasped at the look of sheer abandoned lust on the face of the 
young, full-breasted, brown-haired woman in the photo ... at the 
intense, passion-sweating face of the tall, shaggy-haired man fucking 
into her with his immense penis. Then, at Samuels's direction, she 
flipped to the second picture. The wizened postal clerk read: "'This 
one shows my wife and I sixty-nining. She's licking my balls, the way 
she likes to do, while I have my tongue shoved all the way up her cunt. 
If you look closely, you can see that I have my finger in her asshole 
...'"

Another picture ... another lewd, provocative pose ... another 
detailed, salacious description read aloud by the sweating, salivating 
government employee, Steve Samuels. And as Cindy looked at the photos, 
heard the words ringing louder and louder in the room around her, she 
began to experience a rippling of excitement, of passion in her stomach 
and loins. She tried to will it away, tried to tell herself it was 
wrong, this wasn't the time, this wasn't the place ... but the sight of 
the photos was too much for her. She had learned, with her husband 
Howard, the new stimulation of erotic photographs, had been conditioned 
now to them so that they brought about the same sexual upheaval inside 
her each time. She was powerless to prevent the flowering of her cuntal 
passage to secrete forth the juices of her passion; she had been 
excited earlier in the day, thinking about the previous night with her 
husband, wishing he were home so that they could make love, and some of 
that excitement had still remained in her body even with the 
apprehension at Samuels's call and subsequent arrival. The vodka and 
the marijuana had only served to heighten it, and the photos had 
brought it bubbling forth now.

The young wife squirmed restlessly on the couch as she stared at yet 
another photograph--this one of the handsome couple on a huge armchair, 
the girl with her legs spread wide over both arms and the man kneeling 
on the cushion between them, his cock pressed into the wide-splayed 
pinkness of his voluptuous wife's pussy. Cindy's nipples were hard now, 
under the housedress, and she began clenching and unclenching her 
thighs as Samuels's voice intoned hypnotically in her ear, repeating 
lascivious words over and over until they were the only ones she heard: 
cock ... cunt ... fucking ... sucking ...

Her dress had ridden far up on her thighs now with her convulsive 
movements on the couch, exposing the panty-covered mound of her slowly 
moistening womanhood. Further words caught in the depraved postal 
clerk's throat as he saw the tremendously enticing sight of the "V" 
between the beautiful young woman's thighs being exposed to his lusting 
eyes. His prick seemed to be throbbing madly in his pants, and he could 
feel drop lets of seminal fluid emanating from its unseeing eye. He had 
to fuck her--and soon now, before he blew his great buildup of semen 
into his underpants instead of into the alluring flesh of the 
passionate young wife next to him!

Samuels's hand trembled as he reached out with his claw-like fingers 
and settled his sweaty touch on one of her smooth, alabaster thighs, 
the digits clenching like talons as he squeezed the soft, resilient 
flesh.

The sensation of his reptilian-like touch penetrated the liquor and 
drug haze of Cindy Jamison's mind. Her eyes widened, pulled away from 
the picture and down to where the wizened clerk's hand now slid along 
her smooth inner thigh, climbing higher toward the target it sought ... 
She emitted a low cry of terror, the spell of her desire momentarily 
broken, and threw the photo graphs down on the floor as she jumped 
convulsively to her feet. She stood there, trembling with anger and 
fear, the emotions which had been erased by the marijuana and the 
stimulating effect of the photos, but which had been brought back to 
the fore by the touch of this gnome-like man.

"Don't you touch me!" she screamed at him, her voice slurred and 
tremulous. "Don't you ever touch me again, you ... you pervert!"

A fiery flush of anger turned Samuels's face the color of eggplant. He 
jumped to his feet, his own body shaking with anger and with desire, 
the front of his pants bulging obscenely with the girth of his immense 
penis.

"You goddamn fucking little bitch!" he screeched. "You can't talk to me 
like that! You'll do what I say, and you'll like it, or I'll see to it 
you go to jail for ten years! I can do that, I told you! You bitch, you 
bitch, what right have you got to call me names? You little whore, 
you've been sending lewd, filthy pictures of yourself through the mail, 
and don't think I don't know it! I saw you fucking like a mink with 
your husband, legs spread out with his cock up your cunt, so who are 
you to act so high and mighty around me! I'm a public servant, a man 
watching out for the best interests of the people, and you're nothing 
but a lawbreaking little bitch exhibiting your hot little pussy to 
anyone who advertises they want to see it!"

Cindy recoiled as if struck. She stared at him, confusion returning to 
her mind to reign supreme. "You ... you saw the ... the pictures I 
sent?" she faltered.

"Goddamn right I did! I made copies of them, too!" screamed the half-
crazed Samuels. "I have those copies in a safe place, Mrs. Jamison, and 
I promise you if you don't cooperate with me I'll take them and these 
here to the postal authorities! I'll fix you good if you don't play 
ball with me!"

Oh, God, oh, God! Cindy Jamison's tortured mind cried. For in that 
moment she knew that there was no recourse for her, that this ugly, 
toady little man had her completely at his mercy. And she knew what he 
wanted of her, what he meant by "cooperation"--and she would have to 
submit to his whim. If not, he would make good his threat to ruin her, 
ruin Howard, send her and possibly even her husband to jail just for 
using their privacy as they saw fit; she had no doubt at all that he 
would do as he threatened. She was backed into an impossible corner, 
and the knowledge was like choking bile in her throat in spite of the 
liquor and the drug to deaden the impact. She was trapped, trapped ... 
there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn for help!

Samuels was advancing toward her now, saliva running out of the corners 
of his cruel mouth, his face flushed and sweating, the front of his 
pants still bulging hugely. He extended his hand, and then he said, 
"I'm going to fuck you, Mrs. Jamison. I'm going to fuck you now, here, 
right in your own husband's bed. And you're going to let me do it; 
you're even going to join in. You don't have any other choice, Mrs. 
Jamison. If you don't let me fuck you, fuck you in any way I want you 
to, then I'll do what I said I would. Well, Mrs. Jamison? What's your 
answer?"

Cindy almost collapsed to the carpet under the staggering weight of his 
ultimatum. No place to turn, no place to run ... trapped ... at the 
mercy of this insane man ... her mind chanted confusedly. I have to 
obey him, I have to save Howard ... yes, and selfishly to save myself 
and our future ...

"Please," she implored, her face going slack with her conviction and 
her eyes looking at nothing, lifeless. "Please, I'll do whatever you 
ask. But out here ... not in the bedroom, not in my husband's bed. 
Please, you can't ask that of me ..."

Samuels's laugh was ugly and obscene. "Can't I? Well, I am, Mrs. 
Jamison. I am. Now take me to the bedroom, or I'll pick you up and 
carry you. The bedroom, Mrs. Jamison, and be quick about it! My cock is 
about ready to explode with my cum, and I want to save every last drop 
for you!"

A cry of utter and complete helplessness tore from young Cindy 
Jamison's throat, and she spun on her heel and ran blindly down the 
short hallway at the other end of the living room. Tears streamed from 
her eyes, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she flung open the 
bedroom door and threw herself on the bed. She lay there, moaning 
piteously for a moment, then she heard footsteps, heard the door close, 
and she swung around. Samuels stood there, and he had the fly of his 
trousers open, had his underpants drawn aside and the thick expanse of 
his penis was in the palm of his right hand, its huge, bulbous head 
seeming to point like a finger of doom at her.

"Take off your clothes!" he hissed. "Now, damn you, right now! Can't 
you see how my prick just aches for those soft little lips of yours to 
close around it?"

Cindy moaned again, a torture-wracked sound, but she obeyed with 
spasmodic fingers. She removed the housedress, pulling it over her 
head, then shrugged out of her bra and panties. She sat huddled like a 
defenseless child, naked and afraid, on the edge of the bed. Samuels's 
breath quickened to a harsh, nasal wheezing as he viewed for the first 
time in actuality the vibrant, bronze and white body of the beautiful 
young wife. Son of a bitch, this was going to be fine! Oh, he was going 
to ravage the shit out of that soft, tender flesh of hers ... make her 
scream for him and his huge, quivering prick ...

His palsied fingers tore at his clothing, ripping the garments from his 
thin body. At last he stood before her, naked, his huge venous cock 
oscillating like an arrow outward from his loins. He stroked it 
hungrily for a moment, then commanded in a wheezing voice, "Get up on 
all fours on the bed. I want you to suck my cock. Do you hear me, Mrs. 
Jamison? I want that soft, sweet mouth of yours licking all around my 
cock!"

"No-nooo!" wailed Cindy miserably. "No, please ...!"

"Do what I tell you, Mrs. Jamison!" The wizened postal clerk flung 
himself onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his great prick jutting 
upward and throbbing redly. "Now crawl like the bitch you are between 
my legs, Mrs. Jamison! Do it, and do it now! I'm not going to tell you 
again!"

I can't, I can't! the tortured young wife's mind protested. But she had 
no choice, no other alternative, and so her body obeyed his harsh 
instructions. She crawled between Samuels's open thighs like a whipped 
puppy submitting itself to further degradations at the hands of an 
inhuman master, and lowered her head almost to the tip of his upthrust 
cock.

Tears filled her eyes, and her tongue came out several times to moisten 
her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, not daring to 
look, and then told herself she was doing this for Howard, for their 
marriage, for all that the future now promised. And then, with one last 
moaning, piteous cry, she reached out and grasped his swollen rod 
between the fingers of her right hand and began to stroke the 
palpitating flesh lightly, further arousing the already lust-bubbling 
Samuels until groans of joy rendered from his lips.

"Goddamn you, hurry up and suck it! Suck my cock, suck it, suck it!"

His hips thrust upward, but she pulled back her head, out of reach in a 
reflexive abhorrence of the act she was being forced to perform. 
Samuels reached down and entangled his hands tightly in her soft blond 
hair, trying desperately to guide her head down to meet his forward-
leaping manhood. His own head was lifted off the bed, so that he could 
watch the helplessly contorted features of her beautiful face, poised 
there above his loins, and his brain reeled with the mental image of 
his thick, pulsating cock burrowing in and out of her ovaled lips; he 
was excited beyond all recall now, he had to have her suck him off now! 
He could feel the semen boiling in his testicles, and he knew it 
wouldn't be long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a 
flow of hot lava.

"Hurry, hurry!" he grated. "Suck it, bitch, suck it!"

Suddenly, Cindy, realizing the complete hopelessness of her position, 
was seized with a tremendous need to perform the obscene task he 
demanded of her and get it over with as quickly as possible. She did 
not like the implications of the tingling, rippling passion which was 
once more seething in her genitals at the prospect of again taking a 
male member between her lips, even such a member as the one belonging 
to the blackmailing postal clerk. She was becoming aroused herself--the 
liquor and the marijuana were responsible, she prayed to herself--and 
she had to get this finished and over with before she became so excited 
that she began to enjoy her subjugation.

Her head plunged forward and down. Samuels felt the incredible, hot 
moist softness of her young lips close over the sensitive head of his 
cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid fire around and 
around it, flicking into the glans opening, drinking up the lubricating 
fluid seeping there. His hands in her hair tightened, and he thrust his 
loins upward, driving the length of his massive prick deep into the 
soft, warm folds of her mouth, feeling it slam hard against the back of 
her throat.

"Uuuuhhhhhhh!" mewled Cindy around the hardened, invading rod of flesh.

"Oooooooooooooooooaaaaahhhhhh!" Samuels cried in lust-crazed fervor.

Cindy twirled her tongue maddeningly faster around the blood-inflated 
head of his cock. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with all the 
practiced expertise she had acquired over the past week. He watched her 
convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips working on his cock, watched the soft 
wet skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in again as she 
sawed her mouth the full length of his rigid penis. The sight of her 
sucking him increased his arousal higher and higher, and his loins 
tensed and jerked upward into her face, all the fleshy expanse 
disappearing with each hard forward thrust, so that only a small 
stretch of it showed white and glistening with saliva wetness between 
her lips.

Her tongue, with a nerve-shattering lick on the outstroke, was like a 
separate entity, a thing gone wild with the desire to end this terrible 
subjugation, make him cum in her mouth and thus write finish to the 
whole sordid business. She sucked hungrily, making the cockhead jerk 
and convulse as though it, too, were a thing alive and with a mind of 
its own. Her rich, firm breasts danced wildly below her pumping head, 
adding to the lust-inciting view the wizened civil servant was viewing.

"Suck it, suck it, baby, suck it!" he urged her on, dropping his head 
back on the bed heavily. And still the young housewife slaved on, her 
body glistening from the tiny droplets of perspiration forming from her 
labor. The pressure grew and grew in Samuels's balls, and he shoved his 
loins up hard against her face, hearing her protesting mumble, not 
heeding it all as he neared the pinnacle of his release ...

And then, suddenly, he did not want to cum just yet ... did not want to 
eject his maddening buildup of semen into her mouth. No, he had a 
better idea, something he had wanted to do to her from the very first 
time he had seen her, something he had thought of several times since 
then. Now he was going to have his chance! 

He was going to fuck her in the asshole!

He was going to shoot his fiery hot seed deep, deep into the depths of 
her virginal young bowels!

His hands entangled in her hair now pushed upward instead of forced 
downward, drawing his saliva-soaked cock from the young wife's soft, 
still sucking mouth with a smooth wet sound. Her eyes blinked open 
uncomprehendingly, her face glistening with sweat, her lipstick wet and 
shining with her spittle and the beginning droplets of the wizened 
gnome's semen. 

"W-what is it?" she gasped dimly.

"Turn around and lean forward! Hurry, goddamnit, I'm ready to cum any 
second now!"

"What ... what are you going to do?"

"You bitch!" He grabbed her roughly, twisted her around so that her 
softly rounded buttocks were trembling before his gaze, then raised up 
on his knees behind her. His eager fingers reached out, fitted 
themselves into the smooth crevice between the twin white globes and 
slowly drew them apart, reveling in the wet, lubricious feel of her 
feminine emissions. His throbbing cock was pressed to the satiny soft 
surface of one of the defensively quivering moons.

Cindy tried to cry out as she suddenly realized what the man wanted to 
do to her, but he removed one hand from her buttocks and shoved her 
head down hard against the rumpled bedspread. Ripples of horror flooded 
through her. Oh, God, oh, God, not that! No, I won't let him, I won't, 
I could never forgive myself ...

She tried to twist away, but his thumbs were like steel talons, 
imprisoning her, spreading wide the tiny puckered ring of her unused 
rectal passage. "Going to fuck your asshole, going to fuck your 
asshole, Mrs. Jamison, oh, shit, oh, goddamn it!" he drooled, raising 
his loins, bringing the hard, rubbery head of his immense cock upward 
so that it teased along her naked rectal opening, poised at the tiny 
wrinkled ring. 

"No!" she screamed in agonized protest. "No, no, you can't!"

"Just watch me, you bitch! I'll teach you to send filth and Communistic 
garbage through our mails! I'll teach you!"

And then, with a brutal, sadistic lust, the venereous postal clerk 
suddenly rammed forward, his cock soaring into her tightly virginal 
passage with savage, unmerciful force, never stopping as it tore 
through the membranous canal like some terrible instrument of exquisite 
torture.

"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Cindy in helpless pain and subjugation, 
and then the cry changed to strangled gasps as Samuels again flexed his 
buttocks to drive his invading cock deeper into the softness of her 
anal channel. He clutched hard at her hips, flexing yet again as he 
thrust still deeper into her rectum, into the warm forbidden depths of 
her anal passage. The pressure pushed her forward, pushing her head 
down harder on the mattress. Oh, God, Howard's mattress! Samuels began 
heaving forward with long, sawing strokes now, the rubbery walls of 
Cindy's asshole expanding before his invading cock until, finally, with 
one last savage lunge he buried the last throbbing inch of his 
tremendously expanded penis into her warm, tight anus.

"Aaarrrrggghhhhhhhhhh!" the hopelessly impaled young wife wailed. 
"Oooohh, God, it hurts! It hurrrttttsssss! Oh, I can't take it, it 
hurts too much!"

You'll take it, and you'll scream for more! the postal clerk thought 
triumphantly. Before I'm through, you'll beg me to fill you up with my 
hot sticky seed, you damned aloof bitch! He flexed again, and again, 
and again ...

And suddenly, in order to alleviate the terrible pressure in her 
rectum, to force him to cum there as she had tried vainly to force him 
to cum with his cock in her mouth, Cindy Jamison began to grind her 
buttocks back hard against his penetrating cock. Her anal passage was 
becoming accustomed to the great weapon imbedded there, and there were 
renewed tinglings of a horribly rising desire in her loins! It was 
impossible--how could she feel desire at a moment of degradation such 
as this? But it was true; her relaxing of her defensively clenched anal 
muscles in order to bring him to climax had unleashed a new torrent of 
unwanted passion in her body.

As much as the thought appalled her, she was beginning to enjoy this 
lewd, bestial sodomizing of her private secret passage!

She was sobbing in a commingled mixture of frustration and self-
loathing and desire as she fucked in ever increasing rhythm back 
against the salacious invasion of Steve Samuels. She involuntarily 
rolled and flung her buttocks back against the forward-driving shaft, 
feeling it worming deep around in her belly, feeling his testicles slam 
resoundingly with each forward lunge down against her naked, well-
lubricated vaginal lips.

She 's gone wild, she 's gone wild! Samuels thought exultantly. She's 
mine, all mine, I've conquered another of these haughty young bitches 
for my own private amusement!

The pressure in his loins was intense now, and he knew his orgasm was 
only seconds away now, only seconds ... He heaved and bucked like a 
rutting animal, emitting snorting, drooling sounds of sheer lust as he 
fucked long and hard and deep into her, his fingers digging cruelly 
into the soft, tender flesh of her buttocks, drawing blood there.

And then--

He was there, oh, Jesus he was there!

The wizened clerk began to chant crazily, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, 
I'm cumming!" and his cock began to jerk out of control sunk deep in 
the warm softness of the young wife's bowels. Cindy felt the fire-hot 
semen erupt along his urethra tube from the swinging cauldrons of his 
testicles and fill her anus to overflowing, felt the searing liquid run 
down along the crevice of her churning buttocks, along the backs of her 
thighs, and pool on the bedspread beneath her flailing body.

It was over. At long last, it was over ...

Or so she thought in that single, terrible moment of the climax of the 
rutting, wheezing man sodomizing her.

She collapsed forward finally, pulling his rapidly deflating cock from 
her anal passage with a painful wrench, and lay panting and sobbing, 
totally subjugated, totally enslaved, totally sick at soul. Samuels 
fell across her, cradling his head in the soft hollow of her back, his 
wet rubbery lips kissing the sweat from her smooth, satiny skin ...

It was not long before the postal clerk's penis grew once more into 
erection, before he turned the limply yielding young wife over on her 
back and spread her legs wide and proceeded to fuck into her open cunt 
with long, hard, brutal strokes until he filled her aching cavity with 
more torrents of cum. He fucked her again, after that, first making her 
suck him to hardness once more while he probed her already widely 
stretched rectum with his middle finger. He performed other and still 
wilder atrocities on her flesh until Cindy, in her wildly churning 
mind, thought she would surely go insane with the knowledge of what he 
was doing to her, of her own enslavement to this evil, depraved man.

And yes, she thought she would go insane, too, from the fact that she 
had almost reached climax three times during this long, orgiastic 
night! For she was aroused by his ministrations, by his lewd teasing, 
by his ravaging penis, aroused and joining willingly in. At the 
beginning, she had tried to convince herself, as she had while he was 
sodomizing her, that she was only doing it to make him cum, to end this 
as quickly as possible. But then doubts began to linger, and she wasn't 
sure. Had she somehow become so completely subjugated that she was now 
a lover of the same sick acts as he? Oh, God, oh, God ...

Finally, as the first rays of dawn drifted through the bedroom window, 
Cindy Jamison slept ... slept with the terrible fear that she had lost 
something on this night, something good and innocent ... and had gained 
something indefinable which would completely reshape her future life. 
Her dreams were nightmares, and she awoke groaning helplessly when the 
sun was up full later on and she was alone ...

As he was about to leave, just past dawn, Steve Samuels had stood fully 
clothed over the naked, sleeping form of the nave young housewife he 
had just conquered and leered down at her. Look at her sleeping there, 
curled into a fetal position, he thought. She thinks it's over, that 
tonight is the end of me, that she's paid her price. He laughed 
triumphantly. But she hasn't, not by a long shot. There are plenty of 
things I can and will do to her--I and my faithful friend, Ringo. No, 
Mrs. Jamison, this isn't the end at all. It's just the beginning for 
you ...



Chapter 3


The darkened room with the drawn blinds looked strangely unfamiliar to 
Cindy when she awoke. It was her own bedroom, no question about that; 
there was her dresser, her white ruffle-lined vanity, the cane-backed 
chair next to the full-length mirror ... She stretched her hand along 
the bedcovers, feeling the soft material with her fingertips. Yes, it 
was her bed in her own bedroom in her own house--but in another sense, 
it wasn't.

It wasn't because the love, the marital bond which had united this 
lovely young wife with her husband had been broken here, right here on 
this bed. It wasn't because no longer did these four walls enclose a 
sanctuary of wedded harmony, no longer was there the presence of 
emotional ties. Her bedroom had become just another bedroom; her bed 
just one of many.

She might just as well have been in a third class hotel.

Cindy moved and felt an excruciating pain just over her left eye. She 
sunk back, groaning aloud. Her head felt oddly thick and it was 
difficult to think. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tied in tiny 
knots. She lay still, then recalled the horrible dream she had had last 
night.

The obscene, sickening debauch of her mind and being by some lewdly 
grinning man the piteous wife could still picture the bullet-shaped, 
microcephalic head and the little, beady, blood-shot eyes gleaming 
lasciviously, and his croaking voice demanding ... demanding that she 
... that she ...

The impact suddenly hit her.

"My God, it had actually happened!"

In spite of the pain, Cindy sat up quickly. She stumbled from the bed 
and lurched heavily to the bathroom mirror, looking into it quickly.

