Little Boy Lover
by Clifton Ryder


Chapter 1 

True summer was a late arrival to Paeifica Woods. After months of generally 
overcast, grey skies, the golds and blues and greens of early August were 
burgeoning forth with such beauty, in such a splendid array of hues and 
shadows, that it seemed as if all the best summers everywhere had rallied 
for a grand annual showing along that stretch of coast. 

The sea was a bright turquoise, the waves flashing like shattering quartz on 
the rocks and beaches. Gulls and hawks circled slowly overhead, drifting 
dots riding the high tides of air. It was an idyllic setting for the half 
dozen or so homes nestled among the pines and cypresses bending and swaying 
with the wind. 

Elevated slightly above the other homes in the area, Marty and Inger White's 
rambling redwood house perched in a dense stand of forest on one of the 
lower slopes of Springer Mountain. Not the most expensive structure in 
Pacifica Woods, it was nevertheless surrounded by blazing wildflowers and 
had a unique, private charm. Also, because of its higher vantage-point, it 
afforded a spectacular view of the ocean. Marty and Inger often sat by the 
enormous picture-window that constituted almost the entire front of the 
house, peering through binoculars at whales cavorting and blowing as they 
passed by during spring migration. 

The living room was quiet, deserted, a medley of orange and red shafts of 
sunset streaming through the window to cast fire on the glass and all the 
polished surfaces in the room. From the main bedroom, situated in the rear 
of the house, a series of moans and grunts contrasted the mute quality of 
the hour. 

A short while later, Marty and Inger entered the room carrying freshly mixed 
cocktails. They were still naked and breathing hard from their lovemaking in 
the back bedroom. Inger, a strikingly beautiful blond of twenty-six, seated 
herself on the arm of an overstuffed chair near the window. She sipped her 
drink contemplatively, brooding as the sun caught her hair and turned her 
fair skin a rich golden color. Her finely-molded facial features and 
complexion would cause even strangers to guess that she was Danish. Only her 
impeccable English would befuddle them when they learned that she-had been 
in America only three years. 

Glancing down at the symmetry of her long rounded legs, she realized all 
over again how really beautiful she was-her full breasts high and firm, the 
nipples light brown; tummy flat, narrow, sloping faultlessly into the 
tawny-haired pubic mound; buttocks stark white, perfect circles of soft yet 
taut flesh. Still, though, how was it possible, she asked herself, that her 
husband had proved to be such a boring perfunctory lover during most of 
their two years of marriage? When he did not simply mount her for a 
maddeningly quick union, just long enough to work himself to orgasm, he 
insisted on insulting her with playing a game that he was someone else, 
someone animal-like, to whip himself into a frenzy of passion. She wondered 
why he could not accept sex for itself, as a wholesome natural function, as 
she had been taught in Denmark. After all, he was still young, only 
forty-one, and had been careful to keep his body solid and in fine trim. She 
could find no excuse for his selfishness-which frustrated her more than he 
knew-nor for his humiliating mental masquerades when he was pounding his 
loins against hers. And yet he loved her, she knew, despite his lewd sex 
fantasies and fondness of ridiculing her in his cruel inimitable way. 

"What's the matter, baby?" he asked coolly, interrupting her thoughts. 
"Don't tell me you've got acid indigestion again, because you didn't cum?" 

"Oh please, Martin, can't you just for once stop poking fun at our sex life? 
And besides, I hardly think it's all my fault when I don't- as you put 
it-'cum'... I should think you'd spend a little more time worrying about my 
satisfaction and ... Oh, just forget it." 

"Supposing," suggested Marty, beginning his game again, "that I were an 
aborigine, a stinking husky brute of a savage, who came to ravage you every 
time the moon was full. Then, my love, would you be satisfied? When she 
refused to answer and looked away, out the window, he let his eyes roam over 
her naked contours, the smoothness of her high-set breasts, the delicious 
curves of her hips disappearing into her tiny wisp of a waist. She was woman 
enough for any one man. His eyes flicked lower to the enticingly rounded, 
ivory-sheened lips that led to the sweep of her thighs. He could see clearly 
the fleshy pinkness of her vaginal slit glistening wetly through the 
softness of her pubic hair in the waning twilight. 

"Marty," she began, "I know you don't take my painting to be very important, 
but-" 

"But what?" he broke in. "What's painting got to do with a piece of ass? Now 
look, my little Nordic genius, I'm well aware of the praise and 
encouragement you've received from other painters-most of whom want only to 
lay you- but I think it's bad taste to discuss art and fucking together. 
Anyway, I doubt your hot-blooded aborigine warrior would be terribly 
stimulated by textures and color values." He knew she would be upset by his 
sarcastic references to her painting but could not contain himself when 
there was the least opportunity to air his wit. 

"If you're finished," Inger sighed, "I'll tell you what's on my mind. I need 
a male model preferably young, to study and maybe even use as a figure in 
several paintings I'll include in my upcoming exhibition." She turned to 
look imploringly into his eyes, hoping he would understand the real extent 
of her anxiousness. 

"Well, if that's all you want, there's no problem," he said, his voice 
softening in recognition of her sincerity. "I'll stop by Rocky Cliff Inn 
tomorrow And speak with the manager about hiring one of his boys. The 
after-school help should be finished work by two-thirty-I think that's when 
the shift ends-which means that you'd have almost three hours of good light 
while the boy poses." 

"Oh darling, do you mean it! I can have a model?" 

"Why not? You don't seem to want an aborigine... And that reminds me, baby-I 
guess I'd better remedy that dissatisfaction you feel." He rose and crossed 
the room to where she sat still beaming happily, looking more beautiful than 
ever. He knelt then and caught her legs, his palms clamping against the soft 
insides of her thighs as she giggled and struggled half-heartedly in an 
attempt to free herself. She could see him haunched down on his knees 
between her wide-spread thighs, grinning up at her through the deep valley 
of her proud upstanding breasts like a depraved madman. The pink moist flesh 
of her exposed cunt was presented up to his leering face in an attitude of 
sacrifice. She lay back on the arm of the chair and felt a brief flash of 
alarm when it occurred to her that perhaps his expression was not part of a 
game but real. 

She watched his tongue slowly circling his lips in eager anticipation of the 
ravishment about to take place. He moved closer, placing his thumbs on the 
soft fleshy flanges of her cunt. Then, with a deliberately slow, torturing 
outward movement, he slowly drew apart the hair-lined lips of her pussy and 
pressed his mouth against her, his long slippery tongue darting snake-like 
into the throbbing warmth of her belly. Her stomach rolled and felt a 
convulsive spasm of delight course up and down her spine as he sucked wildly 
and nibbled at her erect clitoris with the sharp tips of his teeth. 

"Oh eat me, darling, eat me up!" she groaned suddenly, watching with 
fascination as his head bobbed with the effort of his assault. She whimpered 
and threw back her head on the top of the chair, her hands clutching 
unashamedly at his face to pull him tighter against her squirming cunt as 
the wet sucking noises filled her ears. He reached up then and placed both 
hands on her heaving, hard-nippled breasts, his wide shoulders and upper 
arms prying her legs even further apart. As his mouth and tongue worked in 
bestial subjugation at the lusciousness of her hungry, widely flowered 
vagina, his eyes remained open wide, watching with vulgar excitement the 
grotesque contortions of her face. 

"Good, eh? Isn't it good to have an ignorant savage sucking and slobbering 
at your little cunt-hole?" he asked pantingly, a crazed glassy look in his 
eyes. Her hips ground involuntarily forward, burying the flicking tongue to 
its roots, as he renewed his obscene attack. She was powerless to fight it, 
the unrelenting thrill that rocked her very soul, even though she felt 
simultaneous revulsion at the vile meaning behind his words. Then fire 
replaced her sense of wounded dignity ... everything. Seldom had she felt so 
utterly wanton with him. 

"Well, isn't it?" he demanded, once again pulling away his wet trembling 
mouth to ask the question. 

"Ooooooh, yessss!" she wailed, splaying her legs wider and wider to give him 
greater access. Inger's mind was lost in a flood of ecstasy. Every muscle 
she possessed was tensed as she strained her hips upward toward the sensuous 
probe between her legs. Her up-drawn thighs opened and closed around the 
tormenting head that was licking gluttonously at her steaming cunt. She 
kicked her heels against his back, spurring him on to suck harder, harder, 
until there came a rushing in her ears, a great resounding and echoing 
torrent of sound. The cords of her long graceful neck stood out as she 
pulled with all her strength against the tangled hair of his head. 

"Oh God, I'm almost there! Don't stop, please!" she pleaded. At that moment, 
just as the sweet flow of emotion and sensual abandonment was nearing its 
crest, she saw an ugly lascivious grin twist his lips and change him almost 
miraculously into a stranger. Suddenly her writhing excited body switched 
off as though someone had pushed a button at the center of her senses. She 
was swamped with a feeling of disgust and groaned in anguish at the sight of 
her own husband kneeling with his face buried between her legs, pretending 
that he was really the raw primitive barbarian he thought he must be to stir 
her hunger for his body. 

"Oh darling, stop, stop!" she sobbed, struggling to loosen his fierce grip 
on her breasts and squirm away from him. "This is no good, not this way... 
It's degrading to both of us!" 