"My God," she moaned, "it did happen. It wasn't a nightmare!" Heavy 
lines marred her fresh, young skin. Her eyes were sunk deeply into her 
head as though she had aged years since yesterday. She sagged against 
the washbasin for a long minute, literally torn apart now with her 
inner torment magnified tenfold, feeling as if millions of tiny, 
invisible, execrable creatures were slithering across her skin, 
dirtying it, defiling her body so that she would never be able to make 
herself clean again. She stood naked on the throw rug next to the 
shower stall and looked down at her breasts, at the fresh bruises which 
centered around the nipples. Then she looked down her smooth curve of 
stomach to her raised pubic mound, at the dried and alien sperm matting 
the soft triangle of hair, at the still-inflamed cunt lips which that 
man--that beast--had so abandonly manipulated into desire with his hot, 
hard penis and later with his thin, swirling tongue. She thought how 
the postal clerk had fucked her, sodomized her (as she thought of his 
probing cock buried in her anal channel, she automatically tightened 
her sphincter muscles, causing her to moan, for her whole backside and 
anus were sore beyond belief)--how he had forced her to participate in 
every lewd act imaginable. And worse, far worse, was the indelible, 
terrifying suspicion that she had enjoyed it! That the drug, the 
liquor, the intense sexual frenzy of the government employee had 
eventually made her respond with wild abandon, as though she was with 
her own husband, her loving Howard, and not that evil-incarnate and his 
blackmailing threats.

She thought about all of this as she stood and looked down at her 
nubile nakedness, and the filthy, unseen organisms seemed to scurry 
faster and faster along every conceivable inch of her velvety surface.

A low, barely audible moan escaped from Cindy's lips. Frantically she 
twisted the lucite handles on the shower unit built into the tile wall 
of the stall, bringing forth a thick stream of water. She adjusted the 
shower head until the spray became needlepoints of water, cool at 
first, then hotter and hotter until clouds of vapor began to billow 
upwards, making the bathroom seem like a hazy, humid sauna. Cindy 
stepped into the stall, gasping as the scalding water beat against her 
skin and turned it to a bright crimson hue. But she made no move to 
leave, to escape the burning cascade; instead she stood fast, her mouth 
open and her eyes shut, enduring the pain as if it were some divine 
punishment, some taste of hell, for her transgressions.

For five minutes Cindy withstood the torrent, blanking the pain from 
her mind, soaping her abdomen and her rectum and her vagina in a 
desperate attempt to rid herself of the crawling things. Only when the 
water heater emptied and the spray became cool again did she step from 
the stall. She stood once more on the circular throw rug, this time 
dripping wet. Wet--but not clean. Oh, God, would she ever be able to 
feel wholesome again?

Briskly, almost as if she were heaping further punishment upon herself, 
the agonized young wife dried herself with a large fluffy jacquard 
towel. Her body, tingling from the abuse of water and cloth, glowed a 
burnished red. She padded naked back to the bedroom and dressed 
quickly, choosing a light green blouse which buttoned at the throat, 
and a full, wide skirt which her husband had once described as 
"innocent-looking" and "totally lacking in sex appeal."

Still her head throbbed. Rubbing her forehead, she went to the kitchen 
to make some coffee and try to think. Think ... and as she concentrated 
on her guilt, shame, and of the reasons causing her remorseful actions, 
her head ached still more. It was impossible, she realized. The 
situation was beyond her ability to handle. She couldn't cope with the 
postal clerk and his demands, couldn't fathom her own aroused nature, 
couldn't untangle the spiraling whirlpool of events which had been 
happening since the gift of the Polaroid. She became dizzy as her brain 
spun around, casting before her mind's eye quick glimpses of all that 
had taken place lately, much as a carrousel parades a kaleidoscope of 
ever changing animals as it turns before an uninvolved bystander.

She had to do something, that she knew. She couldn't let it be 
forgotten; neither her own mind nor her conscience would allow that. 
She had to talk to someone, to purge her sickened soul, to seek advice 
and comfort. Her husband? Yes, yes, he must be told, Cindy thought. 
Howard is strong, he would understand ...

Her hand reached for the kitchen telephone extension, then paused. What 
could she say? He was in the middle of a convention, talking business 
and his mind totally filled with facts and figures and automobiles. So 
say she was able to locate him, to get him on the phone long distance. 
So then? She tried to compose her words in her mind, becoming almost 
ill as the bitter memories stirred within her. Each time she thought of 
things to say to him, she realized that what she truly wanted to tell 
still would not come.

Howard would never understand, she finally had to admit ruefully. She 
was incapable of properly explaining long-distance that her desire to 
help their marriage had resulted in her renting the post office box and 
sending for the Polaroid Club pictures. How her actions had betrayed 
her, how the postal clerk had forced her to do his bidding ... and how 
her own body had betrayed her. No, it wasn't fair to her husband to 
suffer a moment because of her failings. She still loved him as before, 
perhaps more now, with the burned-in knowledge that she, alone, should 
suffer for her transgressions. As she lowered her hand, she was 
determined to protect Howard, no matter how it might hurt her.

She knew that never again could she curl up in his lap and playfully 
nip at his ear with girlish innocence without thoughts of the horrible 
previous night. This would be her penance alone to bear and the scar 
would last as long as she lived. Time might dim the memory but could 
never erase it.

That much was settled. Howard, her unsuspecting, trusting husband would 
never know her secret. But she was still faced with the torturous 
problem of what to do about her predicament. Who could she turn to? Who 
among her friends and acquaintances could she trust to understand? 
Understand and have the experience to be able to guide her through 
these troubled paths? Marsha? Pauline? Gladys? No ... they were good at 
bridge and gossiping, but not at advice of this nature. There was no 
one.

Wait there was one woman, a woman who outwardly was more brazen than 
Cindy cared to think about ... but who upon many occasions had shown 
friendship and sympathetic, earnest support. Norma! Norma Taylor, her 
husband's boss's wife. Yes, after that get-together weekend at the 
mountain cabin retreat, Cindy was positive that the lovely woman was 
interested in her, in spite of the fact that Ralph's different social 
sphere prevented them from being close friends. She would know what to 
do, Cindy knew. If anybody would know what to do, Norma Taylor would.

Quickly Cindy thumbed through the little phone number book beside the 
regular directory, locating the Taylor number and address Howard had 
penciled in when first he had been hired by Auto Circus. She feverishly 
dialed the number, impatiently waited as the phone on the other end 
rang ... and rang ... and rang. Wasn't Norma home? Oh, God, she had to 
be! Please, she had to--

"Hello?"

"Norma? This is Cindy Jamison."

"Cindy?" The voice was low and gentle, obviously full of warmth. "Good 
to hear from you. I was just thinking of calling you and inviting you 
over for lunch some time this week."

"You were?"

"Certainly. Our husbands being away and all ..."

"Could ... could you make that luncheon date for today?" Cindy asked 
hopefully. "It ... it would be appreciated. I have ... something to 
talk to you about."

"Of course. I have some leftover roast beef, and I'll make some 
sandwiches and we'll have a nice chat. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful!" Cindy said, breathing almost with relief. "What time?"

"Mmm, in about an hour. Say at eleven."

"I'll be there!" Cindy promised, and hung up.

The Taylor home was in another section of town. It wasn't in the finest 
area, but neither was it in a tract development as was the Jamison 
residence. It was in the lush, green hills bordering the western edge 
of Morriston, catching the morning and noon sun, but having a cooler 
late afternoon and evening than the majority of flat, fertile land 
around it. Cindy drove her car--a Volkswagen Variant 1600--through 
Morriston and up the winding, narrow streets, pulling the sun visor 
down as the sparkling rays blinded her eyes.

The Taylor home was an older one, built around the middle twenties when 
the national economy was booming and no end was in sight. The chicken 
was in every pot, optimism that the world was without further war and 
the country was forever prosperous overshadowing the gathering dark 
clouds of the future. As a result, the original owner had gone all out 
to build a house sturdy enough to last long after he was gone--
prophetic enough, for he committed suicide a few years later, on that 
Black Tuesday in October, 1929. The house weathered the Depression with 
a succession of owners, and then later the Second World War, Truman, 
the Korean conflict ... and as designed, it looked as warm and 
comfortable as when new.

Oh, the kitchen had been remodeled twice, and the cellar redone and 
paneled into a game room, and the backyard gazebo removed and a 
swimming pool installed, but basically it was the same sturdy home it 
had always been. The Taylors had bought it shortly after they'd been 
married. It was then far out of their price range, but Ralph had 
gambled on his ability and as a result he was happily ensconced in an 
ever growing real estate investment. He had no desire to move. It had 
all the things he wanted of a house. It was in a fashionable, well-kept 
neighborhood; it was surrounded by well-grown trees and shrubs which 
provided privacy; the people on his block were of the kind without 
children and with connections; and it gave him and his wife an aura of 
being respectable, settled citizens of the community.

Cindy drove up the circular drive and parked in front of the wide 
verandah. The scarlet bougainvillea entwined around the latticework, 
and a yellow and black butterfly flitted among the green shrubs, 
finally landing on the head of a metal statue. The statue was of a 
small, brightly clad Negro jockey, forever offering a ring to tie one's 
horse's reins to. The butterfly took to the air as Cindy passed the 
statue and stepped to the front door.

Norma answered the door. She was dressed in a striped silk sheath with 
a white leather belt around her slender waist. She was barefoot and 
held a cooling drink in her hand. She said, smiling, "Come in, Cindy. 
So good of you to come."

"Thank you, Norma." Cindy stepped in the house.

"I was out on the back patio," Norma continued, walking down the hall. 
Cindy followed, clutching her purse nervously. They went from the hall 
through a sitting room filled with furniture of the Empire period, then 
through a pantry and out into the backyard. The screen door gently 
closed behind them, the pump brake on top of it hissing slightly.

The backyard was mottled with shafts of sunshine intermingling with 
areas of shade. The patio was covered with more lattice, hardy grape 
and honeysuckle vines growing around and through the slats. Norma sat 
down in a metal lawn chair and waved her hand to the one next to it, 
indicating for Cindy to sit down as well. The glass-topped table before 
them had a platter of sandwiches on it, a condiment dish piled with 
pickles and olives, and an earthenware pitcher filled with wine.

Cindy first looked at the food. She wasn't hungry, not at all, but she 
knew that she would have to eat so as to not offend Norma. Then she 
looked out on the broad expanse of lawn and thought how peaceful, how 
serene and healthy it was. Not at all like the sickness which pervaded 
her inner being at that moment, made her quiver and want to die. She 
was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle touch of fingers on 
her shoulder.

Startled, she looked around at Norma, who was frowning slightly with 
concern. The wife of her husband's boss was saying, "... haven't heard 
a word I've been saying, have you?"

Miserably, Cindy shook her head. "I'm ... sorry, Norma."

"You haven't been yourself since you arrived. Aren't you feeling well? 
The flu perhaps?"

"No ... no," came the choked response. "I'm fine. Really."

"No, you're not. I can tell, Cindy." There was a long pause, then, a 
silence which was louder than shouted words. Cindy didn't know what to 
say, how to begin ... if she dared. She had had the courage to call, 
and she knew that Norma was indeed the friend she had hoped she would 
be, but now, confronted with the awful confession, she wasn't sure she 
had the strength. Norma was obviously baffled and unsure of what to 
say, but finally, the woman leaned forward and placed her manicured 
fingers over Cindy's and said,

"You told me on the phone that you had something you wanted to talk to 
me about. It's weighing heavily on you, Cindy. Tell me. Get it off your 
chest. It'll do you good."

"I ... I," stammered Cindy, "I've been with another man."

"Really?" Norma sat back. "Another man, hmm?"

Was that a smile Cindy saw forming on Norma's lips? No, it couldn't be 
... but even if it was such an unexpected response, Cindy couldn't have 
stopped the torrent of words which now tumbled from her throat. The dam 
had been broken, and from her tortured soul came all of the gruesome 
details about her seduction. She left little out as she poured forth 
her agony to the other woman, and wept copious tears openly as she 
confessed.

"... The clerk was the one I rented the post box from ... I sent away 
for some pictures ... arrived, and he brought them over ... the clerk 
threatened me with exposure, with jail even ... Howie would lose his 
job ... the clerk ... the clerk ..."

Cindy could only refer to Samuels as 'the clerk,' unable to speak his 
name much as ancient Jews were not allowed to utter the name of their 
god the Nameless One. It was as if to name the man would bring him 
forth in the slanting light of the backyard sun. Nor could Cindy detail 
what perverted acts she had been forced to do for the government 
employee, glossing over the lewd acts quickly. Above all, she was 
completely silent on the subject of her own arousal, of her apparent 
enjoyment of the systematic rape of her sanctity.

But everything else she placed before Norma Taylor, like a horribly 
sculpted gargoyle complete of substance and shadow. The marijuana ... 
the liquor ... the pictures. Especially the pictures. Everything kept 
revolving, kept returning to the uses--the abuses--of the Polaroid 
camera.

When she was done, she sunk her head in a symbolic act of begging for 
mercy, of awaiting judgment. Her blouse and skirt were wet with her 
tears, and her voice was almost hoarse with her wracking sobs.

The first thing Norma did was to pour Cindy a glass of wine. "Here, 
drink this," she commanded, and even though the distraught young wife 
refused, she persevered and finally Cindy haltingly swallowed some of 
the ruby liquid. It did make her feel better, she had to admit, as she 
sat the glass down.

Then Norma looked Cindy in the eye and said, "One thing more. Did you 
enjoy it?"

"Norma!" Cindy was taken full aback, her eyes wide with horror.

"I must know in order to get a full, clear perspective of the 
situation, Cindy. Forgive me for being so blunt, but it's only between 
us girls." She leaned forward. "Now ... did you? Even a little bit?"

Blushing a color as scarlet as the bougainvillea out front, Cindy 
Jamison first stared with frozen shock. Then, trembling and biting her 
lower lip, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded affirmatively. There 
was no use trying to cover it up, no way in which she could bury the 
awful truth about herself- and it was harder to admit it to herself 
than to Norma.

"Yes," she moaned. "At ... at first I loathed his ... attentions. But 
... but in all honesty, I have to confess I ... began to sort of like 
it." She twisted in her chair, then looked at Norma, wetness blurring 
her vision. "But only a little bit, Norma. Only a little bit, and when 
it was over and I'd collected my senses, I was sick about it!"

"Yes, yes, I understand," Norma said in a soothing voice. She then 
poured herself a little more wine and sighed. She thought of the best 
way of handling the matter, of trying to calm the near hysterical girl 
so that a greater crisis would be averted. She could almost picture the 
scandal it would cause if it was publicly known, and she had the 
inherent knowledge of a shrewd woman that such publicity could easily 
spread to herself and Ralph, for Cindy being in the frame of mind that 
she was in, would break apart and tell everything. Everything, 
including the business about the Polaroid Club and their own 
involvement. Howard wouldn't be the only one whose job would be in 
jeopardy ...

"Listen to me, Cindy," she started to say, then sipped the wine as she 
thought carefully of her next words. "I'll be frank, for I'm sure 
that's what you want me to be. Why you came to me."

"Yes, yes, that's right, Norma."

"First of all, you were forced into what you did. You had no other 
choice, just as this ... clerk said. You were forced, and no matter 
what you may think of what you did, you had no other way out. You did 
the right thing."

"But my--"

Norma held up her hand. "Your feelings, right? What's really bothering 
you is that you became excited, right?"

Cindy again nodded, mute, and twisted the little napkin in her lap.

"Well, pardon me for saying so, but I don't think any woman could have 
avoided becoming excited. Any full, loving, responsive woman, that is. 
Now neither one of us is frigid, Cindy; both of us make love to our 
husbands with every cell in our body, and we like to. That's the key in 
understanding what happened to you, Cindy--the fact that we naturally, 
physically like sex. How could you help not to get hot when his hands 
were caressing you, his ... penis was hard inside you? Hell, I couldn't 
have, I know that."

"I know, but--"

"What it boils down to is this: you're a woman first, biologically. 
Half your body, and mine, is tied in with sex and procreation. Our 
feelings, emotions, and physiology are regulated by its rhythmic 
chemistry, and no matter how you try to, you can't deny that fact. 
You're a wife second, which is an artificial social discipline which is 
learned, not instinctive. You did what was natural, what your body was 
intended to do--and while most of our country would not approve nor 
condone it, you must chalk it up to an unpleasant happening. A mistake, 
at the most, but never as a sick, warped evil thing."

"But what am I going to do?" wailed Cindy.

"Do? Why, you're going to do nothing, Cindy. Nothing at all. I doubt 
that this clerk is ever going to call you again. He got what he wanted, 
a fresh conquest. I'm sure that's what excited him--the battering down 
of your defenses--and now that he has done that, he has no reason to 
bother you again. So I'd suggest that you dry your tears, have a 
sandwich, and start forgetting the whole matter. Go downtown and buy a 
dress or a new hat. I always do when I'm blue."

"Howard--"

"Howard shouldn't be told. Men don't understand about such things, 
Cindy, and might do something rash." She shook her head. "No, best to 
let things lie as they are. You still love your husband, I'm sure, and 
while it's been a mental shock, it hasn't hurt you physically. You can 
respond to your husband and his love just as well as before, and of 
course, that's what counts in situations such as these."

"You ... you really think so?"

"Trust me, Cindy," Norma said. She went on for a little while longer, 
soothingly and with confidence, instilling some reassurance back in the 
shattered wife, pouring a little more wine, and finally getting Cindy 
to have a sandwich. By one thirty, Cindy Jamison was perked up as much 
as possible. The heavy weight of her sin was like lead between her 
shoulders, but at least she was able to carry the load now, and not 
collapse as she was in danger of doing before.

Yes, Cindy thought as she drove away from the Taylor home, yes, I was 
right in coming to see Norma. She certainly was a great help, being 
forthright and blunt, and at the same time showing me that she really 
was concerned. She was correct in what she had to say, and I will 
follow her advice. I'll maybe even go shopping, as she suggested ... a 
new summer frock might help me for get a little bit.

Yet, for all her buoyancy, there was a nagging, ever-present dread in 
the back of her mind. Like a black wad of some malignant evil, it kept 
repeating over and over that perhaps she hadn't heard the last of the 
matter. That maybe tomorrow or the next day, or the next week, she 
would hear the phone ring or a knock on the door, and it would be 
Samuels, the ever leering postal clerk, come to collect again ... *  *  
* 

The dinner was long over, the dishes were washed, and now it was time 
for bed. Norma had on nothing but a thin transparent nightgown, knowing 
that the hint of her fine, lithe body underneath excited Ralph as she 
walked around. It had, too ...

Ralph Taylor had come back from the convention bushed, his face and 
manners showing how dog-tired he was. But after a couple of drinks and 
the fine food she'd prepared and the semi-nude parading all evening--
especially the latter--it was obvious to her that her husband was 
bubbling with life. His pants were tightly bulged, and as she bent over 
him to kiss his lips and interrupt the movie on TV, his hand came up 
underneath her gown, pushing the hem abruptly up her thighs before she 
could resist. 

"Oh, you beast!" she jumped forward trying to escape the playful 
fingers coursing their way along the sensitive parts of her legs. 
"Stop, it, Ralph, please!" She giggled, knocking the cup of coffee she 
was serving him. "Ooohhhhh, God, Ralph!"

Ralph grinned and continued his rummaging between his wife's legs, 
laughing aloud at the same time. "Hell, it's been almost a week since I 
last laid you, my pet. Heh, heh, they had some fine pieces of ass at 
that convention, but nothing like you!"

"Ralph," she crooned softly, "be careful. We've got to plan out what 
we're going to do about the Jamisons, remember?"

Ralph grinned his broad grin again and placed his hand on her buttocks, 
massaging the soft, tender flesh. She looked at him coyly as he 
continued the teasing ministrations. Norma gritted her teeth as she 
felt the old feeling drifting slowly through the tips of her nerves. 
She was lucky to have Ralph as a husband and he took good care of her, 
in spite of his flamboyant crudeness and periodic streaks of cruelty in 
his sometimes overzealous sexual demands. Not that she minded the 
latter, she mused; she was almost as bad as he was. He didn't mind at 
all what she did as long as she didn't hide it from him and was there 
when he wanted her. But, by the same token, he did whatever he liked in 
the same way. In fact, it had made their marriage more exciting and 
brought them closer together. Yes, by common consent they had their 
little affairs but had never let them get beyond the physical stage. It 
was kind of like having your cake and eating it too, and she never 
wanted it any other way.

"Oooohhhh," she moaned again as her mind returned to reality. Ralph's 
hand was running the full length of her soft, white vaginal crevice, 
sending chills of sensation rippling across her skin. "Are you crazy, 
man? You want to be eaten alive?"

"Eaten, yes, baby, but not alive," the manager joked, twitching his 
finger again into the slightly squirming slit. "But don't get 
impatient. We'll come to that."

"Well, you just stop it then and tell me what you're planning. I told 
you everything about that postal clerk and that racket he was working 
on Cindy. You said it gave you ideas." She smiled with sparkling eyes 
at her husband. "I'm always interested in your ideas, lover. Especially 
about the ones for bridging the social gap between us and your star 
salesman."

"And his wife, don't forget her," chuckled Ralph lewdly.

"You bastard. You can't wait to get that mouth of hers around your fat 
cock another time, can you?"

"No more than you want to show your maternal instincts on Howard's 
prick again." He laughed. "But don't you worry, my little pet. I've got 
it all worked out. Been thinking about how to do it since that night at 
the cabin. Christ! I'd give a month's commission to get a set of photos 
with that luscious blonde doing all the tricks. And preferably with me 
on the receiving end. Well, your little story about that clerk answered 
my prayers, Norma. It's as good as being in the bag."

"Ralph," Norma smiled demurely, now almost panting from her pent-up 
excitement, "let's talk about it in the bedroom, shall we?"

"Why, you little whore!" Ralph grinned, but rose and followed his wife 
down the hallway. "You're about the most selfish thing alive. You 
always come first." He knew it was a game she was playing, this first-
no-then-yes coyness, and they played it often. He was ready now but 
knew she liked to be coaxed a little before the action started. "But I 
have to tell you my plans first, remember?"

"Mmmm," she replied, letting the long gown fall and stepping out of it 
seductively. "I'm all ears."

"The hell you are," he leered at her. He went toward her, figuring the 
plan could wait. There were more pressing matters to take care of. He 
said, "Fuck it, Norma, you can wait to hear the goddamn details. All I 
want to know is can you find out the name of this clerk?"