"Don't hand me that shit... Come on!" he said angrily, between breaths, 
fighting to open her clenched thighs and continue his lurid punishment of 
her still throbbing vagina. Then, mustering all her strength, she jerked 
violently away from him and walked to the other side of the room, stopping 
next to the kitchen entrance, where she stood wordlessly and stared at the 
floor. Marty remained for a few moments in his kneeling position, then 
sighed and climbed up to seat himself in the chair she had vacated. He also 
stared down, a sheepish, guilty look on his face, his penis now rapidly 
deflating and finally falling like a wounded creature to rest on the 
velvet-covered cushion beneath him. After what seemed an eternity, he raised 
his head and opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing and lowered his 
eyes again in an attitude of distant thought. Knowing how painfully 
humiliated Marty must feel after her outburst and then the abrupt halt she 
had brought to his perverted game, Inger felt her heart swell with pity. She 
ransacked her mind for something comforting to say. 

"What would you like for dinner?" she finally asked, her voice breaking the 
long embarrassing silence. But he seemed not to hear her and continued to 
peer down between his legs, his gaze fixed on something secret and faraway. 
Then, without warning, he straightened up with a wry, self-satisfied smile 
brightening his face. 

"Well now, let's see... What would a good warrior have for dinner?" he asked 
musingly. "How about some fried monkey balls and ant sauce? And yes, maybe a 
small bottle of kangaroo wine to liven up my palate... How does that sound? 
Or is the wonderful white queen even willing to feed a mere primitive 
selfish beast such as her husband?" 

Refusing to acknowledge his sadistic sarcasm, Inger quickly turned and 
disappeared into the kitchen. As she slammed shut the door she heard him 
chuckle contemptuously. 

 Chapter 2 

The next morning at eleven o'clock, Marty telephoned Inger to inform her 
that he had kept good his promise to stop at Rocky Cliff Inn and speak with 
the manager. Yes, she could have her model, a boy of eighteen named Chuck. 
According to the manager, Chuck was a remarkably strong lad, not very bright 
but honest and exceptionally well-built. He would be knocking on her door by 
no later than three that afternoon-just as soon as he finished his chores at 
the inn. 

Inger's anger at Marty changed almost immediately to a feeling of warmth and 
genuine gratitude. She bustled about the house, singing to herself as she 
cleaned and moved furniture in preparation for the boy's arrival. Everything 
must be just right, she thought happily, especially since this would be her 
first really private session with a hired model. She got out new pencils, 
charcoal and sketching paper, all of which she placed carefully on the 
sturdy rectangular board supported by her easel. But what should she wear? 
It was a silly question, she decided... Of course she should wear something 
practical, something cool because it was summer and the humidity was 
extremely high. Then she began wondering about what to say to the boy, how 
she should pose him, where to position him to get the best light... Should 
she ask him to actually take off his clothes for a nude study, a mere boy of 
fifteen? What if he refused, felt shy and was afraid to surrender his young 
body to the gaze of a woman eleven years his senior? What should she do 
then-simply pay him for the afternoon and tell him he might as well leave? 
She shuddered at the thought and how unmercifully Marty would tease her, 
saying that her "wholesome attitude toward sex" had frightened the boy away. 

But her attitude was wholesome, she thought, and had been formed by years of 
training by her parents in a perfectly normal, healthy atmosphere in 
Denmark. She remembered the first time that a boy had tenderly caressed her 
breasts and gone on with her permission to place his hand between her 
thighs, slowly massaging against the soft hair of her pubic mound until they 
were both wildly excited and ready to scream. When the boy had opened his 
trousers, his hands clumsy and shaking, she softly reassured him that he 
need not worry- she would allow him to undress her the rest of the way and 
finish what they had started. Later, she had told her father about the 
experience with the boy, and her father had understood and urged her not to 
feel guilty or in any way ashamed because she had followed what were after 
all her natural instincts. That was when she was eighteem, still in form 
school and attending art class three, sometimes four nights a week. After 
that, she felt no qualms whatsoever about going to bed with whomever she 
liked and thought might provide even an hour's honestly satisfying love-play 
in bed. Her girlfriends were of the same opinion and deployed their charms 
as freely as she had among the best-looking available males. 

When she came to America, however, her freedom as a healthy, sensuous woman 
had been looked upon as sluttishness. Her unhesitating willingness to 
disrobe and open her legs for a man she really liked often shocked and 
sexually incapacitated the man she happened to be with. Until Marty. He had 
been different, she thought, and had regarded her openness about sex without 
the usual fears and inhibitions most American men she knew had displayed. He 
had been really turned on by her straightforwardness and had been more than 
just a satisfactory lover during the first few months of their relationship. 
They had been deliriously happy and had spent entire weekends talking about 
painting and books, had taken long lazy walks together in the woods and 
along the private beach reserved for Pacifica Woods residents, and their 
love-making sessions had been more than just rewarding-they had been 
heavenly and fulfilling. 

Then, gradually, for no apparent reason, he had begun to seem angry and 
hardly spoke without a note of sarcasm in his words. He belittled her and 
referred to her painting as "child's play" that was tolerable only in the 
sense that it kept her occupied while he was away at the office, during the 
day, doing "important" work. His sexual advances became less and less 
frequent and were characterized by the strange delight he took in thinking 
of himself as a beast or someone brutal -and primitive. Why, why? she had 
asked herself in the midst of the shame and frustration brought on by his 
humiliating fantasies. She needed sex just as much as anyone, maybe more 
than the average person, and it was cruel and self-indulgent of him to 
dampen her desire with his ugly language and vulgar imaginings. 

Inger noticed the clock, then, and hastened to make last-minute preparations 
for the boy's arrival. 

The doorbell rang at exactly three o'clock, startling Inger even though she 
had been anticipating the hard jangling sound for the last twenty minutes. 
Smoothing her hair and making a final check on her appearance in the hall 
mirror, she nervously opened the heavy oak door and saw a tall, handsome 
young man standing before her. He was dressed in blue-jeans and a faded, 
well-worn flannel shirt with two buttons missing at the "vee" of the neck. 

"You Mrs. White?" he asked in a slow husky voice. "I'm Chuck from the 
hotel... They said I was to come up here ... You're supposed to have work 
for me." He smiled as he shifted his weight to one foot, waiting for her to 
answer, his berry-black eyes surveying her own as she tried frantically to 
think of something appropriate to reply. 

"Yes ... yes, I'm Mrs. White," Inger finally said lamely, her face flushing 
pink with embarrassment at the awkwardness of the situation. Despite her own 
acceptance and understanding of nudity, she felt immediately threatened at 
the prospect of asking this naive, innocent-looking boy to undress for her. 
He did not appear to be very bright and might misunderstand her intentions. 

"Mrs. White? ..." the boy asked again, confused by her silence. 

"Oh, please forgive me ... Come in," Inger said, pointing to the interior of 
the house as she stepped back to allow him to enter. "Did the manager of the 
hotel explain the work-I mean, did he tell you what I want you to do?" 

"He said it ain't hard work," the tall boy answered. Then he added eagerly. 
"But I ain't afraid of hard work, lady. I'm strong and need all the money I 
can earn, so you just tell me what you want me to do." 

"No, it's not hard work," Inger assured. 

"Have you ever done any modeling before?" 

"Modeling?" 

"Yes, have you ever posed for an artist? ... Have you ever taken anv art 
class in school and drawn a figure-a person or some kind of object-that the 
teacher placed in front of the class?" 

"I ... I don't guess so ... I don't know," Chuck replied, his narrow brow 
wrinkled with the effort of trying to understand what was to him the 
complexity of her question. They were standing in the middle of the living 
room now, beside the easel, only inches apart. Inger began to realize the 
true extent of his ignorance and felt a sinking despair and discouragement. 
She could sense the power in his body and a small tingle of excitement 
coursed through her as his clean male scent assailed her nostrils. He would 
be perfect, an inspiration, if only he could understand his role as a model 
without reading something else into it. 

"Well, it's simple," she explained. "You just sit over there, by the window, 
and stay in the position I tell you to take. Above all, you mustn't move, 
not even a little. Then, while you're sitting there, I draw a picture of you 
... Do you understand?" 

"Gosh, that's all?" he asked incredulously. "They told me you wanted me to 
work... I need the money." 

"Don't worry, Chuck. It's work, all right, I can promise you that." She 
began puzzling over how she should broach the subject of having him take off 
his clothes. Meanwhile, he stood waiting for her instructions with a dumb, 
expectant expression on his face. 

Very well, she inwardly decided, the only way to accomplish her goal was 
with direct honesty. She swallowed and set her teeth, turning slightly away 
from him as she spoke. "Now, Chuck, if you'll take off all your clothes, 
everything except your shorts, I'll show you how to sit... And we'd better 
hurry," she added matter-of-factly, "because I want to take advantage of 
this good light before it's too late." The tall, good-looking boy stripped 
off his shirt without batting an eye, his hands working next at the buttons 
of his trouser fly as though he had been waiting all along for her signal to 
undress. At first Inger avoided looking fully upon his almost-nude figure, 
and busied herself with the task of selecting a sketching pencil from the 
assorts ment in the small tray attached to the side of her drawing board. 
Then, still amazed that he had responded so readily to her request, she 
faced him and gasped in admiration of his youthful, heavily-muscled body, 
its exquisite swelling lines and deeply tanned surfaces. His long legs 
tapered from thick, well-defined cords of muscle on the fronts of his thighs 
to the hairy rounded calves and slim ankles. She noticed that his jockey 
shorts were frayed and sagged far down in front with the weight of what must 
be an enormously long, thick penis and heavy testicles. She involuntarily 
shivered at the unbelievable sight before her, the beauty and virility of 
his virginal young body affecting her senses like an aphrodisiac. The 
thought of his youthful strength and the fact that he was nude for the 
benefit of her own eyes, flooded through her mind, paralyzing her, making 
her momentarily unable to move or do anything but feast on his magnificent 
limbs. 