"Sure, baby," she cooed. "Anything you want." She made a mental note to 
start on finding out the identity of the postal clerk who had caused 
such distress to Cindy Jamison the first thing tomorrow. But as she 
reached her hand down and touched the swollen bulge in her husband's 
pants, she knew that there was going to be a long, delicious night 
ahead of her, and she wasn't going to be sidetracked from enjoying it 
to the fullest.



Chapter 4


Cindy Jamison wore her new summer dress to the company party the 
following Tuesday evening. It was a pretty thing, a frilly pale-blue 
sheath with no sleeves or belt, but a matching jacket for evening wear-
-which she now had on. The hemline was daringly high for her, just 
below the current "mini" style, allowing her to show off her slim, 
wonderfully tanned legs. At first she had been uncomfortable in the 
dress, for she didn't have a slip she could wear with it and her only 
underclothing was her bra and panties, but when she saw herself in the 
mirror at the clothing store, saw how childlike and innocent it made 
her look, she couldn't resist it.

Norma Taylor had been right, Cindy once more reminded herself. She said 
buying a dress would help, and it certainly had. All through the rest 
of the days before Howard had returned from the convention, the lovely 
young housewife had never really felt her usual vivacious nature. At 
best she had been moody, going through the motions of cleaning and 
shopping only half aware of what she was doing. At worst, she fell into 
terrible fits of depression, oftentimes crying until the salt dried on 
her cheeks. These low moments usually came toward bedtime, around the 
time that the hated postal clerk, Samuels, had first forced his 
sinister intentions upon her defenseless body, and they lasted long 
after she had retired, keeping her awake and moaning fitfully as sleep 
evaded her.

Then she would switch on the light and go to the closet and take the 
new dress out. She would hold it up on its hanger and admire it, press 
it to her breasts and swing around with it, and as she would do this, 
the comforting words of Norma Taylor would replay in her mind. You were 
forced ... you did the right thing ... no woman could have avoided 
becoming excited ... do nothing ... do nothing ... the clerk will never 
come back ...

The dress was a tangible, real symbol of what Cindy so desperately 
wanted to believe--needed to believe in order to save her sanity.

But nothing ever helped the cold stab of utter terror which would slice 
through Cindy when the doorbell rang, or the phone jingled, or somebody 
would hail her name ... For in that instant before she heard or saw who 
it was, she had the instinctive dread that it was the postal clerk 
again ...

Thank God Howard finally returned, she sighed. Thank God there's his 
warm, protective form next to mine at night ... And with the loving 
thoughts swirling through her mind, she turned to her husband.

"I love you Howie!" she said, and reaching over, she placed her hand on 
his leg.

Howard grinned. He wasn't sure what had prompted that sudden 
exclamation; was only glad to hear it. The Lord knew that his wife had 
been acting strangely enough since he had come home. It was as if there 
was something wrong--but not wrong; as if Cindy was deeply disturbed 
about something--yet at the same time overjoyed. Hadn't she bought a 
new dress? A reckless little gesture, denting their budget but giving a 
tremendous amount of happiness to her, he thought. Hadn't she all but 
raped him the minute they'd gotten back from the airport, making so 
passionate a bedpartner it was almost as if she was trying to prove 
something to him--or herself? Yes ...

But there was the other side, the side which worried him. Hadn't he 
glanced at her a number of times when she wasn't aware of him looking 
and seen a grim, almost painful cast to her features? Hadn't she 
blanched a more pale white--a white more like translucent china than 
pearl--when one of the neighbors had phoned? Hadn't she been going 
around with a preoccupied air, at times not even hearing him? Yes ...

So Howard Jamison had been disturbed, but wasn't sure where or how to 
direct his uneasiness. This had been the first time he'd been away from 
his wife in their three years of marriage, and for want of a better 
reason, he merely assumed that his absence to go to the convention was 
the cause of her peculiar behavior. Certainly she had kept insisting 
that nothing was the matter when he'd asked her ...

He returned to the task of driving. The Volkswagen was a little small 
after driving the big Buick he usually had, but the Buick was at Auto 
Circus, waiting to be delivered tomorrow to a customer. Moreover, as he 
had had to stay later and close up the lot--early, thank heavens; at 
nine instead of midnight because of the party--it was simpler from a 
time standpoint for Cindy to drive the little station wagon into town 
and pick him up rather than having him drive another of the lot cars 
home.

Traffic was light and a full moon was casting almost as much light upon 
the earth as the sun had earlier. Howard Jamison steered the little car 
through the late evening, humming along with a little French tune on 
the radio, feeling more content now that his lovely wife had said those 
three magical words: l love you. It still didn't displace all of his 
concern for her erratic behavior, but the successful convention, the 
warm and loving greetings he had had from Cindy upon returning, and the 
prospect of a party at Lathrop's combined to shove any worry and doubt 
to the back of his mind. The world was well and God was in His heavens 
...

The party had been planned on the flight up from Lox Angeles, after the 
convention. The general manager, Buddy Lathrop, had insisted that one 
be held at his home to celebrate a successful business deal which had 
been negotiated: the signing of a national auto lease company to allow 
Auto Circus to handle the liquidation of their cars in Northern 
California. It was a tremendous coup, for the lease company would 
provide a continual stream of a year-to eighteen-month-old cars in top 
condition and of the most popular makes and models. It was no wonder 
that Lathrop had been in an expansive mood.

All the salesmen, Ralph Taylor, assorted wives and girl friends would 
be at the Lathrop residence by now, and Howard knew it would be a 
swinging affair. Good Ol' Buddy, the head man over the whole 
organization, threw liquor and laughter around in abundant profusion, 
belying his tall, stoop-shouldered parsimonious appearance. Perhaps if 
the general manager wore black, he might have passed for an undertaker, 
but with the wit and smile of a country bumpkin, the shrewd mind of a 
born salesman, and the wild clothing of a carnival barker, he had risen 
to be one of the richest, most successful car dealers in the state. 
Howard was pleased to work for him, just as he wax pleased to work for 
his immediate superior, Ralph. Both good men, he thought.

As befitting his position, Lathrop lived in an expensive area outside 
of Morriston. There was a section to the south, along Route 34, which 
wasn't exactly a suburb, but was a planned community for the few who 
could afford the high cost of the custom built homes and restrictive 
zoning laws. Lathrop had built a large replica of a southern plantation 
mansion, complete with widow's walk and white pillars along the broad, 
wide front. It looked like a set out of Gone With the Wind, right down 
to the weeping willows and red hibiscus and a carport fashioned to 
resemble a carriage house. The backyard, about the size of a football 
field, was more modern: swimming pool and cabana, two tennis courts, 
and a pond and stream where Mrs. Lathrop raised her prize goldfish.

Buddy Lathrop answered the door when the Jamisons arrived. He stood 
beaming, a tall glass of some red punch in his hand, his face slightly 
mottled from the liquor. "Come in! Come in!" he greeted, stepping 
aside. He was attired gloriously in hound's-tooth check trousers, green 
plaid sports coat, and an orange shirt. And as the yellow light from 
the hall fell across his cheek when he turned, Cindy saw a smear of 
lipstick. The shrieks and laughter from behind him were deafening.

This, she could tell, was going to be another typical salesmen's party. 
She smiled and murmured a ritualistic hello-and-how-are-you, while her 
more enthusiastic husband grinned broadly and pumped Buddy Lathrop's 
hand heartily. The pretty wife was feeling ambivalence toward the 
party, although she never mentioned it to her husband.

The three of them walked down the great main hall where the staircase 
swept upwards to the second and third floors and beyond, past the 
sitting room and the billiard room and the music room where one of the 
salesmen was pounding out "Chopsticks" on the Steinway baby grand. All 
the while Cindy was biting her lower lip, the opposites of wanting and 
yet not wanting to be here surging like cross-currents through her. She 
wanted to come here tonight because that way she wouldn't be home alone 
... still itching with the fear of being summoned again by that 
malicious postal clerk ... listening for him and only hearing the 
miniature grandfather's clock in the hall ticking off the slow and 
endless seconds before Howard would arrive ...

And so she had agreed with Howard's request to accompany him tonight, 
not even uttering one word about how the types of men and their mates 
she would find here disagreed with her. Usually she did so, for while 
she loved Howard and admired his boss, the suede-shoe operators at Auto 
Circus left her cold. They were loud, crude, and drank too much. They 
smoked the most foul-smelling cigars in the world, and insisted on 
either blowing the smoke in her face or waving the cigar under her 
nostrils as they made some asinine point about something they were 
ignorant about. Their wives and girl friends were little better, 
spending their whole day reading confession magazines and chewing gum, 
with even less to say than the men.

It never failed to give her a splitting headache, coming to one of 
these occasions. Christmas, New Year's, assorted birthdays and 
anniversaries--she would make sure she and Howard came late and left 
early.

Not tonight, though. Tonight Cindy was going to stay until the Lathrops 
threw them out. Until the last dog is hung, until the last drink is--

"Howdy!" came a booming voice, and Cindy nearly jumped a foot in the 
air. Gruff hands went around her waist and a wine-heavy breath seared 
her neck as Art Manacor kissed her. "Haw! Haw! I see you brought your 
wonderful little woman tonight, Howie!" he guffawed, his laugh 
reminding Cindy of a bowling ball bouncing down a flight of stairs. She 
tried to smile and act as though his kiss had been fun ... but it 
hadn't been. His rubbery lips, his sudden grasp had been too vivid a 
simile to the postal clerk's hated touch ...

"Yes," Howard grinned, "too big a deal even for her to pass up." He 
looked around, slapping the backs of some other men, acting as though 
he hadn't seen them for a coon's age, rather than just a matter of 
hours. "Say, what's that slop you're drinking, Art?" Howard asked, 
pointing to the glass the salesman was holding. "Looks like raspberry 
Kool-aid."

"Something called sangria," came the reply. Art blinked, studying the 
pieces of lemon and orange at the bottom of the glass. "A wine punch 
Binnie found a recipe for in a Spanish cook-book." Binnie was Mrs. 
Lathrop's nickname, and what she insisted everybody call her. Manacor 
drank a little. "Not bad, and that's all what's available." It had 
obviously gotten him high.

"Ah'll get you-all some," cried out Mrs. Manacor. She was a thin, 
breastless woman with black spit-curls and a vapid expression, except 
when drunk as she was now and then her eyes had a tendency to cross. 
She was from Louisiana and had a grating twang which made Cindy think 
the bowling ball had crashed through a plate glass window. "You-all 
wait raht heah."

Cindy waited impatiently, for she wanted some sangria; wanted a lot of 
it, in fact, to dull the building pressure in her head. The party was 
going to be terrible, that she could see--but not as terrible as the 
silent nightmare shadowing her happy home ...

Mrs. Manacor--"Jest cahl me Salli-Ann"--delivered two brimming tumblers 
of the ruby liquid and Cindy drank deeply. The sangria was pleasant 
tasting, very refreshing, with a combination sweet-tart taste hard to 
identify. A fruit punch? No ... the fruit taste was in the background, 
Cindy thought as she ran her tongue around her lips. A wine base, plus 
... what? She finished her glass in three more swallows, excused 
herself from Howard, who was explaining what was wrong with the Buick 
he had been driving, and the Manacors who were both listening intently, 
and walked over to the large cut-crystal punch bowl.

Binnie Lathrop was behind the bowl, busily ladling out the sangria. She 
was an impressive woman, statuesque, with a large figure gained from 
many years of creamed chicken luncheons at the country club. Her 
breasts were well buttressed in a corset, standing out like the 
Continental Shelf, and her whole bearing was one of imperious 
condescension as she looked over their tops. She was, however, a 
pleasant and friendly woman, and unlike most of the other females, knew 
something of the world. Cindy's husband had once said of her: "She must 
have been one hellion on wheels in her day ..."

She was most pleased to see the pretty wife of Auto circus's star 
salesman; her own husband being quite aware of Howard's fine record and 
coming ability and having mentioned the young man to her. Cindy felt 
warmly toward the woman, and after getting a refill, they started 
chatting amiably. Binnie Lathrop was happy to give Cindy the recipe for 
sangria:

"It's a red wine base, a good and hearty wine like Burgundy. Seven 
parts of it to two parts brandy and one part Cointreau, add a little 
Vodka if you want--I did--then a bottle of some carbonated lemon drink, 
slices of orange and lemon and some cherries, stir like hell and serve. 
Voil!" The older woman chuckled and winked, though never losing her 
decorum. "Be careful with it. It's very potent!"

Cindy let some more of the fine punch swirl around her taste-buds. She 
nodded. "It's delicious Binnie."

"Well, I thought it might be fun to have something different than the 
usual bourbon and scotch and gin. I get so tired of them after a bit."

"Hello, Cindy," came a familiar, mellow voice, and the young girl 
turned, startled slightly. Ralph Taylor stood, smiling at the two 
women, though his attention was mainly focused on Cindy. "A very pretty 
dress you're wearing tonight. Is it new?"

Cindy was flattered that her husband's boss noticed her enough to pick 
out a new dress--most men wouldn't have bothered. "Why, thank you, 
Ralph. Yes, I bought it while the convention was on. Sort of a pick-me-
up."

"After you've been married as long as I have," Binnie Lathrop 
interjected wryly, "you'll be buying the pick-me-ups when your 
husband's home, not away."

The three of them laughed at that. Binnie was quite devoted to her 
husband, and everybody knew that. They talked a little more, and then 
Ralph said to Cindy:

"My wife is dancing with Higgins. How about you and I trying a little 
swing around the floor?"

"Well ... I ... I don't know." Cindy looked around for her husband. She 
saw him in an animated conversation with another salesman over in one 
corner, oblivious to everything else. Then she saw Ralph's raven-haired 
wife in the arms of the head of the body shop, Higgins trying not to 
step on either her's or his own feet. He was not much of a dancer. The 
music which was playing on the tape recorder built in to one bookshelf 
was a fast fox-trot, and Cindy was not in the mood for such a beat.

"No, I think not, Ralph. It's a little fast for me."

Just as she spoke, the number ended, and was followed almost 
immediately by Jackie Gleason's orchestra playing "Moonglow."

"This better, eh?" Ralph asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took the 
glass from Cindy's hand and placed it on the table and swept her in his 
arms. "But--" Cindy protested weakly.

"Go ahead," urged Binnie Lathrop. "Ralph is such a good dancer. Relax 
and enjoy the party ..." Her last words were drowned out as Cindy found 
herself whisked to the middle of the polished wood floor. There was one 
mole moment of unreasoned resistance, and then she let the strong 
muscular arms of her husband's boss lead her gently to the beat of the 
music. The violins and muted horns wafted to her ears, soothing her ...

The three glasses of sangria, taken as they had been on an empty 
stomach for Cindy had lost her appetite that evening, began to slowly 
seep through her blood. She began to smile and, as suggested by Mrs. 
Lathrop, relax and enjoy herself. The sharp edge of panic melted and 
she found herself humming, her eyes half closed, as the music changed 
from "Moonglow" to "The Theme from Picnic." She dropped her head and 
pressed against Ralph Taylor's rising chest.

Hot damn, the scheming manager thought, trying to control his trembling 
passions, things are better than I thought. After Norma told me about 
that post office clerk getting into Cindy's pants, I figured I wouldn't 
be able to score until I found out who the little bastard was and went 
to see him ... talked to him about some certain facts ... but the way 
things are going, maybe l can speed up the action ... got to go at it 
just right, though ... just right ...

He held the slightly high young wife tighter, his total willpower being 
taxed to stop his penis from becoming hard and pressing against her 
undulating belly. The dress she had on, or he should say, the lack of a 
dress, certainly didn't help his control any. When she had walked in 
with her husband, Ralph had almost creamed in his pants on the spot, 
ogling the tight buttocks and ripe, jutting breasts, and smooth expanse 
of thigh and leg ... never had so little covered so little. It made him 
quiver with the desire to really possess this proud little beauty, to 
bore his cock deep in her vagina as the postal clerk had done--damn 
that sneaky bastard's hide.

Ralph Taylor had immediately set to work trying to find a way of 
getting his desires answered that night, to seduce the wife of his star 
salesman at the party and not to wait until Norma was able to quietly 
find out who the clerk was. His prick and testicles ached with burning 
fire for the beautiful little wife, stoking his mind to come up with a 
plan of attack.

And he had. He waited until she had consumed enough of the sangria to 
become slightly wobbly, and then he started in. First this dance ... 
then a short break for another glass of that wine punch. Ralph chuckled 
secretly to himself. Sangria didn't taste strong, it went down like 
soda-pop, and women who would normally never indulge heavily soon found 
themselves drunk out of their minds. Sangria was sneaky ... just as he 
was.

The music stopped, and Ralph led the pretty wife back to the punch bowl 
and her glass. She drank thirstily, finishing it, and Mrs. Lathrop 
filled the glass again ... They talked, the three of them, of general 
items: the local gossip, opinions on the fools in Washington, D.C., the 
Middle East and the Indochina war ... Ralph sat out two more numbers 
and then, when another slow dance was played, he took Cindy in his arms 
again and way they went. Then there was more sangria ...

After the third dance, Cindy was beginning to stumble a bit, and her 
tongue was getting tied around words of multisyllable. It was, the 
manager thought, about time to drop the bombshell. The tape was 
unwinding "Laura" and as he again danced with her, he leaned down and 
whispered in her shell-like ear: "Cindy, Norma told me about the postal 
clerk."

The reaction of the little housewife was sudden and cataclysmic. She 
stopped dead in her tracks, a quivering, shaking statue of agony, her 
mouth open and her eyes wide as saucers. "No!" she feebly choked. "No, 
she couldn't have!"

The sangria dulled the worst of the terrible pain which coursed through 
her brain. She had already realized that she had had too much to drink, 
but as happens when such a point is reached, she really didn't care. At 
this moment, she was desperately glad, for the dual shock of hearing 
that Norma had spread her confidential confession and of being reminded 
of that wretched man and his blackmail would have been too much for her 
tortured mind to absorb sober.

"N-Norma had no ... no right!" she moaned, shuddering.

"Now take it easy, Cindy," the manager soothed, wrapping his arms 
around her. "Listen to me. Norma was very concerned about you, and 
naturally she turned to her husband for advice."

Obstinately, the pretty housewife fought back her tears and said 
bitterly: "She warned me against telling Howie!"

"Well, of course she did, Cindy. He would be the wronged husband, 
wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your ah, 
indiscretions. But Howie could very well become belligerent, seeing as 
it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with another man and--"

"Stop it! Stop it!" wailed Cindy, putting her hands over her ears. "I 
can't stand it any longer!"

Ralph looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have 
attracted attention. No; the others were well inebriated and laughing 
and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Howard, was out 
of the corner now and doing a wild rhumba to the slow music, a 
lampshade on his head. Others had crowded around and were clapping and 
hooting him on ... there was a crash from another room and a shriek of 
giggling ...

"Cindy!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the 
situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand?"

"No ... no ..." the now hysterical young wife pleaded.

"I'm your friend, Cindy. Believe me, Norma did the right thing telling 
me. I can help you."

"Help me?" Cindy looked up suddenly. Could he? she thought wildly, 
groping at straws.

"If Howard should find out somehow. Or if that damnable clerk makes 
good his threat and turns you in. What then?"

"I ... I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to 
contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Well, we have to talk these things out, Cindy." He looked around 
again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what; 
let's go outside and discuss this. All right?"

"Outside?"

"In your car. It'll be nice and private there, and nobody will overhear 
us."

"But ... but what about Howie?"

"He's fine. He's having a ball. Hasn't missed you yet, has he?" Ralph 
saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he 
pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Taylors and Jamisons. Now 
you go on outside. I'll join you in a minute."

"Ralph--" she started to say, but Cindy knew that she was going to the 
car. She had to, for as Ralph Taylor had said, she was in no position 
to take care of the potentialities if they should occur. She would have 
never dared to go to her husband's boss, never even would have 
considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Norma had 
done so--strictly with good intentions, of what Cindy was now assured--
and the manager had evinced such strong personal interest in her 
plight, she was going to lay bare the sordid details again and see what 
Ralph Taylor could do to alleviate her miserable dilemma.

"Now, go on," Ralph prompted. "That's it. I'll be out in a minute. Soon 
as I go to the bathroom."

Nodding numbly, Cindy Jamison, a frail of swirling emotions and 
agonies, headed for the front door. Binnie Lathrop, coming out of the 
kitchen with another tureen of sangria, paused and asked her if 
anything was the matter. Cindy shook her head, saying that no, she just 
wanted a breath of fresh air.

The moment that the pretty young wife of his star salesman was out of 
sight, Ralph Taylor began the second part of his plan. He hurried over 
to the general manager, Buddy Lathrop, who was listening with a bored 
expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a 
deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights.

"Buddy," he said, sidling up to his boss. "Buddy, come over here for a 
minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head.

Lathrop nodded, wondering why his manager was so all-fired anxious. 
"Thank heavens you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest 
dirty jokes I know, and if Murcheson doesn't learn any new ones soon, 
I'm going to--"

"Buddy, listen," Taylor cut in. "You got a pint bottle of something 
around here?"

"Sure, I guess so. Old Tennessee bourbon, I believe, in my study. If 
Binnie ever found it, it would be my balls, I--"

"I want it. Now."

Lathrop shrugged and the two of them started across the living room to 
his study. "Mind telling me why? Binnie's sangria gotten to you?"

Taylor grinned, his grin a fiendish look of devilment. "The sangria is 
great, Buddy. No, this is to help me collect a bet I made with you a 
while back."

"A bet you made with me?" Lathrop still was confused, but went to his 
desk, a wide and ornate Victorian roll-top. He opened one of the 
drawers and fished around in the back. "I don't follow. Ah, here it 
is." He brought out a barely used pint of bourbon and handed it to the 
manager.

"Remember when you bet me a hundred dollars that I'd never make it into 
Cindy Jamison's pants?" Taylor said.

Lathrop laughed heartily. "Sure I did. Why, I'd pay you another hundred 
if you got me a crack at it, too."

"Well, tonight I'm going to collect that first hundred for sure."

Lathrop's eyes boggled. "No! I don't believe you. Nobody can get into 
that nave little bitch."

Taylor snickered. "If you're real nice and are serious about that 
second hundred, I might just arrange for you to grab a little of it, 
too."