Suddenly Inger's appraisal of his body was cut short when she noticed that 
he had not removed his socks. Smiling broadly, she said, "Please, if you 
don't mind, I'd like you to take those off, too." She gestured casually, 
pointing to his feet, being careful not to embarrass him. But he was not in 
the least fazed and leaned over to remove the socks, his back bowing and 
coming easily alive with the rippling of his muscles like fish swimming just 
beneath the surface of his taut skin. 

She spent the next few minutes positioning him in a half-seated position on 
the edge of a squat, marble-topped table she often used when setting up 
still-life studies. The light was excellent, she thought with satisfaction, 
seeing the soft hues along the crest of his shoulders and running down to 
his slightly spread thighs. The pendulous bagging crotch of his shorts hung 
down several inches over the edge of the table and pulled the loose elastic 
band at the waist low enough to expose the sparse upper portion of his dark 
pubic hair. Inger found it nearly impossible to concentrate on the sketch 
she had started and wondered instead how he would look entirely naked, his 
boyish cock hanging down in front of him. 

She wished with all her heart that she had the courage to ask him to remove 
his flimsy shorts, to reveal everything! She saw then that one of his huge 
balls was on the verge of falling free from a ragged, especially thin place 
at the bottom-most bulge of his shorts. The slightest movement would spill 
the testicle into view. She fought the maddening temptation to instruct him 
to change position, just slightly, just enough to produce the desired 
effect. He gazed intently at the opposite wall, his face a complete blank, 
his body obediently locked in immobility ... Then she decided. 

"Chuck, would you please turn toward the window just a little, not much... 
That's it." His large, intricately-veined ball dropped out of his shorts 
just as she had wished, and hung down over an inch lower than its twin still 
nestling in the cotton fabric covering his crotch. God, he was so lovely and 
innocent, and how wonderful it would be to cup that great bloated sac in her 
soft hand. She was surprised when he gave no indication that he even noticed 
what had happened. And now that his eyes were turned further away from her, 
she was able to study him more openly and carefully. She had never seen such 
a glorious body-had not even dreamed that a male, man or boy, could be so 
unconditionally beautiful and sensual. 

She noticed that her hand was shaking helplessly out of control and, unless 
she was careful would make a complete mess of the sketch she had blocked out 
and was now rounding off with graceful lines and curves. She could feel the 
warm center of her loins flexing almost violently in passionate answer to 
the sight of his male nakedness. Her throbbing vaginal slit was moist under 
the thin filmy silkiness of her panties, and her nipples had grown 
pebble-hard and burned against the now abrasive inner material of her 
brassiere as her full white breasts heaved higher and swelled with the 
torment of her excitement. 

She struggled against the almost overpowering desire to plunge her hand down 
inside her brief linen shorts to rub the fleshy burning ridges of her cunt 
to even greater arousal. This was it, the kind of honest lust that she had 
been taught to expect from her healthy ripe body ... In Denmark she would 
feel free to tell this tantalizing specimen of manhood that she wanted him, 
to have him inside her so that they could both enjoy each other to the 
fullest sexual advantage. But this was America... There was Marty and the 
humiliating fascination he and most other American males had for the 
forbidden aspects of sex ... Why must she restrain herself and feel guilty 
because this boy made her breasts and-cunt cry for his touch? 

"Mrs. White, you okay?" Chuck's voice broke in, shocking Inger back to the 
reality of the moment. "I ain't sittin' wrong, am I? You bin actin' sort of 
funny. I saw you by mistake and your face looked kinda weird." 

"No, no, I'm fine," Inger said, flustered by his simple questioning look, 
which in her consternation she feared might be sufficiently penetrating to 
discover what she had really been thinking. "Just continue that position- 
please-and I'll be finished pretty soon." 

"Sure ... I didn't mean to speak out of turn or anything." 

Her erotic self-indulgence shattered by the exchange with her model, she 
renewed her attention to the sketch and began the final touches to complete 
her first study of his almost naked figure. She chided herself for having 
been distracted. She had to hurry to finish the sketch, for the light was 
dying and she was afraid that Chuck might be growing tired from having held 
one position for so long without a break. It was important that she succeed 
in producing competent work from this first sitting, lest Marty scoff and 
feel justified in continuing to patronize her artistic efforts. 

After offering the boy a short rest break, which he declined to accept, she 
worked furiously for another hour, until the light had dimmed to the point 
where it was impossible to go on without jeopardizing the value of what she 
had done. Still, she finally decided, the end result was not something she 
should feel ashamed of-her sketch had about it a wonderful sinuous quality, 
a potency, unlike anything she had ever done before. She imagined it 
finished in oils and was proud that once again her creative ability had 
survived her fear of Marty's murderous ridicule. Probably she would be ready 
to actually work in oils after only a few more sittings. 

"Okay, Chuck," Inger said with a sigh of relief, "that's all for today. You 
may dress now." She moved from the easel to sit/on the chair next to the 
table, no more than arm's-length away from him, watching with a feeling of 
regret as he dressed, veiling the beautiful male body that had thrilled her 
so all afternoon. She was already anxious to view it again, wishing it were 
the beginning rather than the end of that day's modeling session. Then, 
remembering that she had not paid him, she rose and crossed to the desk to 
make out a check. "What's your last name, Chuck?" 

"Evans, ma'am ... Chuck Evans." 

"Would three dollars an hour be enough?" Inger asked uncertainly. She had 
never paid a model and knew nothing of standard rates or what even this 
thick-witted boy might expect for sitting without flinching a muscles for 
almost three hours. 

"Golly, three dollars an hours!" he exclaimed, jerking around to face her 
with a look of amazement. "But I didn't do nothin'... I just sat there ... 
Kin I wash your dishes or somethin' ... or chop up some wood before I go?" 

"No," she grinned, a warm glow of compassion filling her as she understood 
his confused appreciation. "You earned your money, believe me, and I thank 
you very much for your patience and the way you sat so quietly. Just try, if 
you can, to be here tomorrow as soon as you get off work at the hotel. I 
want to try some different poses." 

"I-I'll run up here," he beamed, pocketing the check. "Boy, wait'll Mom 
hears about this!" 

Inger opened the door to let him out, patting his sturdy forearm in a show 
of thanks as he passed in front of her to leave. 

 Chapter 3 

Marty had arrived home that evening a little later than usual. He had 
explained his lateness as being due to having stopped for a few drinks with 
an office associate who wanted counseling on an issue concerning corporate 
law. Inger detected that her husband was more than a little inebriated, was 
in fact quite drunk, and had trouble enunciating his words. She was thankful 
when he announced that he wanted to lie down awhile before dinner, then 
lurched off unsteadily toward the bedroom without any question whatsoever 
about her experience that day with the boy model. She was still aroused and 
could not shake the vision of Chuck's fine young body from her memory. She 
was worried about what had happened to her senses that afternoon, and was 
slightly fearful that the same thing would happen when he came again the 
next day. 

She paced the front room impatiently while dinner simmered on the stove, her 
thoughts racing as she searched fruitlessly for a way out of the 
predicament. She knew it would be foolish to deny, even to herself, that she 
was tremendously stimulated by the idea of having sex with Chuck, yet she 
was doubtful that she could maintain anything resembling a high level of 
creativity while thinking of him as a potential lover rather than just a 
model. And there was also the consideration that she had never been 
unfaithful to Marty since they had been married. Even though she had been 
taught to regard sex as a natural part of everyday life, that was still no 
reason to believe that cheating with another man-even a mere boy-was all 
right for a married woman. 

Her thoughts were cut short as Marty suddenly entered the room, holding in 
one hand the sketch she had done of Chuck. His eyes sparkled with an inner 
excitement, and she was filled with horror as she realized that he was about 
to start another of his sarcastic tirades about her art. 

"Well, well, my little artist, I see that your model was quite satisfactory 
... really quite satisfactory!" He held up the now-wrinkled sketch which she 
had put away in the bedroom with the rest of her art materials after Chuck's 
departure. Not wanting to subject her creative endeavors to his belittling 
criticism, she had hidden the sketch from Marty beneath a pile of old 
still-lifes and nature studies. Evidently, though, he had rummaged through 
the pile and found today's piece of work by accident. 

"Oh, please, don't wave it about so," she pled. "You'll only wrinkle it more 
than you already have." But her plea seemed merely to urge him on, and he 
waved the sketch drunkenly as though it were a flag to be dishonored. The 
alcohol still buzzing in his head made him more cantankerous than usual, and 
he struck grandiose postures of mock appraisal of the sketch, first grinning 
and then frowning as he viewed it from different angles. 