"Tell me more," Lathrop said, suddenly very interested. He was almost 
as much of a swinger as his manager was, going after women whenever he 
could get a chance of avoiding his steely-eyed wife. Christ, just the 
idea of nailing that tender little pussy of Howie Jamison's wife made 
his cock tingle with lewd preparations. "What are you going to do, feed 
her Spanish fly?"

Taylor shook his head and lifted the bourbon bottle. "Nope. Just this 
... and the old Ralph Taylor touch, heh, heh. Now listen, Buddy. I'm 
going out to her car, see; she's already there, waiting for me."

"My God, I'd have never believed it," Lathrop said in new-found awe of 
his employee. "Waiting for you, no less."

"Right, and I can't keep her waiting for long, heh, heh. In about 
fifteen minutes, you sneak out very quietly. I think you might get a 
little view well worth your trouble, heh, heh."

"Yeah, but what about my--"

"Your turn? Have to play that by ear." Taylor turned to leave the book-
lined, walnut paneled room. "But I damn well want to have that hundred 
bucks for winning the bet we made first, and at least I'll prove that 
much to you."

"Ralph--" Lathrop was licking his thin lips, a gleam in his eyes.

Taylor was by the door. "Yes?"

"You set it up so that I can fuck that Cindy Jamison, and I'll raise 
your salary." A rash statement, the general manager thought as soon as 
he said it--but on second consideration, he was ready to raise the ante 
still more. That young beauty with all her wide-eyed aura of virginity 
had been on his mind a long time. And now ... if Taylor could, well by 
God no price was too high. "Hear me? I'll raise it, Ralph."

Taylor chuckled obscenely. "Worry about raising that cock of yours, 
then. Cindy Jamison is going to get screwed like she's never been 
screwed before!"

He walked briskly to the front door, eagerness already swelling his 
testicles, bloating them with the sperm he was going to pour into that 
tight, hardly touched cunt of his star salesman's young wife. This was 
going to be great he gloated to himself, a piece of the finest tail in 
Morriston, a bet that will put a hundred dollars in my pocket, and a 
raise besides.

Now all he had to do was to play his cards right ...



Chapter 5


Cindy Jamison slumped against the door, shuddering as she sat in the 
passenger side of the Volkswagen Variant, her face buried in her hands. 
She cried plaintively, weeping her tortured emotions into her palms as 
one might wash an infected wound. The sangria she had consumed to dull 
her sensitivities had, if anything, only loosened the barriers holding 
them back, and now, fully surrendered to the alcohol, she allowed her 
pent-up emotions release.

She had purged her soul once, to Norma Taylor ... but the intervening 
days when she had been forced to act the part of a carefree, loving 
housewife to Howard, her husband, had once more built the raging storm 
of her torment to cyclone proportions. It had forced her to this party, 
had been the leading cause of her not eating and then of drinking 
heavily--and was, with the help of the potent sangria, completely 
controlling her mind. She was nearly delirious, almost psychotically 
hysterical, and there wasn't even the sanity of sobriety to fall back 
upon.

Her only prayer, her only hope was Ralph Taylor; or so her benumbed 
mind thought. The one thing that had kept her from dashing out of the 
house and fleeing to where? Anywhere--so long as it was far, far away--
was the comforting words that Ralph Taylor would help her. Perhaps if 
she hadn't partaken of the sangria so heavily, if she didn't have a 
head spinning so madly, she might have considered that it had been the 
sales manager's opening words: Norma told me about the postal clerk 
which had sent her into such a mental tailspin.

As it was, when her husband's boss opened the other side of the car and 
climbed in beside her, she looked upon him almost as a savior, an angel 
who could save her from the depredations of her actions.

"Thank God, Ralph," the pretty young housewife moaned. "I was afraid 
you weren't going to come." She started crying again.

"Everything will be all right, Cindy," the manager said, and he put his 
arm around her, as a father might his errant daughter. "Of course I was 
going to come. You don't think I'd let you be like this, do you? So 
upset and everything ..."

She leaned against him, clutching to him for dear life. "It ... it was 
terrible, Ralph," she blurted. "I ... I sent for some pictures from the 
Polaroid Club ... like the ones you gave to Howie ... only wanted to 
surprise him ..." and she went on to pour forth the total story of her 
humiliation by the postal clerk, breaking into sobs of agony 
frequently.

As she talked, Ralph was only half listening. He knew the story 
already, had Norma repeat it to him until he knew every detail. 
Instead, he looked around and saw that the back of the station wagon 
was empty, and that the rear seat had been folded down. Good, good. 
Plenty of room back there to fuck ... can't do it here, not with these 
bucket seats and gear shift ... Now to figure out a way of getting her 
back there ...

He pulled out the pint of Old Tennessee, uncapped it and gave her the 
bottle. "Here, Cindy. Take a swallow. It'll help."

She took it gratefully and drank heavily. The liquor burned a path to 
her stomach, but she was too wrought up and too drunk to notice ... she 
drank again, came up for air and continued telling her story ...

"Then ... he made me get up on my knees and he ... he did it to me from 
behind ... I've never done that even with my husband before ... he ... 
he even did it to me in my mouth ... Oh, God, Ralph, it was just 
awful," she sobbed.

He interrupted her with an urging to take another swallow, which she 
did, and then he said: "Would you like to lie down, take a rest? 
Wouldn't that be better?"

"Yes ..." The combination of the sangria, Old Tennessee, and her now 
purged soul had made her lethargic, dazed, and she had to fight to keep 
her eyes open. Her muscles seemed to be plastic and her bones like 
sawdust. "But I don't want to go back inside yet, Ralph, not until you 
talk to me about what you can do for me ... I need your help ..."

Her voice was slurred and thick, as though her mouth was full of 
pebbles--or she had taken too much liquor and was very, very drunk. The 
auto executive smiled and said, "You can crawl over the seat and 
stretch out in back if you like."

Cindy looked up from Ralph's chest. "That would be nice," she replied 
dreamily. "Help me ..."

Ralph Taylor did, his cock hardening into a throbbing beast as he 
carefully helped his salesman's wife to semi-stand and squeeze between 
the two seats. Her motions were jerky and fumbling; she wouldn't have 
been able to stand, he thought, not now after all that booze. But she 
sprawled on the rubber matting of the back section, not minding or even 
being aware that her short dress had slipped up around her panties. 
Taylor sucked in his breath as he saw the thinly covered pubic mound 
become exposed ... then he squeezed back there with her, and the two of 
them lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and he placed his hands 
around her and held her to him.

Taylor stroked the very inebriated young wife's golden hair lightly, 
gently, comfortingly. And in a smooth, rich tone of voice he intoned, 
"Don't think about it, Cindy. Don't think about that strange man and 
you and how you looked on your bed, about the passion you two were 
experiencing, don't think about it at all ..."

In the tortured, stupefied confusion of her mind, Cindy Jamison 
couldn't help thinking about what she and Samuels had done--and why. 
She remained in her husband's boss's gently pressing embrace, stretched 
out in the back of the station wagon, a dreamy torpor making her 
lightheaded and giddy. His words flowed like honey, soothing and 
hypnotic ... and although she didn't want to think about what she had 
done with the postal clerk, his soporific voice dredged still more from 
her subconscious mind. She sobbed into the thin material of Taylor's 
shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the gentle 
stroking of his hand on her bare arm. And horribly, perversely, the 
images in her drunken brain started to have a certain physical effect 
on her dazed mind as well. She could feel an odd twitching in her 
belly, and for some crazy reason she sensed that her nipples were 
hardening in her bra cups. She tried to will her body to cease its evil 
awakening and her mind to stop the vivid remembrances--but nothing she 
tried to do would work. And what was Ralph Taylor saying? The same as 
his wife Norma, had told her?

"... You're all woman, Cindy. Of course you couldn't help but enjoy his 
penis inside you. Of course you liked his tongue on your lips and 
between your legs. You couldn't help not liking it, Cindy. You're a 
real woman ... a sexually alive woman ..."

He continued to stroke her shoulder, letting his hand slide slowly 
down. Cindy had stopped crying now, though her face was still pressed 
to his shirt, and he sensed that his caress had quickened her breath. 
He teased the ridge of her spine, pressing his horizontal body closer 
to hers, and he whispered into her hair bolder and bolder words:

"You and the clerk were making love, Cindy. No, you were fucking, 
Cindy. But you mustn't think badly of yourself for your actions. 
Everyone likes to fuck ..."

Cindy was breathing faster now, and the manager could hear this drunken 
little wife of his salesman trembling with her reactions. Well, if 
there was ever a moment to give it everything, this was it!

Taylor brought his hand casually from her shoulder to the swelling 
mound of her breast. He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly through 
the thin dress and bra, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the 
beautiful wife and a sudden stiffening of her body and a convulsive 
kneading of his shirt. But she made no move to pull away! The sales 
manager grinned eagerly, knowing he had won, that she would be his, and 
he ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipples, his heart pounding in his 
chest and his cock leaping in the cage that was his shorts and pants.

A warning scream tried to penetrate the fogged, drugged lethargy which 
inundated Cindy Jamison's mind, tried to warn her that something was 
going to happen if she didn't pull away. And yet, unexplainably, his 
hand on her breast felt good ... and his voice, so far away to her 
ears, made everything sound right. It was as if the sangria and the 
bourbon had been some liquid cement, gluing her to this position, 
making her unable to move at all ... and the pinwheel thoughts in her 
mind made her not really want to move ... not yet ...

And then the manager's hand slid down from her breasts and went to her 
bare thigh, sliding up along the hot skin under her new dress. Higher 
and higher--until his fingers were touching the silk-encased mound of 
her vagina. He slipped up and down the now moist furrow from the 
outside, then pushed the secreting crotchband of her panties aside and 
slipped his middle finger into the wet, trembling passage of Cindy's 
suddenly hotly burning young cunt.

The distraught, nearly comatose from alcohol, wife squirmed up tighter 
against the sales manager with the contact of his finger against her 
naked flesh. Her whole being began to oscillate and she moaned in 
staccato cadence. The warning voice of before tolled again through the 
swamp which was her fevered mind: Wrong ... wrong ... I love Howie, I 
must be faithful to him ... not Ralph ... not with Ralph ... stop it 
... stop it ...

But she couldn't stop it. She was incapable of pulling away, and she 
could only lie there in the back of the station wagon and let her 
husband's boss continue to work his hand down between her legs, to 
tease the hard bud of her clitoris and revel in her soft, elastic 
vaginal opening.

Christ, Taylor thought, she really turns on, just like I hoped she 
would, damn well knew she would after that night she unknowingly sucked 
my cock ... She's all fired up for a good fuck, and when a woman like 
her gets that way, nothing else matters. He whispered in her ear: 
"Cindy, baby, help me ... help me take your panties off ..."

"No ..." came the feeble answer. "Oh, God, no, Ralph!"

"Yes ..." he hissed back, and he moved around so that he hovered over 
her limply splayed legs, removing his finger from her wet, trembling 
pussy. He bunched her dress around her waist and hooked his fingers 
into the waistband of her panties and slid them down slowly over her 
full rounded young thighs and hips. Cindy tried to stop him, to yell 
out to leave her alone ... but her body was controlled by other forces 
and, in spite of her hesitation, she found herself raising her hips 
obediently. And then her softly hair-lined cunt came into moonlit view, 
and Taylor gazed salaciously at it, his mouth watering at the beautiful 
sight.

The sales manager drove his head savagely downward, unable to control 
his lusting emotions, and his lips mashed onto her vaginal lips, his 
tongue parting the softly curling pubic hair and slipping teasingly 
down the pink-rimmed valley. Cindy shuddered and involuntarily her legs 
spread a little wider, allowing him further room. She whined sharply 
and convulsed into lurches as his long, hot tongue speared her quaking 
flesh. And as he flicked his mouth and tongue around the velvety soft 
interior of her vagina, he unbuckled his pants and pushed them with his 
shorts down, allowing them to tangle around his ankles. Now that he had 
the little bitch so hot and ready, he did not want to take the time to 
fully undress. He was afraid she might suddenly come to her senses and 
all would be lost.

Cindy's mind was in complete turmoil now, the blood fever of his touch 
and then his mouth filling her with animal wantonness--yet the other 
part, the portion so satiated with alcohol as to render it nothing more 
than a protest in vain, cried out that this was wrong ... all wrong and 
must stop!

And suddenly, Taylor stopped.

He raised his head and grinned triumphantly down at her, his lips and 
chin wet with her sexual secretions.

"Ralph ... Ralph ... Ralph ..." was all that the crazed young housewife 
was able to chant to the manager.

"I'm going to fuck you now, my sweet little friend. I'm going to put my 
long, hard cock inside your pussy and cum in it." And with those words, 
the lasciviously grinning sales manager moved across the unresisting 
body of his salesman's wife. He held his long lust-hardened cock at the 
open mouth of her moist palpitating cunt, and then he levered forward, 
sending his sensitive, hungry cock sliding hotly, deliciously far up 
into her quivering young belly.

Oh, God, he's inside me ... he's inside me ...! Cindy thought vaguely, 
her mind and soul shattered by the liquor and the wretchedness of her 
emotions, and her body one huge sensation of pagan desire. He can't be 
doing this ... he can't, and I can't be letting him, but he is. Oh, he 
is ... and, oh, God, it feels so good ... I must stop him ... but how 
can I when I can't stop myself?

Ralph Taylor's long, hard penis flashed up and down in her tight cuntal 
passage, his body heaving in demoniacal force as he drew his sperm-
heavy cock nearly out of the clasping sheath of the mesmerized young 
Cindy's pussy, then plunging down again until his aching, bloated 
testicles slapped ruthlessly against her naked inner thighs. He was so 
intent on the release of his nearly bursting orgasm, that he never 
noticed the shadow which pressed against the rear window, or the 
disbelieving face which gaped in on them ...

The general manager of Auto Circus had no trouble finding the 
Volkswagen. He knew, as Ralph Taylor had known, that the Buick young 
Howard Jamison usually drove had been sold, so that meant the second 
car, the one the Jamisons owned, would be out in the broad gravel 
parking area. He made a couple of excuses after his watch told him 
fifteen minutes had passed, and snuck out of the large French doors at 
the side of the house, and worked his way around to the front. The 
bright moon cast pale, glistening light on the landscape, making his 
chore easy. The trees and shrubs were as if painted with some ghostly 
radiance where the shine hit them, and the many lamps illuminating the 
interior of the house also shone through the windows, helping him as he 
snuck through the glade.

There ... just ahead ... the outline of the Volkswagen. Buddy Lathrop 
sucked in his breath sharply and felt a tingle of anticipation surge 
through his loins and stiffen his penis as he stealthily approached. If 
Taylor wasn't kidding ...

But he must have been, the head man thought, frowning. There wasn't 
anybody in the car that he could see ... it was totally empty. Then he 
heard the soft moan, a woman's throaty purr, and the murmuring of, 
"RaIph ... Ralph ... Ralph ..."

His head nearly dizzy with the anticipatory thoughts of that lovely, 
nave young wife of one of his best salesman being thoroughly fucked by 
Taylor ... of that luscious Cindy Jamison first succumbing to the sales 
manager and then to him--Christ! It was enough to send his semen 
shooting out right then and there!

He hurried to the window ... peered in, cupping his hands around his 
face so that he could see clearly. He eyed the couple.

Great balls of fire! He was doing it! Old Ralph Taylor was fucking the 
hell out of sweet, innocent Cindy Jamison! Buddy Lathrop nearly 
staggered backwards as the full impact of the lewd, licentious coupling 
blasted his eyes. There was his sales manager pumping up and down on 
top of the lovely little wife of Jamison, sinking his cock to its hilt 
between her widespread legs, his huge hairy balls slapping noisily 
against her buttocks. And there was Jamison's wife undulating her body 
and buttocks in tiny hungry circles, her face turned sideways so that 
the general manager could see the effect the fuck being thrown into her 
was having on her body. Her features were contorted, as if in rapture, 
and her mouth hinged wide, her tongue licking ever dry lips.

The chief of Auto Circus found his breath coming in tight gasps and the 
burning sensations in his belly growing to maddening proportions with 
each moment he watched the young nave girl being ravished. His body 
perspired freely, in spite of the night air, and his forehead was 
bathed in tiny beads of sweat. His nerves seemed shattered and his mind 
danced at the salacious sight, and his penis sprung to full hardness, 
leaving a trail of wetness in his underpants as it climbed to erection.

Cindy Jamison looked almost inhuman to the general manager as he 
beadily focused on the wildly writhing couple. She was no longer human 
to him, but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that was 
begging for this subjugation, was reveling in humiliation at being 
fucked by the near-beast over her. She ground her buttocks lasciviously 
down into the mat of the car and the perspiration on her body and on 
the sales manager's skin glittered in the pale moonlight like moving 
diamonds.

Lathrop couldn't stand it much longer. He slowly slid his hands down 
and stroked his burgeoning cock through his pants. Then, unable to 
resist the temptation, he unbuckled his pants and let them puddle 
around his feet. He lifted one leg, his eyes still feasting on the lewd 
adultery going on before him, and removed one shoe and one pantleg. 
Then the other ... and then his underpants. He moaned, transfixed, his 
cock jutting forward from his loins and pressing against the rear 
license plate. The cold metal of the plate against the head of his cock 
made an odd tingling sensation. He rubbed his thick shaft up and down 
in time to the rhythmic drubbings of the manager, Taylor, and the 
salesman's wife, Cindy, as the one screwed into the other mercilessly.

Lathrop watched with lust-filled eyes the actions in the bed of the 
Volkswagen, ready to crawl up the side of the car to quench the fire 
raging through his penis and testicles. The sight of that virginal girl 
being buffeted by Taylor without mercy was too much! Something had to 
give! 

Something did.

The sales manager, Taylor, cried out, "Oh, Jesus! I'm going to cum! I'm 
going ... AAHHHHHHHHHHH!" His body froze in mid-stroke, then hurtled 
downward again in an insane fury as his climax struck and his white hot 
semen spewed out of his balls like lava from a volcano, inundating 
Cindy Jamison's vagina, filling her womb to the overflowing; Buddy 
Lathrop could see his employee's hot sticky cum flow out around his 
cock and form a puddle on the black matting beneath their sweating 
heaving bodies ... Then Taylor collapsed forward over the quivering 
woman, cooing his delight in her ears.

Cindy saw the flash of light as the overhead lamp in the back of the 
Volkswagen went on and clenched her eyes shut tightly to block it out. 
Through the haze of alcohol and passion she was dully aware of someone 
standing at the now open tailgate, hunched slightly forward. But 
nothing mattered except the body of the man breathing hotly over her.

"Goddamn," she heard a voice harshly grate. "You were right, Ralph, you 
certainly were right! Her pussy really was climbing!"

"Didn't I tell you I'd nail her? Heh, heh, be patient, if you want a 
little of her."

"Man, is she tender! If you don't fuck her to death, I will!"

Ralph Taylor chuckled lewdly and Cindy felt his deflating penis slip 
from her ravaged vagina and his hands pull at her hips. She could sense 
the sucking withdrawal between her legs and the cool rush of air to her 
tortured loins, suddenly freed from the body of the sales manager. The 
pain that existed in her mind and in her loins was replaced by a 
different pain ... that of unsatisfied desire. She squeezed her 
buttocks together, almost beside herself, for the end was so near and 
now so far away. She writhed on the mat, lost in the hedonistic world 
the liquor and her own betraying flesh had evolved, and one hand 
strayed to her damp, hair-lined slit. She dug into herself greedily, 
trying to reach the impossible depths the vanquished cock had a moment 
before.

In the distance she heard the rustle of clothing as the two men changed 
positions, and she trembled, half in fear and half from impatience. 
Then ... male hands searching over her again, pulling her thighs apart, 
urgent fingers parting the lips of her throbbing cunt ... and a deep 
voice, a voice she knew but couldn't at the moment identify, rumbling 
as a storm cloud rumbles thunder from above. "Come on, baby. Big 
Daddy's gonna show you what fucking is all about!"

She gasped at the force of the powerful fingers ... and the sudden 
blunt stab of a fiery pole of flesh. The still unknown male dropped 
like a sack of concrete, smashing her tightly to the mat. His thick 
penis plunged into her hungry waiting cunt, pushing the moist 
unresisting folds of pussy flesh in rippling waves before its smooth, 
tunneling head.

Cindy cried aloud at the quick brutal impalement, surprised by its 
thickness. Her whole body twitched and writhed uncontrollably as she 
groaned out in helpless and abandoned welcome to the punishing 
instrument sinking ever deeper in her cunt. But the pain was only 
momentary, and then the greedy walls of her vagina clasped around the 
fleshy cudgel hungrily, slithering up wetly to devour its length to its 
hilt. She groaned in relief at the filling of her wide-stretched cuntal 
passage as the general manager, his identity still unknown to the 
helpless young girl, began a heavy thrusting motion in her hungrily 
grinding pussy. She hissed her sex-fire between her clenched teeth, the 
inferno raging in her loins spurred on by the liquor and the obscene 
position she realized faintly she was in. Through glazed, half-lidded 
eyes she saw the black form heaving above her. There was somebody else 
watching them from just outside the station wagon, which she knew 
instinctively was Ralph Taylor, though she couldn't make out the 
blurred image ... and now it wasn't important. The flames of 
unfulfilled lust infernoed out of control, and there was nothing else 
in the world. No today, no tomorrow, no Howard; nothing save her deep 
hole of lust and flesh, of belly smacking belly, of cock heaving 
against cunt.

"I'm cumming--oh, you little bitch, I'm cumming! Fuck harder! Fuck 
harder!" came the maniacal voice above her. "Uuuuhhhhhhhhh!"

Cindy Jamison, ruled by the pagan instincts of her female biology, 
responded automatically, not caring who was driving so deeply in her, 
who was ready to burst his sperm next. Her hands darted behind the 
man's driving buttocks, pulling him to her, spreading her legs wider 
and pulling them upwards until the soles of her feet pressed hard up 
against the roof of the car. Her juices flowed wetly out around his 
still-pounding prick, trickling down the splayed crevice of her 
buttocks and mingled with the spent seed of the sales manager's orgasm.

"Give it to her," the Ralph-voice goaded excitedly from somewhere in 
the distance. "Shoot it in her!"

Spurred on by the words and Cindy's greedily twisting body below, the 
general manager, Lathrop, dug yet deeper into the girl, forcing her 
legs yet farther back, doubling her in half, fucking her like a pile-
driving machine out of control. He groaned and Cindy felt the hot waves 
of his sperm shooting into her dilated cunt, mixing lasciviously with 
the pool Ralph Taylor had throbbed into her before. Her head whirled in 
depraved sensuality as the powerful spurts surged wildly in her, 
filling her to the bursting point with its sticky wetness. The burning 
walls of her vagina clasped and unclasped desperately like a starving 
mouth, and she was utterly caught up in the lewd web of ecstasy. She 
opened her mouth for a soundless scream--

And her own orgasm struck!

There, in the back of the Volkswagen, being fucked half to death by a 
man she could not identify, Cindy Jamison was totally reduced to a 
churning mass of sensual jelly in that instant. Great flashes of 
pinwheel light sparkled before her tightly shut eyes, and pleasure so 
acute that it bordered on pain consumed every fibre of her being. She 
heard but did not hear the wild sluicing sounds of Buddy Lathrop's 
ejaculating penis sawing in and out between her legs,--felt but did not 
feel the fleshy smackings of his sperm-loaded testicles against her 
flailing thighs--knew only that she was grunting out her climax and was 
nearly out of her mind with its impending magnificence.

She collapsed then, her firm young body drained of everything, her 
limbs loosely spread on the black floor mat as Lathrop's grip was 
released. She lay spread-eagled as she felt his heavy weight lift from 
her and again the night air flowed over her sweat-soaked skin. The 
Ralph-voice spoke in the distance as she faded to deep, peaceful 
unconsciousness.

"Help me get her panties on now, will you? We'll put her in the front 
seat and then go back to the party."

"Soon as I get my pants on. What about her husband?"

Taylor chuckled as he peered in at the comatose young wife of his star 
salesman. "He'll never know. Take my word for it. She won't ever spill 
what happened to her tonight. Now, come on. We'll tell old Howie-boy 
that his little darling had too much to drink and fell asleep. True 
enough; we just won't add about the part in between the too much to 
drink and the falling asleep. He'll take her home and that will be 
that."

"You son of a bitch, Ralph," Lathrop said approvingly, reaching for a 
leg of the piteous little housewife. "You really earned that raise 
tonight."

"And the hundred dollars, too, don't forget."

"Don't worry, after fucking that sweet little cunt? I can't forget!"



Chapter 6


On the Thursday following the party, at eleven-thirty a.m., Ralph 
Taylor left Auto Circus and drove into downtown Morriston. He parked 
his year-old Cadillac in front of the large graystone building which 
housed the Post Office on Second and Market Streets, and stepped out 
into the brilliant sunshine. He was smiling openly, with smug self-
satisfaction and anticipation, as he made his way along the crowded 
sidewalks, filled with morning shoppers, to enter the mausoleum-like 
structure.

He walked leisurely along the marble interior corridor, his eyes 
seeking out and locating the window above which a horizontal sign 
jutted out at right angles, reading: Parcel Post--Post Boxes. He 
stopped by one of the canted writing desks set against the opposite 
wall when he noticed the fat woman with a large parcel under her arm 
step up to the window and begin an earnest conversation with the 
smallish figure who sat behind the counter.

Ralph waited patiently, casually puffing on one of his expensive 
cigars, until the woman had finished transacting her business and left 
the window deserted. Then the automobile executive sauntered slowly 
over to the cubicle and leaned his thick elbows on the countertop. He 
smiled lazily as the gnome-like clerk looked up at him and said in a 
gravely voice, "Help you?"

"You can," said Ralph, blowing smoke over the clerk's right shoulder 
with studied disregard, "if your name is Steve Samuels."

The government employee frowned, close-set eyes narrowing. "That's my 
name, all right. What's it to you, mister?"

Ralph laughed softly, smoothly. "Oh, nothing much. I'd like to take you 
to lunch, that's all, Samuels."

"Lunch?" The clerk's eyes were almost hidden now beneath their puffy 
lids, and his rubbery lips were set warily. 

"That's right."

"What for?"

"To discuss a certain matter."

"What matter?"

Again, Ralph Taylor blew a stream of smoke. "Concerning a certain young 
housewife named Cindy Jamison," he said easily.

Fear leapt suddenly in Steve Samuels's eyes, and his claw-like hands 
clamped hard onto the edge of the counter until the knuckles were 
white. Sweat popped out in beaded pustules on his forehead and sallow 
cheeks, and spittle flecked his thick lips. "I ... I don't know what 
you're talking about."

"I think you do, Samuels," said Taylor.

"No ... no. You'd better leave now, or--" Samuels let the sentence 
trail off as more sweat appeared on his face.

"Or what?" Ralph said with a soft chuckle. "You'll call the police, or 
the building guards? Who're you kidding, Samuels? You don't dare call 
anybody, and you know it." He lowered his voice even more than he 
already had. "I doubt if you'd want your superiors to know what kind of 
little racket you've been running from behind your postal position."

"R-racket?"

"Don't try to bluff it out," Taylor told him, some of the patience 
leaving his voice to be replaced by hard, authoritative tones. "I know 
who and what you are, Samuels, and I know what you've been doing with 
the mails and with some of Morriston's more nubile young wives. I've 
got you cold, Samuels."

The fear was a living entity on the wizened civil servant's face now, 
and he looked wildly about him, as if seeking an avenue of escape. His 
tongue came out like an ugly pink snake to moisten his lips again and 
again. "What ... what do you want?" he managed to quaver.

"I told you," Ralph Taylor said, once again letting his voice go 
casual. "I want to take you to lunch."

"Who are you, mister? You're not--"

"From the authorities, state or federal? No, I'm just a private 
citizen, Samuels, with what you might call a personal stake in this 
matter."

Samuels's eyes flickered nervously to the clock overhead. It was almost 
noon. "I ... I get off at twelve, for an hour."

"That's fine. We'll go down the street, to Marian's Steak House."

The postal clerk's eyes flicked over Taylor's shoulder, and he hissed, 
"Customer. I ... I have to wait on him now."

"Sure," said Ralph carelessly. "I'll be waiting out front for you at 
noon, Samuels. And you'd better be there, if you know what's good for 
you."

The frightened man nodded spasmodically, still sweating, and Ralph 
Taylor turned away with the smile playing over his mouth once again. He 
walked slowly down the gloomy marble corridor and passed through the 
exit door into the bright noonday sunlight.

Steve Samuels went through the motions of waiting on the customer who 
had come up, his hands and mouth working mechanically, to do and say 
the proper things. But his brain was whirling furiously. Fear lived in 
him like an animal in a dark cave. Who was that casually grinning man 
who had come out of nowhere to threaten his very existence? How could 
he have known about Cindy Jamison? How could he have known about the 
others as well, about the use he was making of his position and the 
government regulation allowing him to open public mail at will?

And most important, what did he want? What did he intend to do with his 
knowledge?

Blackmail? the clerk thought suddenly, as the customer turned to leave 
the window. Samuels stared unseeingly at the retreating back. Was that 
it? Did the big, grinning man intend to blackmail him? Oh, Christ, if 
that was it, he was completely trapped; he had no bargaining power. He 
was a poor man, his job at the Post Office paying only a mere pittance, 
enough to keep him alive and clothed and with a roof over his head. He 
couldn't pay any blackmail sum, no matter how small ...

Oh, Jesus, Jesus! What was he going to do? But wait ... maybe it wasn't 
blackmail for money; maybe the stranger was after something else, 
something he, Samuels, could supply and supply easily. Maybe ... But 
there was no use speculating on it now; he would know soon enough, when 
he went with the stranger to lunch. Again, his eyes flicked up to the 
clock, saw that it was three minutes 'til noon. There were no customers 
in sight, and so Samuels hurriedly closed his window. He began to shrug 
into his hat and coat and his hands were trembling as he did so ...

Outside, finishing the last of his cigar with relish, Ralph Taylor 
waited nonchalantly for the appearance of the postal clerk, watching 
the lithe young girls in their short skirts and dresses passing by on 
the street. He felt good, damned good; he felt as if he was on top of 
the world right now.

He had that ugly son of a bitch right where he wanted him, by the short 
hairs, by the balls. Samuels would do anything he asked him to do; the 
bastard had no choice but to do it or risk exposure and a probable jail 
sentence. Ralph had recently sold Morriston's postmaster an almost new 
Cadillac, and consequently was on pretty good terms with the man; all 
it would take would be a few well-chosen words, and it would be all 
over for the clerk. The postmaster would be inclined to believe a man 
of Ralph Taylor's stature and respectability over a simple rank-and-
file postal clerk, that was for sure ...

As he waited, Ralph let his mind wander back to the night of the party 
and Cindy Jamison's soft young legs spread out wide under him. He could 
almost feel the soft, sensitive, wetly warm walls of her sweet young 
cunt squeezing and clasping his heaving cock as he fucked deep and hard 
into her, could almost feel her hardened cervix slamming against his 
bloated prickhead, could almost feel the unleashed torrent of cum which 
had finally escaped his balls to fill that tender little pussy of hers 
to overflowing ...

Goddamn! She was some fine little piece of ass, all right, and the 
random samplings he had had of her--that fuck two nights ago, the 
sucking of his cock unbeknownst to her that it was him at their 
mountain cabin--had only made him want more of her, want her completely 
and totally his, want her as his plaything to do with as he bid. That 
was the way that ugly son of a bitch Samuels had had her, according to 
the story Norma had said she related; that was the way he, Ralph 
Taylor, wanted the wife of his best friend and star salesman.

And that was the way, with the help of Steve Samuels, he was going to 
have her ...

Samuels came down the Post Office steps at five past twelve and stood 
next to Ralph, his eyes mirroring the fear and hate which were inside 
him. Taylor smiled, but said nothing; he started off down the street, 
walking leisurely, and the wizened civil servant came tagging along at 
his heels like a dog following its master. Elation was strong inside 
the automobile executive as they made their way through the thickening 
lunch-hour crowds.

Marian's Steak House was jammed with businessmen and secretaries, blue-
collar workers and shoppers. The waiter at the door greeted Taylor and 
Samuels as they entered, gravely informing them there would be a short 
wait and nodding to the group of people standing about waiting their 
turn at tables. Ralph slipped him a folded bill, whispering that they 
were in a hurry, an important business conference, and the waiter 
miraculously found them an empty spot upstairs on the mezzanine moments 
later.

When they were seated, and Ralph had ordered two rare sirloin steaks 
with mixed salad and garlic French bread, the postal clerk leaned 
across the table and said in a voice barely audible above the buzz of 
lunchtime conversation from the tables around them, "All right, 
whatever-your-name-is. You've got me to lunch, and I'm willing to 
listen to what you have to say. I'll listen. Now what's on your mind, 
mister?"

Ralph Taylor smiled complacently. "Cindy Jamison," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out for yourself, Samuels."

The postal clerk licked his rubbery lips wetly. "I'm no good at 
figuring."

"No?"

"No." Then Samuels cast a furtive glance about him, and leaned further 
across the table, his face only inches from Taylor's. His breath was 
fetid, and Ralph wrinkled his nose distastefully. "You want a piece of 
the little bitch for yourself, that's it, isn't it?"

Taylor laughed. "For somebody who's no good at figuring, you do a 
damned good job of it."

"I thought so." Samuels seemed relieved, as if a burden had been lifted 
from his shoulders. He relaxed visibly.

Ralph Taylor said, "I know the kind of thing you're working, all of it 
right down the line, and it's a good deal, Samuels. I don't want to 
fuck it up for you--as long as it's worth my while to keep silent."

"How did you find out?"

"That's not important, Samuels."

"Listen, what's your name? I like to know who I'm talking to."

"That's not important, either. What is important is Cindy Jamison."

The venereous government employee toyed with his napkin. "She's a 
snooty little bitch," he said softly. "She deserves what she gets. They 
all do, every last goddamn one of them."

"Sure."

"Fouling our mails, sending filth by public conveyance. The dirty 
bitches."

"Never mind the bullshit, Samuels," Taylor said sharply. "You're 
nothing but a fucking little weasel, a lecher that hasn't got the guts 
to admit it even to himself. But I don't care about that, any of that. 
The only thing I care about is Cindy Jamison, and you can help me get 
her right where I want her."

"How?"

"By setting up a little session with her."

"What kind of session?"

"I've got a Polaroid camera, a good one with a timer and a tripod," 
Ralph said easily.

Samuels's beady eyes glittered evilly. "What kind of photos are you 
planning to take?"

"What kind do you suppose? Good ones, hot ones. The kind that you would 
call 'filthy' and 'degrading.'"

The postal clerk's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and his chest 
rose and fell jerkily with labored breathing. "Just ... just with you 
and Cindy Jamison?"

Ralph Taylor laughed sharply, a sound that caused one of the nearby 
customers to glance curiously at him. Then he smiled, smoothing his 
napkin on his lap, as the waiter brought their steaks. He began to dig 
into his immediately, eating hungrily and with obvious relish.

Samuels didn't touch his food. His eyes were almost fever-bright as he 
stared across the table at the automobile executive. "You didn't answer 
my question," he accused.

"You'd like to be there when I nail Cindy Jamison, wouldn't you, 
Samuels?" Taylor said around a mouthful of blood-rare sirloin. 

"I ... I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all across that ugly face of yours. 
Well, I'm a generous man by nature. I wouldn't want to deprive you of 
any of your warped kicks, Samuels. Providing you do as you're told, and 
set things up just as I tell you."

The venereous civil servant had spittle gathering at the corners of his 
mouth now as in his mind he pictured Cindy Jamison, being subjugated 
before him again as he had enslaved her that night ten days ago and not 
only him this time, but this big, brawny man across from him. Both of 
them meting out punishment to the brazen, haughty bitch well-deserved 
punishment for what she had tried to do. Oh, it would be fitting and 
just! He had not gotten in touch with her in the past ten days because 
he had wanted her to sweat, to know fear and trepidation every time the 
telephone or doorbell rang, to expect him back at any time but not to 
know when or where or what would happen when the time came. He had 
planned to torment her in this manner for another week or so, then call 
her up and submit her to a session which would make the last one seem 
tame in comparison a session involving him and his faithful German 
Shepherd, Ringo.

But now this--this was even better! It would not only be him, Steve 
Samuels, and Ringo fixing that little bitch's wagon--but this big, 
evil-grinning man across from him. The wizened clerk no longer feared 
the big man, for now that the stranger had shown his true colors, shown 
his playing hand and the cards he held and the wager he wanted to make, 
it was no threat to Samuels's welfare at all. The big man wanted the 
same things as he, and as long as the clerk didn't ruffle the man's 
feathers, as long as he was careful to work closely with him, they 
could be a team--two men after the same thing, looking for the same 
pleasures in life. Oh, Christ, this was too good to be true! He 
couldn't have asked for a better deal if he had arranged it himself!

He said, "Don't worry, mister. I'm on your side in this, all the way. 
You just tell me what you want done, and I'll do it. The only thing I 
ask is that I can be there when you give it to Cindy Jamison--and that 
I get the opportunity to give her some myself!"

Taylor laughed softly. "You'll get that chance, Samuels, as long as you 
follow orders."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call Cindy Jamison on the phone late Friday afternoon. Her husband 
won't be home; I ... have ways of seeing to that."

"What should I tell her?"

"Tell her that you want to see her again, that she's to meet you that 
night. Tell her that she'd better show up, or else you'll tell the 
postal authorities about those pictures you have, and that you'll tell 
her husband, too."

"She'll come, all right," giggled Samuels. "Where should I tell her to 
go? My place?"

"That's right. Nine o'clock."

"And you'll be there then, too?"

"I'll be there long before that," Ralph Taylor said, finishing the last 
of his steak and leaning back contentedly, sipping from the coffee he 
had ordered with his lunch. "With my Polaroid," he added meaningfully.

"Okay!" the venereous government employee said eagerly. "Is there 
anything else you want me to do?"

The automobile executive frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled 
again, slowly and anticipatorily. "You might have another girl there, 
too, on Friday night. One of the other Morriston housewives you've been 
blackmailing into your bed."

The evil light in Steve Samuels's eyes grew yet brighter, and more 
spittle gathered around his thick mouth. Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, Friday 
night was going to be an evening beyond his wildest dreams! One of the 
mad, ribald orgies he had often thought of having! His cock was 
throbbing hard, close to orgasm, in his pants as he thought of the 
potentialities inherent with two men and two beautiful girls and one 
huge, hungry dog ...

"A pretty one, you want a real pretty one, don't you?" he husked to 
Ralph Taylor.

"That's right. A young and pretty one, one with a little experience. 
One who'll keep her mouth shut."

"I know just who I'll get!" Samuels wheezed. "Sally Reagan! I've had 
her before, a couple of times! Oh, Jesus, she's--"

"Keep your goddamn voice down, for Christ's sake!" hissed the 
automobile executive, looking around him, but no one seemed to be 
paying any attention to the two of them.

Samuels dropped his voice. "She's a good one, the best next to Cindy 
Jamison. You'll like her! She's got black hair and a nice set of tits, 
and when she gets turned on she can really fuck, the little bitch! She 
deserves to be a part of this, she really does! Sending filthy pictures 
through our mails--"

"All right, all right, never mind any more of your goddamned self-
righteous speeches." Ralph Taylor looked smug once again. "Have you got 
it all straight now, Samuels?"

"I've got it!" the evil postal clerk assured him. "You don't have to 
worry none at all!"

"I'd better not have to." Taylor stood, found a couple of bills in his 
pocket, and tossed them on the table. "I've got to be going now, 
Samuels. Friday night. And if you value your ass, don't foul it up." 
With that, he walked off through the crowded tables and disappeared 
down the stairs to the main floor of the steak house.

Steve Samuels stared after him for a long moment, his eyes half-glazed 
with lust and excitement, then turned his head back again. Hot damn! 
Oh, Christ, he couldn't wait until Friday night! Cindy Jamison was 
really going to get hers--and so was Sally Reagan--both the little 
whores were really going to get theirs! He and the stranger and Ringo 
would see to that ...

Even though the food was now cold, Steve Samuels finished every last 
bit on his plate with a ravenous hunger, as if it were the flesh of the 
two young and beautiful housewives he was consuming with his wet and 
ugly mouth.



Chapter 7


Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized 
robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since 
that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a 
perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of 
deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within 
her.

She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four, 
and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it 
in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting 
the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer 
night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to 
her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated 
state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to 
confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion--but then 
her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible 
consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the 
knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to 
speak.

But tonight, Howard would not be home at all. He had called her from 
work shortly past noon, to tell her that Ralph had invited him to go to 
Monterey for some kind of dealers' meeting later that day as Auto 
Circus's representative. The meeting would last well into the night, so 
he would be spending the evening in Monterey, to return to Morriston 
early the next day, Saturday. She hadn't wanted him to go, did not wish 
to be alone for a single night, but what could she tell him to stop 
him, short of confessing all that was troubling her? Nothing, nothing 
at all. And so he was going, probably had already left by this time.

Cindy took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. A small 
tremor passed through her rigid young body. Dear God, what a nightmare 
she had been living these past few weeks! Everything had been going so 
beautifully--and then the evil postal clerk, Steve Samuels, had come 
into her life and forced her to defile her marital bed and to perform 
countless perversions with his wizened, deformed body. He had left her 
after that single, orgiastic night and had not contacted her since ... 
but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all 
along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back, 
demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her 
want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had 
been the party ... her agitated mental state ... all the sangria she 
had drunk ... the foggy moments with Ralph ... going out to the 
Volkswagen Variant ... drinking that bourbon ... the kaleidoscopic, 
filmlike flashes after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by 
moments of complete blankness ... Ralph spreading her legs, putting his 
penis inside her, she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking 
into her, cumming with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure 
replacing him that to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, 
more heaving and bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into 
her tender, ravaged vagina ... what she suspected had been her own 
crashing, spiraling orgasm, though her mind had since refused to admit 
such an actuality ...

A low, involuntary moan escaped the soft, pink lips of the mentally 
tortured young woman and she put her head in her hands. All the 
thoughts she had suppressed the past three days came rushing into her 
conscious mind, bringing with them the terrible humiliation and guilt 
of her actions. What had happened to her innocent, well-ordered little 
world? Why had things suddenly seemed to turn completely against her, 
slowly but inexorably destroying her? What had she done to deserve all 
of this?

She didn't know, had no idea. She felt as if she was on a merry-go-
round, forever spinning, which she could never get off of. She had 
never been so alone, so helpless, in her life--there was no one to whom 
she could turn, nowhere she could go ...

Norma? Norma, who had listened and advised her before? No, no, of 
course not ... it had been Norma's husband, Ralph, whom she had allowed 
in her drunken stupor to claim her body. How could she tell that woman, 
whose husband she now hated with a full and overwhelming passion, what 
had happened? No, there was no one, no one at all.

What am I going to do? she asked herself silently. I'm so afraid ... 
afraid of that terrible postal clerk, afraid of Ralph Taylor, afraid of 
what has happened to my own body for I think I enjoy any sexual act--no 
matter what kind, and even with another man--completely and totally 
now. I'm a different woman, a woman I don't understand anymore, and I'm 
so frightened ...

The sudden ringing of the telephone completely shattered her reverie 
and brought her off the couch in a convulsive jump, her heart hammering 
crazily in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she 
identified the abrupt sound, and willed her trembling body still as the 
bell sounded again. She walked stiffly to where the phone was located 
and, biting her lip, lifted the receiver.

"H-Hello?" she said in a strangely quavering voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Jamison," a familiar, terrifying wheeze answered her, and 
the young wife felt a bolt of sheer terror shoot through her body like 
an electrical charge. She almost dropped the phone, and her heart 
threatened to burst through her chest cavity. Her tongue was thick with 
fear, and she couldn't make words come.

"Are you there, Mrs. Jamison?" Steve Samuels asked in his oily, 
insinuating tone. "Do you hear me?"

"Y-y-yes," she finally managed in a strangled whisper.

There was a soft, evil laugh from the other end of the wire. "You know 
who this is, don't you? Of course you do. Have you been thinking about 
me, Mrs. Jamison? Have you been thinking about what happened between us 
the other night? About how I put my hot thick cock far up into your 
asshole and fucked you and fucked you and--"

"Stopppp iiitttttt!" Cindy Jamison screamed in a voice fraught with the 
pinnacle of sheer mortal terror. "Oh, shut up, please shut up, oh, God 
don't talk to me like that!"