"By God, baby, I lined up one helluva young stud for you, didn't I?" Then 
she saw him pause, his face lighting up anew as he stopped to give the 
sketch a closer scrutiny under the lamp on one of the end-tables flanking 
the couch. "But what's this?" he asked slurringly, pointing to the lower 
portion of the sketch. "Am I correct in presuming that you chose not to view 
your stud model in his altogether natural state? I mean, where's the lad's 
cock, baby? ... Didn't he have one?" 

"He was too young to ask ... to expect to ... pose that way. Marty, please, 
I..." 

"Come on, now," he said with a sweeping flourish of his hand, warming to her 
discomfort, "you can't be a real artist if you're going to blanch at the 
sight of your own hired boy's sex organs. Would Rubens or Gaugin or even 
your sickly French Impressionists be afraid to ask their female models to 
show their cunts in the name of true art? Besides," he went on tauntingly, 
"it's fairly apparent that you knew he had a cock, judging from the size of 
the one you imagined he has under that silly little loincloth he was 
wearing." 

"He wasn't wearing a loincloth," Inger explained. "He was just wearing his 
underpants, and I ... I just ... drew in what you see instead." 

"Well, why bother to improvise?" he teased. "Isn't the phallus part of the 
male anatomy, and aren't you interested in the whole man?" 

Inger's tolerance had reached the breaking point and she felt her anger 
blaze up in defiance of his derisive attitude toward her work. She wanted to 
hurt back, to pluck his wings for a change. 

"Yes, I am interested in the whole male anatomy," she answered, "but as an 
artist and not just for sexual reasons, as you seem to be..." She stood in 
the middle of the room, glaring at him with a near hatred that clearly 
unbalanced him. Then, elucidating her point, she added: "I can't help but 
wonder about you, Marty, since you seem to find it necessary to search my 
old work for even a rough sketch of an almost naked boy... Would you have 
troubled yourself so much to find the same kind of drawing of a girl?" 

She knew she had gone too far, even for Marty, when he winced and stared 
back at her with a look of total unbelief on his face. She watched him 
standing before her, making no move or effort to counter her fantastic 
statement with words or any sort of action. He was iust staring at her, 
watching as though he expected her to smile and in some way show that she 
had not meant the cutting remark about his manhood. She sincerely wanted to 
retract her words, to simply come out and say that she had only meant to 
stand up for herself, but for some reason unknown to her she could not do it 
this time, as she had so many times, for different reasons, in the past. She 
was experiencing a peculiar mixture of feelings-pity and yet a cruel, 
unflinching confidence in her moment of superiority. 

"Inger," he finally said, "you ... didn't mean that really, did you? You 
know better,... don't you?" 

She remained silent, still debating whether or not to end his unbearable 
humiliation and surprise. This might be good for him, for their 
relationship, and she wanted to break down the barriers between them perhaps 
even more than at that moment to put him at ease again by admitting that her 
statement had been plain retaliatory bitchiness. But at that moment, she saw 
his lips begin to quiver and tears well up in his eyes. He had never 
displayed this much emotion, a sort which he would be the first to label 
weak and unbefitting a real man with real masculine values and common sense. 
Suddenly she could no longer stand his pitiful expression and broke her 
resolve to make him suffer as long as she possibly could that evening ... 
regardless of the reason. 

"Darling, forgive me," Inger said, her own eyes filling with tears. "I 
didn't mean what I said ... I was just angry and wanted to strike out at you 
... I'm sorry." She was crying openly now, ashamed and sorry that she had 
attacked him with such a vicious suggestion. After all, he was her husband, 
and even if he did fail to understand how im- portant art was to her, she 
had no right to try to undermine his self-image as a man. And Marty's 
self-image was terribly vital to him, professionally as well as personally. 
As an attorney, he felt it necessary to look upon himself as a tiger, 
shrewd, feral and cunning, to project himself effectively in court and in 
his dealings with other attorneys and heads of corporations. 

In her sobbing, Inger did not notice that he had regained his composure and 
was standing next to the small portable bar, pouring himself a martini with 
studied nonchalance. He was even smiling, now showing no trace of the awful 
humiliation he had seemed to feel so deeply only a moment before. 

"For Christ's sake, Inger, can't you stop your idiotic weeping?" he snapped, 
lifting his glass as he spoke, then drinking off most of the martini in one 
long draught. "You don't actually believe I was all that meltingly stricken 
by your silly remark, do you? I've had rather a lot to drink this evening, 
that's all... And I simply thought I'd give you some emotional plasma by 
pretending to be distressed." His voice sounded typically acid and 
condescending, as though he were attempting to intimidate a witness or 
communicate to a dinner guest that he was bored stiff with the run of 
conversation at the table. Inger's first agonized thoughts as she slowly 
grasped the meaning and tone of his words were that she had been drawn into 
a trap. She had made a gross error in judgment. She had thought that for 
once he was being human, really human, unafraid to show her that inside he 
was not as cruelly calculating and self-assured as he always appeared to be. 

Mixing another shaker of martini, Marty flashed her a triumphant look. "As 
for your young cretin model, I admit that he reeks of virulence and seems to 
have a wealth of physical potential, so why don't you use him as best you 
can? ... It might just perk up our own sex life, you know." 

Inger could feel her strength steadily leaving her body as he continued to 
drink and stare more and more fiercely at her, his eyes like the white heat 
of bright sun, the alcohol in his veins investing his manner with a 
deadliness like carbon monoxide. She had to admit to herself that he had won 
again, had reversed everything so that she seemed to be the foolish petulant 
wife, the loser. She stood then, her nerves bursting like trees in stiff 
wind, and left the room without another word. 

 Chapter 4 

Inger had been awakened at ten the next morning, an hour later than she 
normally got, up, by a telephone call from her closest neighbor, Sandy 
Pollard. Sandy was George Pol-lard's wife and was several years older than 
Inger-though there was more than age that was different between the two 
women. Sandy was known throughout the Woods as an incorrigible gossip and 
busybody. George owned a number of small shops in the little towns on the] 
peninsula and spent most of his waking hours being conspicuously successful. 
Inger some-times sympathized with Sandy for being so catty and given over to 
gossip, because George was rarely if ever home, and when he was, paid his 
slender brunette wife only the barest amount of attention. 

Still, Inger was irritated that morning by Sandy's call, especially since 
the call had been ostensibly only about one of Inger's recipes for Danish 
bread. She knew full well that Sandy never baked and had simply used the 
recipe as-an excuse to camouflage her curiosity about Inger's and Marty's 
social and sex life during the past weeks. Usually, Inger indulged her 
prying neighbor and invented some juicy tales to fill Sandy's ears, but this 
had not been one of those mornings. She had actually been curt with Sandy 
and not bothered to elaborate on why she had to cut short the conversation. 

Inger was more concerned with her own odd feeling of desolation, one that 
had been torturing her since the ugly encounter with her husband the night 
before. More, she felt that she could not continue to avoid the flagrant 
crippling flaw in her relationship with Marty. He seemed to live in some 
dark psychological corner of himself that she could never reach, never enter 
and know, not even to comfort him. Perhaps her freedom and acceptance as an 
artist was not as world-shatteringly important as she supposed. Maybe he 
really had meant what he said about her taking advantage of Chuck's physical 
assets to help "perk up" their own sex life. God knows, she thought, 
something had to be done if they were to enjoy everything marriage was 
designed to promote and sanction. Love could wither when it became a habit, 
without the revitalizing effects of sex and a deepening of understanding 
between the partners involved. She knew this and could no longer deny that 
she and Marty had come to a stage in their marriage where being together was 
more of an ordeal than a joy. They definitely had to find a way to break 
down the barriers between them, and soon. 

Chuck should be arriving soon, she reminded herself, and she must hurry to 
have everything set up if she were not to lose time and precious light. One 
thing, Marty had been right, in a truly disturbing sense, about her rather 
silly decision not to sketch the boy completely nude. But how on earth could 
she ask such a simple, hopelessly dull American boy like Chuck to take off 
the last protective shred of his clothing in front of a woman over ten years 
older? He had not even posed before yesterday; not even heard of modelling 
... Inger changed into her shorts and a brief, daringly low-cut halter about 
twenty minutes before Chuck was due to knock on the door. She had gone 
outside a short while before and been nearly bowled over by the blasting 
August heat. But it was an extraordinarily beautiful day. She had felt an 
overwhelming joy at the linen-clean air in her lungs, the parallels of sea 
and sky colors flattening like heavy blue satin far out on the horizon. And 
there were eggshell yachts floating on the summer green and sun-silvered 
waters of the bay off to the right of the headlands. The sound of the surf 
breaking in the near distance had been like rashers of bacon frying, 
shussshing over and over again in her ears. It had been like Denmark, when 
she was a little girl, serenely happy and full of dreams about the limitless 
future. 

Then came the expected knock at the door. It was Chuck, just as he had 
promised, out of breath from hurrying up the mountain road to keep his 
appointment with her. He was wearing the same clothes, but they seemed 
somehow fresher, as though they had been laundered and pressed during the 
night, and his hair was combed neatly back with the exception of one long 
stray lock which hung down on his forehead and was damply clinging to thin 
beads of perspiration there. 

"Hello, Mrs. White," he panted. "I sure hope I'm not late. My mom said I'd 
better not be ... I'm supposed to mind my manners, she said, and not give 
you no trouble." 

"Gracious no, you're not late. As a matter of fact, you're a few minutes 
early," Inger said, her lovely white teeth flashing in a friendly smile. 
"Wouldn't you like a cold drink after your walk? I'd give you a glass of 
chilled wine, but I'm certain your mother wouldn't approve of it." 

"Heck, that's okay. My dad gives me beer all the time. An' sometimes I just 
swipe a couple bottles when he goes to sleep and Mom gets mad at him." 

"Well, if you're certain it's all right," Inger grinned, amused by his 
enthusiasm. "But I don't want you falling asleep while you're posing... 
Heck," she went on, adopting his style of speech in the spirit of fun, "I'll 
just have a glass with you. It's a grand summer day, and we should drink to 
it!" 

"Heck, yeah!" he half shouted, his eyes sparkling with animal brightness. 
When Inger returned from the kitchen with the wine, she was startled to see 
that he had stripped off his clothes, again except for his shorts, and was 
sitting on the same small table on which he had posed yesterday. The only 
difference was that today he wore a pair of clean white shorts, obviously 
new, and his genital area was more hidden from view. 

"No, no, you needn't sit there," Inger said with a laugh. "We'll drink our 
wine first-and besides, you'll be standing for the first pose today." At 
that instant, she seized on a solution she hoped would take care of the 
problem of asking him to pose in absolute nakedness. "Chuck, I want to ask 
you something... As an artist, it's sometimes necessary to draw everything 
on a model's body, even if I don't really see it... What I mean is, well ... 
I'd like to be able to draw all of you ... your ... your sex organs too, if 
you don't mind." 

"Huh?" His look was one of utter bewilderment, as though she had asked him 
to work out a particularly complicated math problem in his head. 

"I-I simply want your permission to draw you as if you were completely 
undressed," Inger said, embarrassed and certain that her face was flushed a 
bright crimson. 

Chuck labored a minute with the meaning of what she had said, then shrugged 
and stood up. "Gosh, okay," he smiled as he hooked his thumbs in his shorts 
and slipped them down over his strong, bronzed legs to his ankles. "Mom told 
me to pay real attention to anything you tell me to do ..." He stooped then 
to pick up the new jockey shorts, wadding them up in a tight ball and 
placing them atop the heap of other garments he had put on the floor next to 
the couch. 

Inger shuddered and could not believe her eyes when she saw the long, heavy 
thickness of the huge young cock hanging limply between his powerful thighs. 
His testicles were larger than any she had ever seen and sagged down almost 
as far as the thickly tapering tip of his beautiful uncircumcised penis. He 
had not understood her, of course, and yet she could not bring herself to 
say that she had not meant that he should take off his shorts too. If only 
she could settle down, take her eyes off his awe-inspiring genitalia, she 
was positive she could do one of the finest figure studies of her life. She 
gulped thirstily at her wine, hoping to relax herself enough to commence 
sketching. 

When he swallowed the last dregs of the cool wine, Inger took up a piece of 
charcoal and motioned to a spot about five feet in front of her easel. 
"Please stand there, Chuck, and just let your arms rest at your sides ... Be 
comfortable." He took the position-not precisely the one she wanted, but 
interesting nevertheless-and she began with conscious self-control to block 
out the outstanding vertical lines of his stance. 

The work had been going well for some time, perhaps twenty minutes, when she 
noticed a barely perceptible change in his pose-. just enough to throw off 
her perspective and make a discernible difference in her critical judgment 
of the progress of the form taking shape under her head. It was then that 
she allowed her gaze to drop and see that his penis was half erect, standing 
out in front of him like a majestic cobra whose head was fanning out from 
its partially alert length. Suddenly she knew that he was staring at her, 
ravenously, not like a teenage boy, but as a full-grown man stares at a 
woman who excites his natural lust to boldness. 

"You're a real pretty woman, Mrs. White ... I like you a lot more than I 
know how to say." His eyes feasted on Inger's immodestly clad form, brazenly 
resting on her high plush bosom and then wandering down to take in her bare 
midriff. 

She was visibly trembling now and felt delicious erotic sensations rippling 
through every nerve in her body. It would be useless to continue sketching 
in her aroused nervous state, not unless she was able to magically 
short-circuit the sexual currents of feeling that had begun to leap between 
their bodies. She remembered what Marty had said about using Chuck as best 
she could and was momentarily filled with visions of aggressiveness that 
bordered on shameless plans of seducing the boy. Her gaze fell again to his 
enormous pulsing cock and then ran over the rest of his sublime young body, 
coming to rest on his face and the tiny black eyes smouldering with 
unaccustomed passion. 

"Chuck, I think it's time to change poses now .. Please seat yourself on the 
table ... but turn away a little more than you were yesterday." 

"Ma'am?" he questioned, searching her face for an explanation of her 
instructions. She knew that she would have to personally place him to get 
exactly the position she wanted. She held up her hand to signify that he 
should not move, not yet, then crossed over to him where he had taken a seat 
on the marble-topped table again. His eyes scanned her legs hungrily as she 
approached, making her shiver and feel as though her clothing were like 
tight elastic around her body, choking off the supply of blood that ran 
through her veins. She saw his cock jerk slightly higher as though unable to 
contain itself while in the presence of such a beautiful, mature woman. 

"Now, turn this way ... just a bit," she said shakily, placing her hand on 
his broad shoulder and applying just enough pressure to ease him into the 
pose she had had in mind. There, that seemed perfect, she thought, and 
backed off a step to make certain. But he turned almost immediately to look 
at her, drinking in her closeness and ignoring the surprised expression on 
her face as his gaze roved over every soft contour of her ripe female form. 
Then, with the quickness of a cat, he reached out with both hands and caught 
the backs of her bare thighs, pulling her closer to plant several rapid 
kisses on her flat white belly. Inger released a little cry of shock as he 
flicked out his hot tongue and began to lick the tiny indentation of her 
navel... This was wrong, she knew it, yet her senses were suddenly drunk 
with desire for this hard-muscled young stallion, for his solid young limbs. 
His own innocent desire for her aroused her even more, so that she ceased 
squirming and actually pressed forward in an attempt to encourage him on 
with the suggestive, seductive motion. 

"Ma'am, I can't help myself ... I hope you ain't mad," he whispered up hotly 
to her. His hands were now shamelessly clutching her firm rounded buttocks 
under her shorts, squeezing and releasing them with a hypnotic rhythm that 
jarred her from head to foot. More and more the crazy passion that had been 
building in her since yesterday, when she had first seen Chuck's exquisite 
body, was taking control of her mind and emotions. She wanted him 
desperately and was willing to subjugate herself if necessary to achieve her 
goal. 

"Chuck," she said, forcing her voice to sound calm and logical, "we can't 
work when we're like this ... Let's take a rest... We can lie down awhile in 
the bedroom. Come on," she urged, taking his hand in her own and guiding him 
toward the back of the house. When they were just inside the entrance of the 
bedroom, Inger's courage left her and she found herself searching for any 
excuse she could think of to avoid what she knew was about to take place. 
But Chuck grabbed her up in his brawny arms and crushed her to him, kissing 
her first on the mouth and then on her neck with fumbling adolescent fervor. 
Her loins were growing warm and she wavered in his embrace as though she 
were about to lose her balance. He guided her backwards to the bed while she 
struggled weakly and then all resistance ceased. "He pushed her back 
further, until the edge of the mattress caught her behind the knees and 
jackknifed her legs, and she fell, arms and legs askew, looking glassy-eyed 
straight up at the ceiling. The white nylon band of her panties was visible 
beneath the flare of the crotch of her brief shorts, and tiny blond threads 
of soft curling pubic hair could be seen at the edges of the tight leg bands 
stretched tautly from the position in which she lay. 

"What's happening to me? . . . What's happening to me?" she moaned 
incoherently. She tried to move but could not. Her body refused to follow 
the dictates of her mind. She could see Chuck standing over her, an eager 
grin etched obscenely on his innocent young face. It was strange-one part of 
her mind was fully aware of the compromising circumstances, that she had 
hired this virginal boy and was now inciting him as well as responding to 
his passionate caresses. In another part of her brain she kept repeating 
over and over to herself that there is nothing, nothing at all, wrong or 
dirty about a man, even a boy, and a woman enjoying sex together in any way 
or situation that gives pleasure to both of them. 

Chuck bent down over her prostrate form, his hands working frantically to 
undo the stubborn fastening of her halter while the excitement flooding his 
dull mind caused him to tug and tear with frustration at the device. She 
lifted her back slightly off the bed and reached back with one hand to 
unfasten the garment before he ripped it from her. She could feel his 
fingers struggling inside the loosened halter to get at the clasps of her 
bra. He was having the same difficulty as with the halter, so she deftly 
unsnapped the hooks and lay back aban-donedly while he removed the freed 
clothing. She was almost motionless now, with her thighs open wide, her 
breath coming so fast that she thought her lungs would burst. Her belly 
quivered and heaved as though he already had the long thick cock extending 
out from his virile loins sunk deep inside her. 

Chuck moved down along her side, fastening his teeth harshly into the nipple 
of her swollen left breast. She groaned in pain, attempting to twist away 
from the sudden sharp torture, but his hands, playing over the softness of 
her thighs and hips, held her firmly. His questing lips roamed wetly over 
the white palpitating mounds, causing a blissful twitch that descended 
feather-like to her loins below. Her buttocks began a slow impatient 
grinding down into the mattress. 