More high-pitched laughter, and then the venereous government employee 
said softly, "I want you again, Mrs. Jamison. I want you again--
tonight!"

"Noooo!" wailed Cindy.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Jamison. Tonight, at my place, at nine o'clock."

"No! Oh, dear God, no, I can't! I can't!"

"You can, and you will," Samuels told her, his voice turning harsh and 
ugly, as ugly as he was. "You'd better be there, or you know what'll 
happen to you and that husband of yours. Nine o'clock, Mrs. Jamison. Or 
else!" And with those sharp, threatening words, Steve Samuels slammed 
the receiver down in her ear.

Cindy flung her own handpiece down and fled into the living room, 
throwing herself prone on the couch to sob out her fear and torment and 
helplessness. She couldn't go through another ordeal like the one the 
depraved clerk had put her through ten days ago--and yet she had to. 
There was no alternative, short of defying him and thus relegating her 
and Howard to possible prison sentences. That, and--

Murder.

The single word echoed and re-echoed in Cindy Jamison's mind, and she 
sat up abruptly with the force of it. But, just as quickly as it had 
come, it vanished. She was not a murderess, could never take the life 
of another human being--even if that human being was the animalistic 
Steve Samuels. The torment, the horror, would be magnified tenfold 
instead of banished by such an act. No, she could not kill Samuels, 
much as she would like to see him dead, and she could not defy him, 
either.

She would go to him tonight, then, as he had instructed. Go to him in 
body, but not in spirit or soul.

And somehow she would endure the degradation and lasciviousness which 
was sure to then ensue --for Howard, for the man she loved ... *  *  * 

Ralph Taylor arrived at the weed-choked, slumlike house of the postal 
employee Steve Samuels at eight-thirty that night, carrying a huge case 
which contained his Polaroid camera, timer, and tripod.

The venereous civil servant let him in with an expression of excited 
anticipation, and led him down the hallway into the living room. 
Samuels had made an effort to tidy it up somewhat, but the room still 
had an air of musky staleness, a look of cluttered squalor. He offered 
the automobile executive a drink, which Taylor promptly refused. Then 
Ralph said, "Did you make all the arrangements?"

"All of them, yes," Samuels answered quickly. "That bitch Cindy Jamison 
will be here at nine. The other one, Sally Reagan, will be along a 
little later, around nine-thirty. Oh, Christ, she was really upset 
about coming here tonight, that one was. She cried and begged and 
pleaded with me not to make her, but I said--"

"I don't give a shit what you said, you little weasel," said Ralph 
Taylor shortly, obvious distaste for the postal clerk on his normally 
jovial countenance. "Just as long as she's coming here tonight. And 
just as long as Cindy Jamison is coming; she's the one I'm really 
interested in;'

"Don't worry, don't worry, they'll be here. Just like I promised they 
would be."

Taylor nodded, set his case down, and-began to take the-photographic 
equipment out of it. He looked up at Samuels as he was doing so. "Have 
you got a screen or something I can set this stuff up behind?" he 
demanded.

"Yeah, I think so," retorted the clerk. "But what for?"

"Never mind what for, goddamn you! This is my show, and we'll run 
things my way or not at all! Understand?"

"Sure, sure, don't get uptight."

"Just do as you're told, Samuels, and everything will be fine."

The wizened clerk nodded, licking his lips, and left the room to locate 
the screen Ralph Taylor had asked him for. *  *  * 

The taxicab let Cindy Jamison off in front of the run-down home of 
Steve Samuels at exactly nine o'clock.

She was weaving just slightly as she walked up the path to the front 
door, her hands tightly clenched around her handbag. She had commenced 
to drink straight vodka immediately after the call from the postal 
worker, trying to work herself into a stupor so that, as on the first 
occasion, she would be too drunk to be totally aware of the horror of 
her situation. She had succeeded in getting intoxicated only to a 
point, beyond which she couldn't seem to go, no matter how much she 
drank. Now, she felt light-headed and nauseous as she rang the bell, 
trying desperately to blank her mind against what was soon to happen to 
her.

The door opened almost immediately, and the malformed features of the 
government employee peered leeringly out at her. She shuddered 
involuntarily with revulsion, averting her eyes from that terrible, 
sweating face. Her stomach churned sickeningly.

"Well, well, right on time I see, Mrs. Jamison. Good, good," said the 
clerk in his husking voice. He reached out his talon-like fingers to 
take her arm, and Cindy imagined that it was the touch of something 
incredibly alien on her coat-covered flesh; but she didn't have the 
strength or the inclination to resist his hand. She allowed him to lead 
her down the hallway and into the living room.

The room itself was little more than a blur in the mind of the tortured 
young wife. She was aware of a musty smell, of a jumble of old and 
ragged furnishings, of a large screen which had been set up on one side 
of the room--but details escaped her brain completely. It might have 
been some medieval torture chamber, complete with iron maiden and 
thumbscrews and the rack, for all she knew.

Samuels said, "Sit down on the couch, Mrs. Jamison. Here, let me take 
your coat. Make yourself comfortable." He snickered evilly. "It's going 
to be a long wonderful night."

Cindy shuddered again at the implications of this depraved postal 
clerk's words. She hurriedly shed her coat and moved robot-like to the 
sagging sofa and sat down stiffly, her eyes staring glassily ahead. I 
have to do this, she thought numbly. I have to do it for Howard, for 
our future, for Howard, for our future ...

Samuels hung her coat up in a hallway closet and came back to the 
living room, sitting down next to but not touching the soul-sick young 
wife. "Have a cigarette, won't you, Mrs. Jamison?" he invited 
unctuously. He reached out to the coffee table in front of the couch, 
to where a wooden cigarette box lay, lifted it and opened it, 
presenting the contents to the eyes of Cindy Jamison.

She knew instantly this time what the brown, crudely made cigarettes 
were, but instead of being further repulsed, she was almost grateful 
that he wanted her to have more pot, more marijuana, just as she had 
had the last time. Commingled with the liquor, the pot would once again 
put her in that half-netherworld of semirationality and the pain, the 
degradation, would not be as acute as it could be. Almost eagerly, she 
reached out and plucked one of the rough brown sticks from the box and 
placed it between her soft, warm, moist lips. The wizened government 
employee lit it for her immediately, telling her as he had before to 
hold the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before releasing it. 
She obeyed, drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly ... drawing 
deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly ...

The first roach butt was no more than ash in her fingers, and then 
Samuels was handing her another, lighting it, and she was repeating the 
process yet again ... drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly ... 
and her head began to swim and she could feel herself weaving slightly 
on the couch, though she was powerless to cease the movement of her 
body. The agony was lessening in her mind, she could feel it; it was 
being replaced now by that same gloating, suspended feeling of the 
previous encounter. She was ready to take whatever he would mete out, 
now, as ready as she would ever be ...

She opened her mouth, forcing thick words Jut with careful enunciation, 
"Do you want me to take my clothes off now? I'm ready to take my 
clothes off, if you want me to."

"Ah, that's the attitude, Mrs. Jamison!" snickered Samuels. "That's the 
way to talk, you little bitch. But not yet, not just yet ..."

"Why ...?"

"Because we're expecting another visitor shortly."

The drugged young wife tried to grasp the significance of that 
statement, but it seemed to elude her. She frowned, trying to speak 
again, to ask him what he meant--and in that instant, the doorbell 
rang.

"There we are, she's here," Samuels enthused, jumping up. "And right on 
time. Don't go away, Mrs. Jamison. I'll be right back."

Cindy sat dazed for what seemed like interminable minutes, then Samuels 
reappeared leading a tall, black-haired young woman whose face was 
streaked wet with tears. The young woman's eyes went wide, and her 
mouth dropped open in shock as she saw Cindy sitting on the couch. 
"What ...?" she began.

"Sally Reagan, meet Cindy Jamison," cackled the government employee, 
pushing the dark-haired girl forward.

Cindy managed to struggle up off the couch, to stand just a few feet 
from the new arrival; the eyes of the two women locked on one another. 
And in that moment, complete--if momentary--lucidity returned to the 
mind of young Cindy Jamison.

She knew, just as Sally Reagan knew, that they were both the same, 
trapped in the terrible web of Steve Samuels's depravity. Cindy's 
whirling brain instinctively became aware that the dark-haired girl had 
committed much the same type of transgression as she had, perhaps 
sending private photographs through the mail which Samuels had 
intercepted. And her brain became aware, too, that this evening would 
be worse, much worse, than the other--that what the venereous clerk had 
planned for tonight was the apex of perversion: an orgy, an impossible 
flesh circus of which she and Sally Reagan were to be the main 
performers. She began to tremble with renewed fear and trepidation, 
seeing that the dark-haired girl had realized the same inevitability as 
she just had and had begun to tremble as well.

And still the two young wives stared at each other, as if each was 
seeking solace in the eyes of the other, tied together more closely 
than the best of friends by their mutual subjugation. A mute empathy, a 
tight bond, was sewn between Cindy Jamison and Sally Reagan and that 
bond somehow made things a little less terrifying than they might have 
been. Now, perhaps, both enslaved housewives would be able to keep 
their sanity during this longest of all nights ...

The next few minutes were a kaleidoscope of fragmented time for the 
young mate of Howard Jamison. She was told to sit down on the couch, 
told to have another marijuana cigarette, and she obeyed. Sally Reagan, 
rid of her coat, sat beside her on the dirty material of the sofa and 
took pot herself--one joint, two, three. The room was filled with the 
sweetish, almost cloying odor of the weed.

"Are we ready now?" Samuels called out finally, as if asking permission 
of someone else to begin, looking in the direction of the screen. Then, 
nodding, as if he had received his answer though neither Cindy nor 
Sally heard a spoken word, the evil civil servant moved to the couch, 
staring down at the two beautiful women who sat with glazed, perspiring 
faces before him.

Oh, Jesus he thought, this is really going to be something! That big 
bastard really knows what he's doing, all right. I couldn't have mapped 
out the progression of events for tonight any better myself! Goddamn, 
my balls are aching with my cum and the big guy is waiting behind the 
screen and Ringo is waiting in the kitchen ... this is going to be the 
finest night I've ever spent, I know it! You bitches, you're REALLY 
GOING TO GET YOURS TONIGHT!

"Both of you!" he commanded in a panting, wheezing voice. "Take off 
your clothes! Strip down to your bra and panties. Hurry up, you fucking 
little sluts!"

Like twin marionettes, the drugged and subjugated young women stood in 
unison and stripped off their outer garments, leaving their 
underclothes on as Samuels had instructed. They stood there, side by 
side, staring straight ahead as the small man viewed their vibrant 
flesh with hungry, almost inhuman eyes.

"Now then, Mrs. Reagan," he snapped. "Roll your panties down, slowly, 
nice and slowly. Let's see that fine, sweet young cunt of yours. You, 
Mrs. Jamison. Watch her, look at her cunt. Goddamn you, do what I tell 
you!"

Through hazed eyes, young Cindy Jamison watched the automatonical 
movements of Sally Reagan as the other woman obeyed Samuels's orders, 
slowly rolling her panties down, down, until the curling dark triangle 
of her pubic hair came into view. Still lower she rolled the thin 
garment, down almost to her knees, and then the postal clerk commanded 
her to stop.

"Open your thighs!" gasped Samuels. "Open 'em wide enough to get your 
hand between them! That's it! Now play with your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Put 
your finger on your clit, put it inside you! Get it all nice and hot 
while we watch, Mrs. Reagan!"

In horrified fascination, Cindy watched the black-haired girl move her 
thighs open, exposing the softly hair-fringed lips of her pussy with 
its dainty clitoris nestled in the smooth pink folds. Cindy swallowed 
hard as Sally lowered her hand there, middle finger extended, her face 
sheened with sweat and torture-racked, and began to slowly masturbate. 
Her legs bent slightly to allow her massaging fingers more room to 
slide between her opened thighs, and then she rubbed faster and faster 
her cuntal valley.

"Mrs. Jamison!" grunted Samuels. "Pull Mrs. Reagan's panties all the 
way down. No, don't stop playing with yourself, Mrs. Reagan! Do what I 
told you, goddamn you, you bitch Jamison!"

Mesmerically, her brain a spinning carrousel, Cindy squatted before the 
sweating body of the other girl and drew her panties all the way down 
over slender, perfectly formed legs, letting the garment puddle at 
Sally Reagan's feet. Then she straightened again, tension rising in her 
stomach, her eyes glued to the sawing fingers of the blackhaired girl.

"Put one leg up on the couch, Mrs. Reagan! Let's see all of that cunt 
of yours! Let's see you shove your finger all the way up your sweet 
little pussy!"

Sally propped one foot up as directed, and the full expanse of her 
softly glistening cuntal slit was exposed to Cindy's and Samuels's 
eyes. The black-haired wife's heaving fingers slithered wetly in and 
out of the wide-splayed vaginal opening, and she began to secrete 
heavily in spite of her hopeless subjugation.

From behind Cindy, in the direction of the screen, there came a sudden 
popping sound and a flash of light. But neither of the young housewives 
were aware of it, completely lost in the miasma of drug and 
enslavement.

Cindy, watching the masturbating girl, felt an odd tingling begin in 
her own loins, as if she was becoming excited at the lewd and 
lascivious sight. But no, no, that couldn't be! And yet, in back of the 
whirling in her brain, she knew it was true, knew that the words of 
Norma Taylor had been accurate. She was a passionate woman, and 
sexuality had its effect on her--even such salaciousness as this. She 
couldn't fight it, even if she wanted to. She had to submit to the 
feelings, submit to Samuels, submit to everything or there was no hope 
...

Deep wetness began to stain her panties as she watched Sally Reagan, 
heard low mewls of unwanted pleasure begin to purl through the black-
haired girl's lips. Samuels saw that immediately, and his prick leaped 
exultantly in his trousers, jerking to its full erectness as he watched 
the carnal scene taking place right before him.

"All right!" he snapped. "Now it's your turn, Mrs. Jamison. Roll your 
panties down, all the way off, and put your leg up on the sofa like 
Mrs. Reagan. Face her, and play with your cunt like she's playing with 
hers! Oh, Jesus, hurry up, hurry up, you bitch!"

And Cindy obeyed, beyond all caring now, abandoning herself in her 
drugged and liquored state to the inevitability of her situation. She 
rolled her panties down, down and off, raised her leg up on the couch, 
lowered her hand to her moistened vaginal valley. And then her fingers 
began moving, began sliding through the wet, warm folds of her pussy, 
and the ripples of pleasure grew and she was powerless to stop them. 
Faster and faster her fingers flashed in the sweet softness of her 
cunt, watching with lidded eyes the black-haired girl doing the same 
thing directly in front of her. In unison the two young housewives 
ravaged their genitals, black and blond pubic triangles glistening with 
the nectar of their passion, faster and faster and faster ...

Behind the screen on the other side of the room, Ralph Taylor stood 
naked, his thick, blood-engorged penis quivering with excitement as he 
watched the two masturbating young women. The Polaroid camera, with 
which he had just taken one good shot of the Reagan girl, trembled 
expectantly in his hands. Goddamn, this was working out even better 
than he had expected! Cindy Jamison, playing with herself like that, 
before his feasting eyes--Christ, what an enticing sight! He couldn't 
wait to get his bulging prick inside that fine, tender cunt of his star 
salesman's wife again! But first, there were the photos ...

Taylor stepped out, holding the Polaroid up, focusing through the 
viewfinder on the lascivious sight before him. Both women had their 
eyes squeezed tightly shut ... no problem about seeing him or the 
flash. Yet. He wanted to wait until just the right moment for his own 
appearance, and he thought he knew when that would be. He had planned 
it all out very carefully beforehand with Samuels ...

He held the Polaroid steady, found the angle and shot he wanted, and 
clicked the shutter. The flash went off, and he had the picture. He 
nodded to the venereous postal clerk, who grinned back at him lewdly, 
and then he stepped behind the screen again. He looked at his watch, 
began counting off sixty seconds. 

"All right, stop playing with yourselves now!" ordered Samuels, and the 
two young housewives ceased their wild masturbationings. They waited, 
dreading the command which was to come, whatever it may be, rigid as 
stone statues.

The depraved government employee laughed high and shrill, and then he 
demanded, "Play with one another now, you bitches! Step forward and 
unhook one another's bra straps. Let's have a look at both your sets of 
tits! Then rub each other's body, play with your tits and your cunts!"

Oooohhhhhh! wailed Cindy's mind at this impossible indignity, but she 
did as bid. There was no other choice, she knew that and Sally Reagan 
knew that; this was lesbianism, perversion, but it was not half as bad 
as touching and being touched by that evil Steve Samuels. At least she 
and Sally Reagan were drawn close together by mutual need, by mutual 
pain, and it would not be as terrible as what was surely to come later 
...

Cindy's arms went around the black-haired girl, even as she felt 
Sally's arms go around her. Palsied fingers fumbled at bra straps, 
pulling them loose, drawing them over each other's smooth, soft 
shoulders, baring their twin sets of high, proud breasts, nipples 
hardened in spite of their subjugation. Then they were touching one 
another, Cindy sliding her slick palms up and down the fevered flesh of 
the other girl, feeling in turn the hot tingling movements of Sally's 
fingers on her own skin.

Young Cindy Jamison felt her breath quicken as Sally rubbed and 
caressed her swollen breasts, passing over the nipples with tantalizing 
slowness, and her mind cried out futilely with the unwanted pleasure of 
the contact. She could feel Sally's hot breath on her face, knew that 
her own was thudding against the black-haired girl's. Sally Reagan was 
as excited as she! Oh, God, oh, God ...

Then their hands were sliding down the fevered flesh of one another's 
smooth, hot torso, over the flat planes of their stomachs, along their 
quivering flanks, down to the moist fleece between their slightly open 
legs. Cindy felt the other girl's finger seek out and find her 
clitoris, felt delicious excitement as it was tweaked again and again, 
and her extended middle finger located the other young wife's clit and 
returned the favor. They stood there like that, panting hard, playing 
with one another, their breasts touching now, the nipples pressed 
almost against one another as if trying to fuse the two young 
housewives together in their bondage ...

Neither of the girls saw or were aware of first one sharp burst of 
light, and then, sixty seconds later, another. Ralph Taylor had two 
more pictures for his collection ...

"That's enough, that's enough!" shouted Steve Samuels. His rubbery lips 
were drooling uncontrollably now as he watched the two mutually 
subjugated women playing with one another before him. He had stripped 
off his clothes in his excitement, and now stood before them completely 
naked, his small, thin body trembling with his desire, his long, thick, 
enraged prick standing like a rigid sentinel in his right hand. He 
stroked it lightly, eyes gleaming, causing the glans eye to emit 
beginning droplets of his semen.

"Mrs. Jamison, get down on the couch. Lean back, and spread your legs 
wide! Do it now!"

Mutely, Cindy obeyed, sitting and leaning back, her eyes squeezed 
tightly shut, her pussy secreting a tiny excited flow now at the 
manipulations of the other girl. Sally Reagan stood above her, her own 
cunt wet from the blond wife's strokings, the black triangle slickly 
moist with her juices.

"Get down between her legs, Mrs. Reagan!" husked the venereous postal 
clerk, still stroking his thick, hardened cock. "Get down there and 
grovel in Mrs. Jamison's cunt! Lick it! Lap up her cunt like you were a 
dog, Mrs. Reagan! Like you were Ringo!"

"Nooo!" The strangled sound tore from Sally's marijuana-drugged body, a 
piteous protest against what was being asked of her.

Samuels stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. "You 
fucking bitch! Do what I tell you, or I'll fix your wagon! I'll fix it 
good, and you know I can do it! Now get down there and eat Mrs. 
Jamison's cunt!"

A tortured sob burst from Sally's young body, but she lowered herself 
onto her knees between Cindy's wide-splayed thighs. Her hands came up, 
fingers fanning out on the blond wife's trembling inner thighs. Her 
head moved forward, and her hot breath blew like searing flame into the 
opened wet expanse of Cindy Jamison's cuntal passage.

Cindy had been shocked into frozen immobility by the lewd instructions 
of Steve Samuels, unable to move or think in that moment as the 
knowledge of what he wanted the two girls to do raced like a sick 
cancer through her body. Then she felt the touch on her inner thighs of 
Sally Reagan, felt the hot breath blowing against her open vagina, and 
she wanted to leap up, wanted to run, run, get far away from this place 
of sin. But she was unable to move, unable to prevent what happened 
next, could only lie there with tears squeezing past her clamped 
eyelids to cascade down her pretty, ashen face.

With a low mewl of total submission, Sally Reagan began to kiss Cindy's 
thighs, began to plant hot moist kisses on the smooth warm flesh. Then 
her tongue was snaking out, and Cindy heard a muffled sob just before 
she felt the electric contact of the black-haired girl's fiery wet 
probe against her trembling clitoris, felt it lick molten swaths from 
the quivering button down through the soft wetness of her fleece-lined 
cuntal lips to the widespread opening of her vaginal orifice.

She cried out in disgust and ... something else, passion, the same 
tremendous excitement she had known from the touch of her husband 
Howard's lips and tongue on her cunt. She raised her buttocks up off 
the couch involuntarily, closing her thighs around the tortured Sally 
Reagan's slavering head. The action only forced the black-haired 
housewife's tongue to slide deep and hotly into her gently throbbing 
cuntal passage, firing more intensely the flowing juices of her desire. 
Her hands came down, as if with a will of their own as with them she 
spread her own thighs wider apart once again, giving the other young 
woman more access to her cunt, and entangled her hands spasmodically in 
the rich, titian strands of hair.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" chanted Cindy mindlessly, completely lost in 
the delirious feelings which the other woman's lips and tongue were 
unleashing through her belly and loins ...

His cock throbbing with maddening desire at the salacious sight he was 
witnessing through the chinks in the screen, Ralph Taylor stepped out 
once again with his Polaroid. He took a quick shot of the Reagan girl 
ravaging Cindy's widespread pussy, his breath coming faster and faster. 
He was aware that Samuels was edging closer to the two girls on the 
couch, his hand beating his turgid prick faster and faster as he stared 
with unabashed lust naked on his face at the black-haired girl 
performing cunnilingus on the other, blond-haired young wife. When the 
picture was ready, after sixty seconds, Taylor moved around so that he 
could get Samuels in the next shot and quickly snapped the shutter; 
that ought to be a really wild one, he thought ardently as he stepped 
back behind the screen once again ...