"Gosh, you're beautiful," he groaned as his lips kissed and nibbled all the 
soft sensitive parts of her body, his eyes wide and glazed in the need of 
his desire. "I ain't never done this to a girl before. I just heard Dad 
giving it to Mom a couple of times ... She yelled out 'fuck me, fuck me' an' 
I played with myself afterwards." 

Inger lay frozen under the bluntness of his obscene words. And yet their 
very lewdness excited her more and more, so that she was at a loss to 
understand her reactions to what was occurring. She could feel the moisture 
soaking her vagina and crossed her legs to press them closely together, 
trying to ease the burning sensation that was churning madly in the pit of 
her stomach. Chuck's fervent kisses and manipulations turned her entire body 
into a loose bundle of raw nerve ends that she was helpless to control. Then 
his hands seized both breasts and squeezed them together like huge straining 
grapefruits. She could feel small pin pricks of delicious feeling racing 
through the tips of them as he rolled the light brown hardening nipples 
maddeningly between his thumbs and forefingers. She could feel the heat of 
his breath rushing into her ear as he turned his head toward her to lock his 
mouth wildly against hers. She tried for a moment to twist away, to make a 
last futile stand against the seduction she had started and yet was now 
helpless to contain, but the pressure of his strong male grip was altogether 
too much for her in her present state of mind. 

She had forgotten about Marty, about everything, except the sheer joy of 
having this glorious young boy's splendid lusting body against her tingling 
female flesh. His hands had now dropped from her solid bulging tits to 
fondle her hips and trace the lovely full convexities of her buttocks. 

"Kin I fuck ya, Mrs. White? ... Okay?" he asked between breathless gulping 
pants. 

"Oooooh God, yessssss ... Now!" she moanei ecstatically, her arms reaching 
out to twine tightly around his neck, pulling his muscular bronzed chest 
into the soft whitness of her breasts. She despised herself for the surges 
of hot longing that made her ache to have him inside her, to take her at 
will... Then suddenly she was released from the depraved bondage of desire, 
the tremendous relief of acceptance clearing her mind of every thought but 
that of anticipation. She wanted him now, that instant, and began to wriggle 
out of her shorts and panties as her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head. 
When she had kicked free of her shorts and the flimsy white underwear, 
completely baring the lower half of her firm body, he pulled her tightly 
against him and dropped one hand down between them to take the long hard 
throbbing cock between his fingers and guided it forward, using the thick 
rubbery head to part the full, fleshy lips of her cunt. She turned her head 
to the side on the mattress, closing her eyes with a shudder as she felt its 
soft electrical contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moist 
pussy. She held her breath for what seemed an eternity, lying still in utter 
wantonness before him, not even daring to breathe. 

"Hurry," she pled, her voice trembling as she felt the first shocking 
pressure against the tight elastic opening of her vagina. 

He shoved. 

"Ooooh, no, waaiiit-it's too much," she cried as the huge tip slipped 
through, stretching wide the small wet opening until Inger felt as though 
her thighs were splitting apart from the relentless outward pressure. 

"God, no, please, you're hurting me, you're hurting me!" She was almost 
screaming as she jerked open her eyes in fear and saw that he had not even 
heard her. He was lost in the throes of his first real sexual experience 
with a woman, and he was completely oblivious to everything else, even her 
pleading cries. 

Suddenly, his no longer innocent face twisted into a contorted expression of 
sheer raw lust as he looked down at his first woman helplessly spread-eagled 
beneath him, the head of his colossal young penis disappearing excitedly 
into the soft, curling hair of her pussy. He fell forward, then, his weight 
smashing her full rounded tits tightly back against her chest. He thrust his 
hips forward at the same time and his long, thick cock slid into her cunt 
like a driving telephone pole pushing the soft moist flesh of her vaginal 
walls in rippling waves before it. There was no stopping it until with a 
loud groan from his throat, his balls smacked heavily into the quivering 
cheeks of her tightly clenched ass. 

"Ooooooh! Oooooooh!" she wailed beneath him. She had never been so utterly 
filled in her life, and his rock-hard, heavily-veined cock felt as though it 
had torn her vagina into a thousand tiny shreds as he rammed into her 
without thought of mercy or injury to her tender insides. And now it lay 
sunk deep in her belly, filling it to the point of bursting. There was not a 
single tiny ridge of flesh on it that she could not feel as it pressed 
tightly against the soft flesh of her pussy, encased in the moist hot sheath 
like a spike planted cruell; into his victim's belly. 

The young boy levered her beautiful long satiny legs up off the bed in an 
arc far back over her head, pressing her feet harshly into the mattress on 
either side of her shoulders. Her tortured body was bent back double, the 
pain of her strained muscles almost overpowering. The glistening wet, 
flattened plane of her crotch was presented up to him as he quickened his 
thrusts, the intrusion making her dilated vagina grow and expand before his 
uncontrolled assault, the heavy weight of his hard muscular loins crushing 
hard into her buttocks, sweeping them wider and wider apart as he lunged 
forward with all his strength to sink his cock as deep as he was able into 
her smooth white belly. 

Inger groaned defenselessly beneath him, her face showing a mixture of 
feelings, pain and humiliation and pleasure. She tried not to move as she 
felt the pain easing with the stillness of her body. His hands cupped her 
full naked breasts, twisting and squeezing them with savage brutality, 
teasing and tugging at them until she thought they would burst from the wild 
manipulations. Then, as if a miracle had taken place, she felt her pleasure 
increasing and the delicate moist walls of her cunt began to clasp around 
his fleshy cudgel hungrily, her hips slithering up wetly to devour the 
length of his young lust-hardened rod. His big balls still smacked into the 
passion-drenched crevice of her buttocks, making the sensitive area tingle 
and contract as she began a slow rhythmic undulation to meet the young 
stud's long, spearing strokes. 

The pain was gone now and her eyes were closed as she writhed beneath him 
from the intensity of her wild, ever-mounting excitement. Chuck sweated over 
her, moving suddenly into a series of longer, smoother plunging strokes that 
brought his thick prick almost all the way out of her clutching vagina on 
the backstroke and then ramming forward into her until he could feel the 
blood-engorged head of his cock colliding hard against her cervix deep 
inside. 

She was no longer ashamed for having led this magnificent boy to her bed-not 
even though he had turned on the hot streak in her and she was now engaged 
in committing her first betrayal of her husband ... and enjoying it as she 
had never enjoyed sex with anyone before. Nothing but the delicious waves of 
stormy feeling mattered now, nothing but the young boy, his huge 
pile-driving cock fucking into her steaming, sucking cunt. 

"Jesus, I-I'm hotter'n the dickens," Chuck! breathed, ramming faster and 
faster into her with a maniacal frenzy, his heavy-lidded eyes filmed over 
with the force of his sexual transport. The fire of animal lust raged out of 
control in his slamming groin and he too was aware of nothing else in the 
world but the fact that a beautiful, blond, full-bodied woman was responding 
under him to his skewering cock and frantically roving hands. Spurred on by 
Inger's pitching body and the way she kicked with her heels against his 
shoulders, he dug more deeply into her, pinning her flatter to the bed and 
restricting her movements until she thought she would go thoroughly mad 
unless she could move with him as freely as she wanted. With his every hard 
forward lunge now, he flung her far forward, and her tossing head was close 
to the headboard of the bed. He felt his own head touch the solid hard 
surface and automatically raised himself over her in a push-up position, his 
hands dropping from her flushed tits to grasp her ankles and pry them 
further apart and level with her upper torso for leverage. 

Inger sighed and attempted to hump upwards as she felt her climax 
approaching, the rosy hue of her face brightening and deepening as an 
unmistakable sign. 

"Oh, darling, I'm cumming! I'm cumming, j oh God, I'm cumming nowwww! Fuck 
harder! Fuck harder!" Her hands darted behind his driving buttocks, pulling 
him as far as humanly possible into her open loins. "I'm cumming aaaaaah!" 
she cried in a voice shrill with mind-reeling passion. Her cum juice flowed 
wetly out around his still driving prick, spilling down into the soft, 
excitedly clenching crevice of her buttocks and flooding his testicles and 
the base of his cock as he drubbed unrelentingly into her. Dazzling flashes 
of light filled her head as she continued to grunt out her orgasm, her 
juices still flowing in unchecked spurts down the full quivering moons of 
her uncontrollably jerking buttocks. 

Then the boy reached down and cupped the twin globes of her ass, stretching 
them, and watched his shift pummelling into her pussy. He could feel the hot 
load of his sperm building up for an earth shattering release, the broad 
head of his cock flexing and suddenly growing larger inside her ravaged 
cuntal passage. At last he erupted, his hot thick liquid shooting deep up 
into her widely stretched womb, mixing salaciously with the juices of her 
own cumming. Her head whirled in mindless sensuality as the burning, 
powerful squirts surged deeply inside her, filling her to overflowing with 
its warm sticky whiteness. The hot wet walls of her pussy clasped and 
unclasped desperately, milking at the jerking organ like a sucking, starving 
mouth. Inger's firm, perfectly sculptured body was drained of everything, 
her limbs collapsing loosely on the bed as the young boys grip on her 
buttocks slowly relaxed and was finally released altogether. He rolled off 
her, breathing thickly in an effort to fill his lungs with air. Inger 
groaned at the loss of his penis and felt a cool rush of breeze laving her 
spent, sweat-soaked body. 