The venereous postal clerk beat his swollen penis with practiced fervor 
as he watched the two naked young girls before him. Oh, shit, I'm going 
to blow my wad any second now ... but I can't, not yet ... too much is 
still to happen, I can't lose a drop of my cum yet ... have to save it 
all for these two bitches, all of it for them ... Christ, look at young 
Mrs. Reagan licking Mrs. Jamison's cunt, she's really going after it 
now ... both of them are liking it, the sluts, the whores ... but now 
it's Mrs. Cindy Jamison's turn to get a taste of some pussy herself!

"Stop!" he rapped out. "That's enough, Mrs. Reagan! That's enough! Now 
it's Mrs. Jamison's turn to lick your cunt!"

Even in her aroused, drugged state, Cindy's mind recoiled in horror at 
Samuels's salacious words. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't! And yet, she 
had to, there was no other alternative ... and she had known from the 
moment Sally Reagan had been instructed to perform this act of orality 
on her flesh, that she would be forced to reciprocate ... known it and 
rejected it momentarily in spite of its inevitability.

She felt Sally's lips and tongue and head leave her wide-splayed cunt, 
and her eyes fluttered open, looking directly into the tortured, 
secretion-sheened face of the other woman. Ripples of disgust, of 
terror coursed through her as she heard Samuels shouting for the black-
haired girl to sit on the couch, to splay her legs wide and reveal all 
of her cuntal expanse to Cindy's attentions. Then Sally was obeying, 
sitting next to her, legs opening, and Cindy could see every inch of 
the dampened, softly fleece-lined pinkness of the other young wife's 
pussy.

She wanted to gag, but she found herself responding to Samuels lewd 
words and commands, found herself dropping to the floor, into a 
kneeling position, and then moving over so that she was poised between 
Sally Reagan's thighs, her face only inches from the throbbing wet 
flesh of her passion. I can't do this, I can't, oh, God ... Cindy 
thought in mortification, and then, as if in some perverse defiance to 
her thoughts, her head plunged forward and buried itself in the soft 
moistness of the black-haired wife's vaginal furrow.

The odor of Sally's passion assailed Cindy's nostrils, and she 
swallowed hard and began to kiss the soft, wet flesh of her inner 
thighs, as Sally had done to her. Her brain was reeling, reeling, and 
desire once more leapt like hot fire in her own loins, as if her body 
was no longer under her own will.

She heard Sally moaning deep in her throat, felt the black-haired 
girl's thighs clenching and unclenching about her head. Then her lips 
were pressed to the other young wife's vulva, her tongue was darting 
into the fiery flesh of Sally's cuntal orifice. She moved it swiftly, 
sucking and licking the engorged cavern, driven on to faster and madder 
lickings as Sally Reagan's hips began to gyrate with the lust-inciting 
activity of lips and tongue. Cindy's wet red probe found the other 
girl's clitoris, nuzzled it, ran tantalizing circles round and round 
the swollen button, moved downward again to slide deep into the 
passion-drenched passage as Sally grasped the blond young wife's hair 
in both hands, as Cindy had grasped hers ...

Oh, Christ, will you look at Cindy go! thought Ralph Taylor. l never 
thought I'd live to set a sight like this ... Jesus, what would Howie 
think if he could see his pretty little blonde wife now? Got to get a 
shot of this, a good closeup ... Norma will blow her mind when she sees 
it ...

Once more, he stepped out from behind the screen and moved quickly 
across the threadbare rug, shouldering the panting form of Steve 
Samuels out of the way. He focused his Polaroid, leaning in close, 
setting the lens and peering through the viewfinder. Son of a bitch, 
what a shot! He could see Cindy's tongue flicking all the way up the 
Reagan girl's cunt! He snapped the shutter, stepped back. But he didn't 
retreat behind the screen this time. He just stood there, his great 
cock jutting out like some huge cobra, its head engorged and waiting, 
its single eye oozing seminal fluid like anticipatory venom. Samuels, 
still beating his own immense and turgid cock, looked imploringly at 
the manager, his eyes saying, "For God's sake, I can't take much more 
of this! When are we going to stop all this playing around and give it 
to these two little bitches!"

Ralph ignored the impatient postal clerk, counting off sixty seconds. 
Then he peeled the photograph off the negative, looked at it. Perfect! 
Clear and sharp, every detail discernible! He couldn't have asked for a 
better snap!

He ran behind the screen, put the photo with the others, then brought 
the tripod out and set it up in the middle of the rug. The two young 
housewives were completely lost in the lewd act of cunnilingus on the 
couch, Sally Reagan having jackknifed her legs upward so that Cindy's 
wildly, crazily bobbing head would move over even more of her 
flowering, secreting pussy. And Cindy was licking and suckling the 
moist pink flesh like a madwoman, beyond all caring except for the 
musky taste of the other girl's genitals in her mouth and the rising 
floodtide of desire in her own loins and belly.

Taylor set the Polaroid on the tripod, adjusted it, rigged the timer so 
that it was ready to use. Now's the time, he thought. Samuels is going 
to cum all over himself and the two women any second now if we don't 
get started, and I don't want that to happen ... he's got to join in on 
this, him and the goddamn big dog of his, and I don't want to have to 
wait around for him to get another hardon ... Jesus, my own balls are 
ready to burst ... now's the time, all right ...

He moved forward hurriedly to stand over the two naked young wives on 
the couch. Then, in his booming voice, he commanded, "That's enough, 
Cindy! Stop it, Cindy, that's enough for right now!"

Cindy Jamison froze with her face buried wetly in the throbbing flesh 
of the black-haired girl's pussy. That voice ... it hadn't been 
Samuels's voice ... and yet it was familiar, coming through her 
delirium of liquor and marijuana and passion, slicing into the very 
core of her brain ... familiar voice, familiar; it was ...

Oh, God, oh, God!

She jerked her head out from between Sally Reagan's wide-splayed 
thighs, twisted it upward, her eyes blinking open. A look of intense 
horror, mixed with dismay and disbelief, flashed across her passion-
sheened features. She ran her tongue over her secretion-coated lips 
involuntarily as the shock of recognition all but cleared the swirling 
fog in her brain.

"Oh, God, R-R-Ralph!" she cried in a strangled whisper.



Chapter 8


Ralph Taylor stood leering down at the hunched, naked, horror-stricken 
form of his star salesman's lovely young wife. His huge, thickly veined 
prick jutted towards her in its erection like an accusing finger. 
Behind him, still beating his own throbbing penis with one hand, his 
face a flushed, sweating red, stood the thinly built postal clerk, his 
leer almost as salacious as the Auto Circus manager's.

Cindy finally realized the exact dimensions of her position, and 
scrambled away from the black-haired girl's opened thighs, leaning back 
against the far end of the couch and putting her fisted hand up to her 
mouth. She bit her knuckles until they bled, her filmed eyes bulging 
wide.

Ralph laughed softly, easily, off-handedly, as if he were in his office 
at Auto Circus instead of in the midst of all this carnal abuse. "I 
guess you're surprised to see me here, aren't you, Cindy?" he asked 
her, his eyes gleaming. "Damn right you are. Well, I arranged this 
whole affair, as a matter of fact. I've been planning it ever since 
Norma told me about you and Samuels here, planning it so I could get 
you right where you are now and where you will be before long. What do 
you think of that, Cindy? How does the idea appeal to you?"

"W-Why?" Cindy managed to moan around the clenched fist. "Oh, G-God, 
why ...?

"Why do you think, baby? To get that hot little body of yours just the 
way I want it. You've been swinging it in front of me and every other 
man around ever since Howie married you, teasing us, telling us in 
effect that we can look but we can't touch. Well, I took it as long as 
I could and then I knew I had to have you, and on my terms. These are 
my terms, Cindy, right here and now. The other two times--up at my 
cabin, and the other night in the car--were just appetizers, previews 
of the real thing. Now you're going to fulfill all the promises of that 
body of yours, everything I've dreamed about and wanted; I'm going to 
fuck you and I'm going to do it good and proper. This is going to be a 
night neither one of us is ever going to forget, Cindy baby ..."

The words droned on and on, but it was as if a switch had suddenly been 
pulled somewhere in the tortured young housewife's swirling brain, 
completely blotting out the rest of Ralph Taylor's words. The complete 
and utter shock of turning up from the moist, hot womanhood of Sally 
Reagan, her face sheened with the black-haired girl's excited cuntal 
secretions, and seeing the nude form of her husband's hated boss had 
pushed Cindy dangerously close to the fine line between sanity and 
insanity. Hearing his lewd words, his revelation that he had planned 
this entire evening, that he was mixed up with, was as bad, as evil as 
Steve Samuels, had almost sent her over the edge; if it had not been 
for the liquor and the marijuana and even the passion which still ebbed 
through her body, she would surely have gone insane in that moment as 
she crouched there by the couch, staring up at the two naked men with 
their huge erect penises. This was the final degradation for Cindy 
Jamison, the ultimate humiliation in a long string of recent 
inequities. Nothing which happened after this, nothing which she could 
learn--no other revelation could affect her in the slightest way ...

And yet, words spun and tugged at her brain cells, trying to form 
rational sentences, but she was unable to grasp them through the haze 
which filled her conscious mind. Something Ralph had said ...? What was 
it ... what ... And then she knew.

"The other two times--up at my cabin, and the other night in the car 
..."

Up at Ralph Taylor's cabin!

But nothing had happened between her and Ralph there, nothing at all, 
she had only been with Howie ...

"W-What did you mean?" she cried suddenly. "What did you mean?"

Taylor stopped talking, his hands on his hips. "About what, baby?"

"About ... about your cabin. You ... you said you and I, up at your 
cabin ... what did you mean!"

His laugh was low and ugly. "That's right, you don't know about that, 
do you? Well, let me tell you then, Cindy. You see, Howie and I planned 
that whole business ... showing you the pictures, getting you excited 
... Norma talked to you on my orders, putting you in the right frame of 
mind for your first try at sucking cock ... the room was dark after you 
and Howie had finished fucking that first time and so we just traded 
places ... remember when he got up and went to the bathroom, and then 
came back? That wasn't him, Cindy, that was me ... he went down and 
Norma sucked him off ... it was my cock you sucked that night, baby ... 
my cock was the first one to slide in and out of that sweet, soft 
little mouth of yours, my cum the first to pour down that graceful 
virgin throat of yours, mine, Cindy, Ralph Taylor's cock and Ralph 
Taylor's cum, not Howie's, not your husband's ..."

Each of his words were like lashing cuts of a whip to Cindy Jamison. 
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flung her 
hands up to her ears, pressing them hard there and rocking back and 
forth, back and forth. Miraculously, she did not take that final, fatal 
plunge across the line into madness, though she came within a hair's 
breadth of it. Tears welled out of her eyes, rolled down over her ashen 
cheeks, down over her high, quivering, ruby-capped breasts as she 
rocked there on the floor under the salacious gazes of the two 
unfeeling, uncaring men who stood over her.

There had been one more revelation, after all, and it had been the big 
one. Howie, her beloved Howie, the man she trusted and believed in 
above all others, had betrayed her, had plotted with Ralph Taylor to 
swap her for Norma. He had been unfaithful to her, having sex with 
Ralph's wife and at the same time abandoning her to the manager. He had 
taken her great gift, her acquiescence to oral love which she had made 
for him and only him, and flung it back in her face; he had allowed her 
unknown in her alcoholic state to lavish her attentions on the lust-
incited penis of Ralph Taylor instead of on his own.

And what of Norma, the woman who had professed to be a friend and 
confidante? She, too, had been in on the plot from the beginning. She 
hadn't told Ralph about Samuels merely as a way of seeking further 
solace for Cindy; no, she had done it so that Ralph could somehow 
locate the evil postal clerk and join forces with him for more and 
greater depravity. Her words to Cindy about the young blonde wife's 
sexual enjoyment of the perversions at the hands of Steve Samuels, her 
words about forgetting what had happened and not telling Howie or 
anyone else, had not been in Cindy's best interests at all--but in 
Ralph's and hers.

Dear God above, her whole world had collapsed completely and 
irrevocably about her! The people she loved and trusted had sold her 
out ... there was no one left to whom she could turn, no one who cared, 
no one who was unselfish. She was alone, completely alone, her helpless 
body a pawn, a toy, a thing to be used at will ...

And suddenly, then, the tears stopped and the horror and fear and shock 
left her face to be replaced by a wooden expression showing nothing. 
Cindy Jamison stopped thinking altogether, and the liquor and the 
marijuana once more claimed full possession of her mind; it was as if 
her brain, realizing the danger it was in, the danger of snapping like 
a small twig under the tremendous pressure of all that Cindy had 
discovered and been subjected to on this day, had simply shut itself 
off so as to prevent the blowing of the circuits--the way computers are 
programmed to do. She was a lump of clay now, to be handled and molded 
at will.

And yet, the stirrings of passion still flowed through her loins ...

"Listen, how much longer are we going to fuck around here?" Samuels's 
husking voice suddenly filled the room. "Young Mrs. Jamison looks like 
she's gonna pass out or something. Let's get on with it, for Christ's 
sake."

Ralph Taylor looked at the suddenly blank-eyed wife of Howard Jamison, 
then shifted his gaze to where Sally Reagan was still sprawled on the 
sofa, legs splayed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingernails digging 
blood from her thighs as she waited in her own private hell. "All 
right," he said finally. "Get that damned dog of yours in here. The 
camera's all ready to go."

Quickly, eagerly, Steve Samuels whistled high and shrill. A moment 
later, the huge furry form of the postal clerk's great dog, Ringo, 
bounded into the room, tail wagging. The animal went directly to the 
couch, sniffing the wide-splayed womanhood of Sally Reagan familiarly. 
The young black-haired wife gasped, seeming to snap out of her semi-
catatonic state, and she turned her hands, palms outward, to the dog, 
as if to ward off some vicious attack. "No!" she moaned. "Oh, God, no, 
no, not again! I can't stand that dog again, please, ohhh please ...!"

"Shut up, Mrs. Reagan," commanded Samuels. "You'll do what we tell you, 
or else. Now get down on the rug on your knees like the little bitch 
you are. Get down on all fours. Hurry it up!"

The black-haired girl obeyed, body trembling. Ralph Taylor instructed, 
"The same goes for you, Cindy. On all fours, facing Sally. Leave a 
little room between you."

Mesmerically, the hopeless blonde wife obeyed her husband's lascivious 
boss. She knelt facing Sally Reagan, both women beyond any help, beyond 
caring, not looking at one another now. Watching them, Ralph began to 
tremble with growing excitement. It coursed through his thick body, 
making his erect penis throb palpitatingly with anticipation. He looked 
sideways at Samuels. "Take some pictures while I start things off. You 
know how to work a Polaroid, don't you?"

"Sure, but why can't I get down there, too?" whined Samuels. "The 
camera has a timer ..."

"Never mind the timer yet. Just take some pictures, a half dozen of 
them. And they'd better be good."

With that, he stepped forward and went to his knees before the crouched 
figure of Cindy Jamison. He held his hardened cock in his right hand, 
lifting it up close to her face, moving his knees forward so that the 
tip of the immense cudgel almost touched the moist red lips of the 
subjugated young wife. "Open your eyes, Cindy," he commanded. "Look at 
my cock, look at it, look at what you're going to take in your mouth 
for the second time!"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw through her fogged retinas the 
great girth of Ralph Taylor's weapon, saw every ridge and pore of it as 
he moved it back and forth in front of her head like a swaying cobra's 
hood. Her tongue came out involuntarily to moisten her lips as she 
stared at the unseeing eye dripping fluid in the huge hardened head.

"Put your hand on my cock now, Cindy," he told her in a panting voice, 
his legs widespread before her face, and she obeyed mechanically, 
wrapping her hand around his masculinity. A shiver passed through her 
at the touch, unwanted but there nonetheless, and Cindy began to work 
her hand roughly up and down, watching the foreskin pucker over the 
engorged head, then wrap itself over the shaft. With increasing rhythm, 
she stroked Ralph Taylor's cock, staring at it, warmth beginning to 
seep through her loins again.

The automobile executive could take no more of the excruciating 
pleasure of her moving fingers. "Put it in your mouth now, baby! Put my 
cock in your mouth. Suck me, Cindy, oh, Jesus, suck my cock!"

With a groan of sheer animal lust, Taylor moved forward, flexing his 
hips, pressing his hard rubbery masculinity against her soft, moist 
lips, feeling the heavy bloated head resting against them. Cindy tasted 
the familiar bittersweet flavor, and her mouth parted automatically to 
accept the offering of lust, guiding it inside her warm wet cavern with 
her still-stroking hand.

She began to suck him then, suck him as she had that first night at the 
mountain cabin, when she had thought he was her husband, Howard. It 
didn't matter now--her subjugation, her enslavement--nothing mattered 
now, nothing at all. Slowly, agonizingly, she ran her tongue wetly 
around and around the smooth slippery head, easing the tip of her hot 
probe into the open slit of the glans. Her head pumped abandonedly to 
and fro, slavishly licking every inch of the thick shaft, sucking 
harder and harder, her tongue twirling faster and faster, and Taylor's 
buttocks began to flex forward, adding his own movement to her bobbing 
head so that mouth and cock were fucking together, working together, 
like a well-tuned machine. Cindy could feel the seminally flowing shaft 
batter back against her larynx, but she was unable to halt the intense 
ramming pressure there, her lips ovaling maddeningly as she attempted 
to suck the hot white load of sperm from her husband's boss's testicles 
like an electric milking machine ...

Focusing through the Polaroid, Steve Samuels snapped off another 
picture. Goddamn look at the way she's blowing him! he thought wild 
with passion and wanting desperately to join in this debauching of the 
young wives himself. She's giving it everything she's got! Oh, Christ, 
what a night this is going to be! But Mrs. Reagan, the bitch, isn't 
doing anything, just kneeling there like a sleeping pup ... well, I 
know something she can do, something that'll make a great shot ...

"Mrs. Reagan!" he called out, and her head jerked up, swiveling toward 
him. Her face was only inches from Ralph Taylor's heaving buttocks as 
he drove his cock deep and hard into the soft fleshy folds of Cindy 
Jamison's mouth. "Mrs. Reagan, lean forward and kiss his ass! You heard 
me, do it! Kiss his ass, Mrs. Reagan! Lick his asshole with your 
tongue!"

There was no protest, for Sally Reagan was as empty of feeling now as 
was Cindy Jamison; even this further inequity, this further depravity, 
failed to faze her. She craned her head forward, her moist lips parted, 
and began to plant hot fevered kisses on the jerking, hirsute flesh of 
Ralph Taylor's buttocks. Then her tongue was extending, moving over the 
fleshy surface, into the pronounced crevice between the heavy globes, 
down lower, lower, until it found what it sought: the tiny puckered 
ring of his anal opening. Round and round she licked the nether 
entrance, flicking over the rubbery flesh, darting inside wetly, 
licking up and down, up and down, with moist hot fervor ...

Ralph felt the impossibly exciting contact of tongue and lips at his 
rectum, and sensations of acute desire caused him to heave and buck 
harder and harder into the ovaling lips, the now perspiring face, of 
his star salesman's wife. Her hot, wet tongue seemed wrapped around the 
thick underside of his cock, from the coronal ridges, sticky and 
protruding from its foreskin almost to the wire-haired base. It was 
like fucking into the softest velvet, like having your prick immersed 
in warm, soft, flowing honey ...

Click! Click! Click! Steve Samuels took pictures feverishly, taking the 
Polaroid from the tripod now so that he could get better angles. Sweat 
poured off him like rainwater. Half-a-dozen, the big bastard named 
Ralph had said. All right, and maybe a couple more, too! Ones with him, 
using the timer ... ones with Ringo ...

Ringo! He had all but forgotten his huge German Shepherd in the 
excitement of the lust-provoking sight of Mrs. Jamison wildly sucking 
Ralph's prick while Mrs. Reagan slavered between his dancing, heaving 
buttocks. Ringo had to have his turn, Ringo had to join in ... Ringo 
had to sample little Mrs. Cindy Jamison! Yes, that was it! The dog had 
never had her before, had never shoved its hot animal cock far up into 
that young bitch's twitching pussy ... but now Ringo was going to have 
that opportunity!

Still clutching the Polaroid, Samuels rushed forward to where the well-
trained German Shepherd sat on its haunches by the couch, long red 
tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, watching the carnal 
activities with eyes that, on a human, would have been feverishly 
excited. The venereous government employee grasped the dog's collar, 
pulled it around to where the smooth rounded cheeks of Mrs. Cindy 
Jamison's buttocks beat rhythmically at the air as she sucked 
voraciously, mindlessly, the cock of her hung husband's boss.

"Get her, Ringo! Get her, boy!" he excitedly spat the lewd command. 
"Lick her cunt! Fuck her, fuck, fuck, fuck! Go, Ringo, fuck her with 
your big dog cock!"

Panting, the great animal moved forward, between the blond-haired young 
wife's widespread legs. It lowered its head to the helpless Cindy's 
soft, hair-covered crotch and began to sniff it. Its tail wagged and 
trembled as though it had found a bitch in heat. Cindy moaned in sudden 
terror and understanding as the cold nose made contact with her tiny, 
puckered anus, as the long tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and 
down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer 
fleshy anal ring.

Her eyes jerked open again, and she tried to pull Ralph Taylor's penis 
from her mouth, tried to twist around so that she could confirm her 
fears, but the manager's hands were wrapped in her soft blond hair, 
holding her rigid where she was. She tried to squirm her buttocks away 
from the hot breath, the hot animal contact, but it was useless; a 
greedy lapping moved up and down the narrow pink slit between her 
thighs, tongue running wetly the full length of it, from the tight-
closed little pucker, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and 
over the tiny sensation bud buried in her pubic mound, spreading 
through the soft, hair-covered lips like a knife through soft butter.

Noo! her mind cried with brief rationality. No it's that dog, I can 
feel its cold nose, its huge head, its hot tongue ... oh, God, oh, God, 
no, no, not that, not that animal inside me, noooo!

But it was true, it was going to happen, and there was nothing she 
could do to prevent this bestiality from being vented upon her flesh. 
This was the final physical indignation, heaped upon the final mental 
indignation; she was about to be stripped of everything sacred and 
sacrosanct, everything innocent and clean, in this single night of 
overwhelming debauchery.

Ringo's tongue flicked relentlessly between the young wife's widespread 
legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her. She jerked 
spasmodically as she squirmed under the German Shepherd lapping and 
sniffing at her loins, her mouth working defensively, feverishly, 
around Ralph Taylor's bloated prick, giving him a sucking like he had 
never had before even by his so very-experienced wife, Norma. He heaved 
and thrust his thundering member into the sweet, soft face of Cindy 
Jamison, his eyes glassily watching the huge beast rummage its head 
between the sweet wife's legs. Look at that bastard go! He's going to 
give her a ride she'll never forget as long as she lives! Oh, Christ, I 
hope Samuels gets some shots of this ... Norma will never believe it 
otherwise! He moaned and thrust still harder forward, fucking deep into 
the face of the subjugated young housewife, as the black-haired Sally 
Reagan flicked her tongue into the warm rubbery sphincter muscles of 
his clenching asshole, breathing hotly against his quivering buttocks.

The venereous postal clerk clicked off another Polaroid photo, getting 
the wide-angle shot of the two women and Ralph and Ringo moving 
abandonedly on the threadbare carpet. One more, he thought, one more of 
Ringo fucking Mrs. Jamison with his long hard cock and then I'll set 
the timer and join in ... I can't take much more of this watching ... 
my balls are damned near set to erupt!

"Ringo, up!" he shouted. "Up, Ringo! Fuck her, boy, fuck that sweet 
little cunt of hers!"

The dog lifted its head from the defenseless young wife's wide-splayed 
crotch, then, and obediently mounted the widespread mounds of Cindy 
Jamison's buttocks, paws on her back. Its glistening, scarlet penis 
slipped from its huge sheath, dripping; the tapered point slipped and 
danced in the hot, wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked, 
trying to bury the tapered point and thick shaft in her body.

Sobbing now, her belly afire with washes of passion from the lappings 
of the great beast, and in spite of her tortured thoughts, Cindy 
Jamison whipped her buttocks back against the sawing motions of the 
German Shepherd, trying to escape the desperate lunges of the animal. 
But instead, she succeeded only in finally capturing the lengthening 
shaft, in sheathing the long, scarlet organ in her voraciously grasping 
cuntal slit. It missed the first time, sliding up to find her 
momentarily relaxed anus, and then found its target with a tremendous 
forward jerk, burying the huge cudgel deep up in the squirming young 
wife's pink, clasping hole. The beast slithered forward with a wet rush 
until its cock was sunk to the hilt, its hairy balls swinging below her 
wet pubic hair.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" wailed Cindy in pain around Taylor's spasmodically 
quivering cock pressed far down her soft, warm throat.

Defensively, the pain of the huge member invading her pussy almost too 
much to bear, Cindy began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the 
thrust of the panting dog. As the forelegs trapped her waist, Cindy 
began to undulate her body in total abandonment, unable to elude the 
brutal thrusting pressure of the bucking Ringo and thus retaliating in 
the only way possible. Her large, taut breasts danced tightly beneath 
her writhing torso, moving in time to the skewering cock of the dog as 
it slid deep into her from behind, a relentless hot poker of glistening 
flesh burying itself deeper and deeper in her belly--and her mouth 
sucked and nibbled and enveloped the heavy, bloated penis of Ralph 
Taylor as he thrust long and hard into her sweating face.

The trembling postal clerk, Steve Samuels, snapped off his one final 
shot with the Polaroid, a lewd full-color shot of the panting, 
undulating orgy which was being performed right before his lusting 
eyes. He tore out the negative, waiting, counting, his cock an aching 
mass of throbbing flesh as he longed to join the wildly performing 
group on the rug, longed to shove his immense cudgel deep, deep into 
the quivering, upturned, clasping asshole of young Sally Reagan as she 
licked and kissed the writhing buttocks of Ralph Taylor.

Finally, the picture was ready and he tore it off the negative. 
Perfect! His spasming fingers fitted the Polaroid onto the tripod, set 
the timer, clicked it on. Now! Now it was his turn to get some of the 
delicious fucking and sucking that was going on right in his own living 
room!

He rushed forward, his cock held in his right hand like a battering 
spear about to be thrust all the way through the body of an advancing 
enemy. He dropped to his knees behind the swirling, naked form of Sally 
Reagan, teasing the hard rubbery head of his prick along the warm, 
grasping anal opening. Then he inserted the head quickly inside, 
hearing her gasp at the sudden painful invasion. He held himself there 
for a moment, then hissed to the young black-haired girl, "Reach one of 
your hands around and play with Ralph's balls while you're licking his 
asshole. Hurry up, the timer's going off any second now!"

Sally obeyed immediately, her right hand sliding up and around to cup 
the swinging, bloated sac of the automobile executive's testicles, 
squeezing them gently and causing him to moan in total lustful 
abandonment as he pile-drove his great cock into the butter-soft mouth 
of his star salesman's wife. And then there was a sharp click from the 
Polaroid on its tripod, and the flash went off, capturing the four 
mouth-and-genital-linked people and the wildly, pantingly bucking 
German Shepherd.

"Great shot, great shot!" moaned Samuels, aching to heave forward to 
bury his long hard cock deep up into the bowels of the squirming, 
mewling Sally Reagan. But he had to get that picture, had to, it was 
the best one of them all and he would want a copy of that one, Jesus 
yes! He withdrew the head of his cock, went to the camera, pulled the 
negative out, counting. When the picture was ready, he took one look at 
it, gloated elatedly, and then rushed back to his former position 
behind the still pumping buttocks of the young black-haired girl. He 
fitted his great cock into her rectal opening again, poising the head 
there, and then he heaved forward with a sharp exultant cry to 
completely impale her tightly resisting anal passage on his hard 
jabbing prick.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhh!" she cried out in pain, her hand convulsively squeezing 
Taylor's bloated testicles, her tongue convulsively sliding deep into 
his anus. The electric contact caused Ralph to hammer even harder and 
deeper into Cindy Jamison's convoluting lips, his hands threatening to 
pull strands of her soft blond hair out by the roots in his paroxysms 
of passion. Even the great dog, Ringo, seemed to be driven on to new 
heights by the addition of his master, the evil Steve Samuels, to the 
orgiastic group, and was fucking long and hard with its slippery, hot 
cock into the moist flanges of young Cindy's clasping cunt.

All thoughts of photographs were gone from the minds of the two men now 
as they sought to relieve themselves of their great build-up of sperm. 
Their excitement had reached the pinnacle now, from what they had seen 
and arranged and slowly become a part of, and now their only 
considerations were the spewing of their fiery seed deep into the 
respective bodies of these two nakedly voluptuous young housewives.

Cindy Jamison's forehead was covered with thick beads of perspiration 
as she buffeted back and forth between the two invading penises 
imbedded in her either end, in her mouth and her anus. There was no 
escape from either one, for when she heaved forward to alleviate the 
pressure of the hammering dog's cock sunk far up into her belly, she 
only succeeded in thrusting Ralph Taylor's huge pulsating penis further 
down her throat--and when she drew back from the masculine cock filling 
her mouth, to keep from choking, she only skewered herself harder back 
on the pistoning rod of the huge furry dog.

She had no control of her mind now, no control of her body. And in her 
belly, hot rivers of excitement were flowing, spiraling through her 
flesh, causing her to tingle all over as if every one of her nerve ends 
had suddenly been exposed. l like it, oh, God help me, I like this, I'm 
excited by it, I'm excited and I want to cum ... These were her only 
thoughts, frightening thoughts, as the fires leapt higher and higher in 
her body, as the hammering pricks of dog and man in two of her bodily 
orifices sent her soaring toward an unwanted and yet desperately 
sought-after orgasm. Her suckling lips tried to shout words, 
unintelligible words of encouragement to bring about the simultaneous 
ejaculations of all three of them, and of Sally Reagan and Steve 
Samuels whom she could see behind Ralph Taylor's rhythmically swaying 
torso. She wanted to be filled with sperm, animal sperm and human 
sperm, and in her drugged and hopeless madness that was all that 
mattered. She was little more than a quivering mass of sweating, lust-
deranged female flesh that begged for subjugation so that the 
subjugation would come to an end, grinding her buttocks back in lewd 
revelry against the panting beast whose cock was sunk so deep in her 
warm, clasping channel, trying with her very soul to draw the hot 
torrents of cum out of Ralph Taylor's long hard cock filling her madly 
sucking mouth.

Steve Samuels could see the incredible gyrations which had now 
enveloped Cindy Jamison's body, and he thought: Son of a bitch, she 
actually is enjoying it! She likes Ringo fucking her cunt while Ralph 
fucks her mouth! She's going to cum, oh, Jesus, I can tell it, she's 
going to cum ...!

The salacious realization drove the venereous civil servant to greater 
hammerings of his great cock deep into the tight, clasping channel of 
Sally Reagan's rectal passage. She rolled and flung her buttocks back 
against his forward-driving shaft, feeling it deep up in her belly, and 
her tongue sunk itself full into the tight rubberiness of Ralph 
Taylor's anus as Samuels's prick was sunk full into hers. Taylor cried 
out at the delicious torment of his rectum, at the tickling 
manipulations of the black-haired girl's fingers on his testicles, and 
his heaving loins threatened to strangle Cindy Jamison with the 
expanded girth of palpitating cock sliding almost down to her larynx. 
And the great German Shepherd Ringo, at the other end of the chain, 
lolled its long wet hotly panting tongue onto the smooth skin of 
Cindy's back as it strove to pump its fiery animal seed deep into the 
blonde young wife's waiting, clasping womb.

And the tableau held like that for the next two minutes, the two men 
and the two women and the grunting, monstrous dog. The room was filled 
with panting and wheezing sounds, with the moans of the women as their 
bodily orifices were hammered asunder by the three rampaging cocks, 
with the harsh, wet slapping sounds of flesh thudding against flesh. 
Sweat glistened in the overhead lights off the naked, undulating 
bodies, and the smell of sex was strong and musky in the air.

Steve Samuels was the first of them to reach orgasm. He fucked deep and 
long and hard into the warmly resilient, tightly clenched anus of Sally 
Reagan, feeling the rubbery expanse wrapped around every inch of his 
hardened flesh--and then his fingers dug painfully into her hips, the 
nails drawing blood there, as he was no longer able to control himself, 
as he felt his balls erupt their great load. "I'm cumming, ohhhhhhh, 
aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed in a high-pitched wail, and then his 
prick began to jerk out of control and the first hot boiling squirts of 
semen began to pour out of it to fill the black-haired girl's rectal 
channel as his ejaculating balls slammed resoundingly off the wet 
cuntal valley below. The sudden bursting of his fiery cum into her 
bowels caused Sally Reagan to flash her tongue sensuously in and out, 
in and out, of Ralph Taylor's ever working rectal mouth as if it, too, 
were about to cum, as if she were actually fucking him there with the 
long wet probe.

Taylor couldn't hold back after that. He emitted a loud, grunting sigh 
of release, jamming his hips forward with the full power of his thick 
body, burying his cock deep into the subjugated and lovely young wife's 
soft, warm mouth. Her throat tightened and untightened as gusher after 
gusher of his burning fluid swirled from his wildly jerking rod, 
swallowing desperately to keep from strangling on the frothing sperm, 
her cheeks bloating and hollowing as the cavern of her mouth filled and 
emptied, filled and emptied.

"Keep sucking, keep succcckkkiinngggg!" he screamed. "MILK my balls, 
oooohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Her Adam's apple continued to bob in rapid sequence as she fought to 
suck him empty, swirling her tongue round and round the throbbing glans 
to wipe him dry, only to be inundated by new flashes of the white hot 
liquid. Cindy twisted her head madly from side to side, her long blond 
hair churning, and her own orgasm was near to happening then as she 
milked the sperm from her husband's boss's cock, at the same time 
screwing her buttocks greedily back against the heaving German Shepherd 
like a she-demon gone insane. The giant animal's tongue hanging onto 
her sweat-slick back dripped saliva as Ringo fucked into the waving 
buttocks from behind. Then, without warning, the huge beast jerked 
forward and its cock began spitting its sperm in hard spurts deep into 
her clasping vagina. Cindy's rounded buttocks contracted 
uncontrollably, and a scream muffled out around Taylor's insanely 
jerking cock in her mouth. Still the German Shepherd flowed his fiery 
load deep into her soft, clasping cunt, and thick white liquid began to 
ooze from her tight channel squeezing the prick of the dog; thin trails 
of the sticky seed ran down the ivory columns of her thighs, and her 
backside glistened, displaying obscenely soaked pubic hair and pink 
flesh as she heaved forward against Ralph's loins, swallowing his 
bursting cum the same way her feminine organs were swallowing the giant 
dog's seed.

And then, as if the mutual cummings of the German Shepherd and the 
automobile executive were the final trigger of her own coming orgasm, 
Cindy felt the beginnings of wild, rapturous, kaleidoscopic release 
take hold of her own body. She gurgled mindlessly and squealed around 
Ralph's spasming prick, still swallowing his seemingly never ending 
flow of sticky hot sperm, trying not to lose a single drop of the 
bittersweet seed. She reached a pinnacle of pleasure almost as great as 
any she had ever experienced with Howard, with the man she loved, as 
her cum flowed and flowed and ebbed through her trembling, oscillating 
body ...

Finally, the rapidly deflating cock of the dog, Ringo, slipped from her 
mauled cuntal passage with a wet sucking noise that echoed lewdly 
through the panting silence of the room. Then the great beast, tail 
wagging thankfully and satiatedly, dropped its head to her widespread 
crotch in one last act of obscene depravity and licked at the white 
sticky liquid oozing from her still quivering cunt. Cindy fell backward 
then, comatose on the floor, Ralph Taylor's already limp prick pulling 
wetly from her mouth. Taylor, too, collapsed in the aftermath of his 
tremendous ejaculation, muttering softly, "Oh, Jesus, that was the best 
ever, oh, Jesus!" And Sally Reagan and Steve Samuels, too, were now 
lying prone on the carpet as the heaving naked flesh of the four people 
gradually began to still and relax.

But that was not to be the end of the evening, not by any stretch of 
the imagination. Later, Cindy Jamison could not remember much of what 
had happened--she did not want to remember, for what she did recollect 
was too terrible and she immediately blanked it from her mind 
defensively. More pictures were taken, with groups of three and four 
and five, with the dog Ringo as the focal point. More cocks were thrust 
into the palpitating flesh of Cindy and Sally, jerking, ejaculating 
cocks ... and there was pleasure for the young blonde wife too, more 
pleasure, exciting orgasms that almost but not quite approximated that 
one with Ringo, the German Shepherd, cumming inside her cunt while 
Ralph Taylor spewed his fiery seed deep into her hungrily clasping 
throat. On and on it went, far into the night, almost until dawn, until 
all the participants in this lewd play were too exhausted to continue, 
until Ralph Taylor finally told Steve Samuels that they would have to 
call it a night, though he was sure that they would be seeing one 
another again ...

Cindy Jamison, sick at soul, with human and animal seed commingling in 
her body that had been pumped in through all three of her bodily 
orifices, satiated with hateful, unwanted sexual gratification, never 
knew how she got home. She did not feel Ralph Taylor dress her and 
carry her out to where his car was parked at the rear of the postal 
clerk's house, and then drive her to her cottage. Nor did she feel 
Ralph carry her into the house and put her to bed, and then kiss her 
matted pubic mound once, smilingly, before he left her.

She only knew that when she awoke, with the first gray light of dawn 
filtering through the bedroom curtains, she was alone and in her own 
bed.



Chapter 9


Cindy was lying in the darkened bedroom, staring at the ceiling and 
trying to blank her mind against the recurring images of what had 
happened in the home of Steve Samuels, when the telephone rang at four 
o'clock the next afternoon.

She lay there, stiffly listening to the incessant ringing sound, not 
wanting to answer it, not wanting to talk to anyone. But then, with the 
ingrained instinct of all humans to answer the doorbell or the 
telephone when it rings finally overcoming her apathy, she swung out of 
bed and listlessly shrugged into her robe. She moved slowly into the 
living room, her body aching from bruises in a half-dozen places, her 
vagina and anal passage still sore and rubbed raw from the merciless 
drubbing of the lust-hardened penises of Steve Samuels and Ralph Taylor 
and that impossible German Shepherd.

The soul-sick young wife lifted the receiver, cutting the bell off in 
mid-ring, and said lifelessly, "Hello?"

"Cindy? Honey, is that you?"

Howard. I don't want to talk to him, she thought. l don't want to ever 
see or talk to him again, I hate him, I hate him for what he's done to 
me, what he's made me become. But instead of slamming the receiver 
down, she pressed it tightly to her ear, as if her physical being was 
acting in direct disobedience to the demands of her brain. She said, 
"Yes, Howie, it's me."

"You sound funny," Howard's voice came over the wire. "Are you all 
right?"

"I'm fine, just fine," she replied. "Where are you, Howie?"

"Still in Monterey." His tone lost its momentary concern, and became 
edged with excitement and eagerness. "Honey, are you sitting down? I've 
got some news that's going to shock the pants right off of you." He 
laughed with boyish verve.

I've got some news that will do the same for you, Howie, Cindy thought. 
But I'll never tell it to you. I hate you, and yet l still love you, 
too ... I love you too much to tell you about your boss Ralph Taylor, 
and about Steve Samuels, and about that dog ...

She said only, "What is it, Howie? What news do you have?"

"Well, hang onto the telephone," said Howard enthusiastically, his 
words jumbling together in his excitement. "I met a man here in 
Monterey, at this meeting I attended. His name is Charley Dawes, and he 
owns a large auto dealership up in San Francisco. Well, we got to 
talking and then got to be pretty good friends, and I outlined some 
ideas I've got for a promotional deal. He liked them, honey; he thought 
they were really great! He's offered me a job, Cindy, and not just any 
job either! He wants me to manage his main lot, in South San Francisco, 
for almost double what I'm making at Auto Circus! What do you think of 
that!"

Cindy was momentarily taken aback. A new job? In San Francisco? But 
that meant ...

Howard was talking again, bubbling happily. "Of course, this means 
we'll have to move up there, leave all our friends down here. And we'll 
have to go immediately, too, because Charley wants me to start as soon 
as possible. I hate to have to give such short notice to Ralph and 
Buddy Lathrop--they've been damned decent to me--but if I want the job 
I don't have any choice. And it's just too good an opportunity to pass 
up. What do you think, honey? You don't mind moving up to San 
Francisco, do you?"

Cindy wanted to laugh, to scream hysterically at him that my God, no, 
she didn't mind! It was an out, an escape from Ralph and Norma Taylor, 
from her mailing indiscretions with the Postal Department, from the 
evil, depraved Steve Samuels and his monstrous dog! She was going to 
have another chance, a chance to start over, to blot these terrible 
past few weeks from her mind ... and yes, a chance to pick up the 
shattered pieces of her marriage to Howard. She still loved him--there 
was such a fine line between love and hate--loved him desperately, in 
spite of what he had done to her. She would never tell him what had 
happened, that she had learned he was unfaithful to her and that he had 
willfully given her flesh and her gift of oral love to his boss, Ralph 
Taylor. They would begin anew in San Francisco, loving only each other, 
away from the evil influence of the Taylors; all was not lost for her, 
after all!

Cindy felt stirrings of life inside her body once again, where there 
had been only deadness since she had awakened that morning. She was not 
happy--no, it would take a long time before that emotion would be a 
part of her again--but she was alive and she had hope. She had hope ...

"I don't mind it at all, Howie. I think it's a wonderful idea, a 
marvelous idea. I want to move to San Francisco, I want to very much. I 
agree that it's a wonderful opportunity for us."

"Fine isn't the word for it!" enthused Howard. "Imagine, baby, your old 
man a Lot Manager! And that's only the beginning. Why, in a couple of 
years I could get to be General Manager, and then, if things work out, 
I might have enough pull and prestige to be able to branch out and open 
up my own agency ...

"Howie," Cindy interrupted softly, "Howie, when will you be home? I 
want to see you, Howie. I want to talk to you face to face."

"I'll be leaving here about seven; have to meet Charley for drinks at 
five to talk contracts and iron out the details. But I wanted to call 
you before I went, to see if it was all right."

"Then you'll be home around nine?"

"Should be, uh-huh."

"Hurry, won't you?"

"You bet I will," Howard said. "I love you."

"Yes, Howie," said Cindy, and gently broke the connection.

She walked with her head up now, back into the bedroom, and sat down on 
the edge of the bed. A new life ... a return to some semblance of the 
kind of existence they had had before that awful anniversary gift of 
the Taylors, the Polaroid camera ... a new life, and everything was 
going to be all right for her and Howard in San Francisco ...

And then Cindy Jamison's eyes moved inadvertently to the other side of 
the darkened bedroom, and fell upon the black-cased Polaroid camera 
which lay on Howard's dresser. She stared at it for a long moment, and 
as she did, a tingling sensation began in her loins and in her mind 
there flashed the images of photographs, full-color snapshots of her 
nude and making love to Howard, to Ralph Taylor, to Steve Samuels, to 
the dog, Ringo ... sharp in detail, these photos in her mind, clear and 
vivid and exciting, setting her afire, building her desires ...

Suddenly, Cindy Jamison was afraid again. A new life? Yes, that much 
was true ... but what kind of new life? Was it to be as she had 
pictured talking to Howie on the telephone, a return to their blissful 
existence of before? Or was it to be something else, an entirely 
different kind of new life, one which was founded on emancipation and 
the fulfillment of sexual desire no matter how depraved and the total 
abandonment of self to the pleasures of the flesh? A life of 
photographs, and exchange clubs, of wife swapping and worse? Which one 
would it be?

The first one, the young housewife thought fervently. The first one, 
just Howie and I together, no dirty pictures and no evil swapping, 
nothing except each other rebuilding our love and our trust in one 
another. Yes, that's the one it will be, I know it.

And yet, in spite of her resolve, Cindy Jamison could not seem to take 
her eyes off the Polaroid camera laying ominously on the dresser across 
the room ... as though ... as though, it too, in time to come, might 
have something to say about the matter ...


The End