The room was quiet except for the sound of their fast breathing. Inger 
rolled over on her stomach and lay still, unable to move and not really 
caring. Her body was wholly satiated, ached all over, and she dimly felt the 
boy's broad palm resting slackly on her thigh, which was still wet and 
slippery from his sperm. More of the cooling fluid trickled in a tiny 
rivulet out of her vagina to form a moist, lewd pool between her still 
wide-spread legs. 

"Ma'am, you okay?" Chuck asked, a look of exhaustion on his handsome yet 
simian face. "That was a real good fuck, wasn't it? I ain't never had no ass 
before, but I ... well, I guess you gotta be about the best fuck around." 

She had never been spoken to this way before-except when Marty played his 
savage, calculated games with her, which she understood, strangely enough, 
even though they seemed sick to her-and yet now the obscene words pierced 
her heart, despite her understanding of Chuck's ignorance of more 
sophisticated terms. She could not make an ultimate decision as to how she 
felt now. As the reality of the situation came over her again, she 
nevertheless felt an undeniable glow of satisfaction and a new sense of 
adventure in her illicit relationship with the young boy at her side. There 
was little question in her mind about whether she should continue to endorse 
the artist-model situation with him: he was an ideal subject, but she also 
knew that her guilt would probably be renewed by other, perhaps even 
frequent repetitions of what had happened this afternoon. Marty had seemed 
to encourage her infidelity to him, but still, she could not help but 
confess to herself that she was truly uneasy and overcome by guilt with her 
seduction of Chuck and the disloyalty to her hardworking husband. She had 
lost the battle against her own feelings and yet even the thought of her 
total surrender sent wonderful chills running along the base of her spine. 

She lay there a moment more and then gathered herself up for the tremendous 
effort of rising to her feet. "Get up, Chuck," she said with authority once 
she was standing herself. "It's nearly four-thirty and we've hardly begun 
today's work." 

"Sure, Mrs. White, I'm ready to work as soon as you are," he answered 
reluctantly, as though he had been expecting another round of sex play that 
afternoon. 

A little over an hour later, when Chuck left with that day's paycheck in his 
hand, Inger had completed her charcoal sketch of him seated on the table-top 
in a half-turn toward the window. The drawing was even more sensuous and 
bold than the one of the day before, and this time his pubic area was drawn 
in with care and in great detail. 

 Chapter 5 

Marty was due to arrive home any minute. Inger had decided to go out for 
awhile, to clear her head, and was just now returning from a short stroll 
down to the edge of Wildcat Canyon and back. The late afternoon sun had been 
soothing and pleasant and was now shining peacefully through the trees, 
loading them with fiery red light. A few Monarch butterflies, stragglers 
after the main host that had already migrated south more than a month ago, 
sat barely fluttering on branches and random bushes like parlor queens in a 
world of their own. The woods was subdued, shadowy, golden, the wind a thin 
whisper in the uppermost branches and leaves. 

Inger began to hum a somber Danish lullaby she neared the house. There was 
something bout the freshness and tranquility of the woods that lifted her 
spirits and made her feel wonderfully liberated, free of all guilt and 
regret for the stimulating interlude earlier that afternoon with young 
Chuck... She began to believe that maybe Marty had been right in giving her 
an implied license to enjoy herself with someone else; still, though, she 
was profoundly uncertain as to the moral regard she should have for what she 
had done. It was something she would keep a secret until she knew her own 
mind and had worked out the ramifications of the experience. 

As Inger slowly walked up the rocky path that led out of the woods to her 
lovely, rustic home, she heard the muted roar of the engine of Marty's car 
and then crunching of gravel as he turned into the long winding driveway in 
the front of the house. On impulse, she paused at the edge of the lawn, 
still partially hidden in the forest's deep shadows, to watch as the long, 
sleek car came to a halt before the front door. After her long, erotic 
afternoon with the handsome, but undeniably slow-witted, youth, the sight of 
Marty's mature and obviously intelligent face, as he emerged from the 
now-silent car and headed up the short walk to the house, sent a surge of 
joy through Inger, and she longed suddenly to rush up to him and tell him 
all about her sexual experience with the young boy. She realized he looked 
tired, and worried, and she knew she could make him laugh with her vivid 
descriptions of the boy's almost inept eagerness and her own role in the 
love-making, something between a loving governess and cunning seductress. 
But something held her back, staring moodily from the protection of the 
deepening shadows-she could not tell him the story, because it was not 
really funny. She had been taken only hours before by an animal of a boy 
who, working purely on natural instinct, had fired her body past all 
knowledge or will, except sexual, and had reduced her to a wild, carnal 
piece of quivering flesh. How could she ever explain this to her husband, 
the almost middle-aged man who had just trudged so wearily into their lovely 
home? 

Then Inger remembered that she had forgotten to prepare anything for Marty's 
dinner. Her distraction after Chuck's departure, plus the quieting walk she 
had just taken, had left her mind too filled with other matters to think of 
anything as simple and practical as dinner. She hurried inside then, ready 
to offer up some weak excuse in explanation for her absence and the lack of 
dinner. Marty had not heard her entrance and was relaxing with his usual 
before-dinner martini on the couch in the living room. The expression he 
wore made it plain to her that he had not stopped anywhere for drinks this 
evening. His face was lined, troubled, and she immediately felt sympathy for 
him, hating whatever it was that just then made him look ten years older 
than his actual age. Was it something wrong at the office, she wondered? Had 
he lost an important case-maybe a client of long standing? Or perhaps he was 
merely exhausted because of an especially punishing schedule. 

"Hi, darling," Inger finally said, cutting through the silence. She noticed 
a miraculous change come over him at the sound and sight of her. As though 
by a kind of osmosis, his face changed from worried to surprised delight to 
his special sort of sardonic smirk, and his entire body seemed to perk up in 
preparation for whatever he might be faced with next. 

"Cheers, kiddo," Marty replied, she thought a bit too brightly to be 
believed. "What's for dinner?" 

"Well, to tell you the truth, dinner isn't ready... I took a nice walk over 
to the edge of the canyon, and I'm afraid I got involved looking at things 
and just forgot the time. I'm sorry." She steeled herself for the barrage of 
sarcasm she knew was about to come, as it always did, following her 
admission that she liked sometimes to simply sit and study the colors and 
shapes of things. This evening, though, she could almost welcome his 
attacks, the relief they would bring, for now she definitely felt guilty and 
uncertain about her love-making with Chuck. 

"That's very nice, Inger. But you needn't be sorry. There's nothing I'd 
rather have my gorgeous wife do than cavort blissfully among the trees like 
an innocent little woodland creature, ignoring mundane things such as dinner 
and husband. Actually," he added, pouring another large martini, "I can well 
imagine that you'd need respite in nature after another hard day at your 
task of painting and scribbling your holy pictures on pieces of paper and 
canvass." 

The reference to that day with Chuck, her art, filled Inger with alarm. She 
was afraid to speak or even move; she was horrified by the possibility that 
Marty might know something, that somehow, mysteriously, he had begun to 
suspect her of unfaithfulness to him and had put two and two together... But 
he continued to slouch on the long, puffy couch, resting, with knees wide 
apart and a cigarette in his mouth, eyes half-shut and indicating nothing 
unusual. Inger turned then and stared out the huge front window. There was a 
full moon casting a yellow lane on the ocean, which seemed, not over a mile 
away,'but just outside the window, and the room was sweet with the scent of 
jasmine and pine coming in from the open kitchen window. Suddenly the sheer 
loveliness of the night-the aromas, the moon, the comforting sound of an owl 
hooting in the tree behind the house-made her want to cry, cry out to Marty 
... to ask forgiveness and for a chance for them to be really in love and 
together again ... to stop hurting each other. She knew in that moment that 
she would do anything he wanted. 

"You know, I was just thinking," he interrupted, "why don't we take a few 
days off in a week or so and drive up to Clareborn Cove? I could fish a 
little and you could paint some seascapes-unless you'd rather screw around 
in town with some of your dopey artist friends..-What do you think?" 

"Golly, are you serious?" she asked, her face brightening at the prospect. 
"Oh, Marty, there's nothing I'd like better. You need the rest too. And we 
could visit the Chapmans ..." "Oh Christ, not them! There's nothing I'd 
rather do less than spend perfectly good relaxation time listening to Joe 
Chapman's endless monologue against the evils of American capitalism. The 
dumb bastard's a Communist, as we both well know, and what's worse, his 
so-called mind reminds me of a very, very old Sears & Roebuck catalogue." 

"But Marty ..." 

"But Marty, hell! He's a goddamned moron, that's what-and sometimes I worry 
about you too. As I recall, the last time we were there you embarrassed hell 
out of me saying, and I quote, 'I think what this country needs is an 
intelligent form of socialism' ... which was pretty stupid, as I'm certain 
that even you realize America's already fairly socialistic, though not very 
intelligently. But if you think Americans are ready to turn over the 
ownership and control to the community as a whole, you're daft. That's why 
there's no such thing as a true Communism in Russia or a democracy in this 
country-I mean, it's impossible due to physical reasons and because of the 
characters of the peoples in both countries. In both cases, it's state 
capitalism, and your silly friend Joe won't admit it!" 

"Marty, I know," Inger said softly. "Don't you remember, we went through all 
this on the way home from our last visit there? agreed with you." She knew 
he was exhausted, had other, unspoken matters on his mind, for he rarely 
permitted himself to vent this much spleen on purely academic subjects; nor 
was he accustomed to the imprecision he had just displayed in his ranting 
speech. She had been right, she knew it now, in deciding that he was 
troubled by something he was keeping to himself. Once again her fear rose 
that he had somehow learned of her sexual encounter with Chuck. 

However, Inger's fear and uncertainty reverted to pique when she heard him 
start up again, this time about Joe Chapman's wife, Janice, one of Inger's 
best friends from the days when the two women were fresh from Denmark and 
frankly over-awed by the size and strangeness of America. 

"As for his brainless wife, what's-her-name, I'll bet she's colder than a 
polar bear's ass, and that's why he goes on and on in his out-dated 
political beliefs ... He's probably so horny and frustrated that he takes it 
out on fucking up the truth." 

"Can't we just skip all this?" Inger sighed, resigned to his dislike for her 
friends. "What about our visit to Clareborn Cove, or have you forgotten 
that? I'd like to go-and we can avoid the Chapmans if they upset you so 
much." "Nah, let's skip the whole trip-the Chap-mans, the fishing, the peace 
and quiet, all of it. Just the way you seem to have skipped the necessity of 
fixing my dinner." 

Inger wheeled around at that, and stormed off to disappear in the kitchen. 
Well, let the bitch go, Marty thought to himself, rising to fix another 
batch of martinis. True, she had no way of knowing that he really wanted to 
go to Clareborn Cove himself, to fish and merely laze around, unwinding from 
the fantastic pressures at the office and in his own mind about his marriage 
to Inger. The last week or so he had been on the brink of nervous breakdown, 
had even been drinking heavily for the first time in his life-partly to 
escape his professional problems and partly to help ease the constant 
tension he had been personally feeling for several months now. She was also 
unaware of the fact that he had been seeing a psychiatrist, a long-time 
acquaintance who had an office in the same complex his office was in, and 
that his friend had quickly diagnosed Marty's inner tension as being mostly 
sexual. The doctor had said that Marty was currently suffering from a fairly 
common disturbance among modern American males-something called the 
Availability Syndrome, or in other words, that men frequently felt a 
lessening of desire for women when they were too easy to get. The 
psychiatrist had gone on to explain that, because of dramatic changes in 
modern morals, women were freer and less inhibited than ever before in the 
history of America. Men were confused, were still used to pursuing and 
conquering their women, and that often crippled male sexuality. 

When Marty had asked the doctor for advice in combatting the problem, the 
man had shocked him within an inch of his life by actually suggesting 
extra-marital sex. He had explained that perhaps Marty's decline of 
in-terest in Inger's body might be remedied that his desire might be 
rekindled, if Inger were to go to bed with another man, once twice, maybe 
more. When Marty had asked why he simply could not screw another woman and 
accomplish the same thing, the doctor had said, logically enough, that Inger 
was sexually well-adjusted and did not need to be made jealous... The 
problem was Marty's. And yet he knew of no graceful way of telling his 
beautiful Danish wife that it would help them if she could manage to get 
herself' fucked half silly by some stranger. He was not even certain he 
could bear such a thing, whatever the reason. Still, he had to admit to 
himself that he was genuinely aroused by the picture of some big stud 
spreading her legs apart and giving her a good fucking-and this, despite the 
hurt and anger the idea caused him. 

He was often ashamed of himself for treating her so cruelly, lampooning her 
dedication to art as well as the deep interest she took in the natural world 
around her. But his pride was hurt, too. He was sometimes scared as hell 
that she had stopped looking upon him as a real man, regardless of his 
excellent reputa-tion as a lawyer, that he loved her totally and wanted to 
give her everything she deserved. 

"Hey, you old grouch, dinner's ready any time you are," Inger yelled from 
the kitchen. 

"I hope you don't mind eating in here. It's late and I thought you'd 
appreciate something fast and easy." 

"Okay, baby, whatever you say. Christ, the way you starve me, I'd eat in the 
bathroom if I could just stop this gnawing in my belly." He was smiling 
broadly and she heaved a sigh of gratitude as she recognized a switch in his 
humor. Perhaps they would get their trip to Clareborn Cove after all, she 
mused, setting the table. 

When they had settled down to their meal, she racked her mind for an easy 
way to introduce the topic of the sketch she had done of Chuck that 
afternoon, afterwards ... Obviously Marty would remember the boy and inquire 
about the sitting; and he would no doubt also ask whether or not she had 
done the study with Chuck completely nude this time. Earlier, on her walk, 
she had decided that the best solution would be to bring up the issue 
herself and offer to show her husband the sketch. There was a slim chance 
that her willingness to show it would bore him and he would try to wiggle 
out of seeing it-but she doubted that that would happen. It would only be 
another session of abuse, herself the target, and he would malign her talent 
again. That time in bed with Chuck had been so exciting and satisfying, 
though, that she was not even threatened at the thought of his inevitable 
attack. 

As they were sitting over coffee, Inger mus-tered her courage and said, "by 
the way" you've not said a word about the sitting this afternoon. Wouldn't 
you like to see the results?" 

"Why not?" he answered without looking up from his steady thoughtful gaze 
into the cup between his hands on the table. 

"You wait here, then, and I'll go get it," she said, dread flustering her as 
she left to get the sketch. She reinforced her failing nerve with anger, 
preparing herself to fight for her work, no matter what he might say. She 
returned a moment later, holding the large sheet carefully by the edges, so 
as not to smear the charcoal. "Well,... what do you think?" she asked as she 
lifted it higher in front of him, trying to guess which cutting line he 
would use this time to insult her work. 

"Huh?" he said, jerking up his head, sur-prised. "I'm sorry, I was 
thinking.. , But well, what's this?" he acknowledged, his eyes travelling 
over the picture, coming to rest at last on Chuck's generous allotment of 
genitalia. 

"Good God, Inger, have you gone altogether crazy? You can't-you can't draw a 
joint like that on a mere boy! It-it's inhuman! I know you're a healthy 
woman, strongly sexed and all that, but you've got to learn to curb your 
imagination." 

Inger said nothing and just stood there, holding the sketch, toying with the 
notion of letting him persist in his belief that she had simply exaggerated 
the size of Chuck's penis. Well, she might have expected it, she finally 
concluded--that Marty would think she had been so foolish as to draw 
something that was not actually there. The very idea was absurd, especially 
since she had gone to the trouble in the first place of asking for a model 
to study. His idea was even more absurd, really ironic, when she went on to 
consider that Chuck's penis was in reality even a bit larger than the one 
she had sketched in on the figure. 

"Marty, I wasn't imagining anything," she said at last, starting to roll up 
the sketch. "He's merely a well-built boy. It's not my fault." 

"Wait a minute, let me see that again," he barked, reaching for the sketch. 
When she had released it, he cleared a space on the table and spread it out 
before him, studying the artfully done figure with an interest bordering on 
fascination. He could not deny, not to himself, that she had done an 
excellent job in capturing a quality of raw brute strength and beauty in her 
model-if he was really like that. He remembered that the manager of the 
hotel had said that the boy was not bright, which probably accounted for the 
dull, almost primitive look in the eyes of the boy in the sketch. The 
musculature, the impressive symmetry and power were what most astonished 
him, though. And that cock, my God, it must be every bit of seven inches 
long, even soft, just hanging there like a thick hose with veins as big as 
heavy twine just under the skin. And this was the "kid" who ran around stark 
naked, every afternoon now, in front of his wife. That huge prick was what 
she had stared at-how long?-while she sketched it. 

He wondered what she felt, if she was turned on, by the sight of such a 
display of masculinity. He knew his time in the service and before that in 
school, had proved to him that his own cock was much larger than most men's. 
Those were times in a man's life when he checks out in shower rooms how he 
measures up to other men ... It was something everyone did. And he had been 
damned confi-dent that he had nothing to worry about in the matter of size. 
But this dumb-looking young boy made him look under-endowed by comparison! 
Did Inger think something that big inside her would be more exciting, he 
wondered? Did she compare him to the boy perhaps wonder if such an obscenely 
long, thick cock would be much more satisfying than his own? He was repulsed 
and jealous at the thought of anyone else, this youngster in-cluded, 
touching her, but at the same time he could not say that he was not 
tantalized by the image of something so incredibly large buried up to the 
hilt between her open legs. The doctor had said he might be, and by God he 
was! 

"Let me ask you, how do you ... feel when you stand there looking at your 
teenager, your young Hercules?" Marty looked up at her, searching her face 
for any sign of emotion. When he saw none, he asked, "Well? ... Or, let me 
put it this way-Do you get very stirred up?" 

"I am an artist, not anything else, when I draw or paint ... I-I don't know 
... I don't understand," she stammered, fighting to keep her face from 
betraying her guilt. 

Meanwhile, he continued to examine her eyes, his unyielding gaze knifing 
into her like that of a prosecutor's, or a cop's, in the midst of a damning 
interrogation. She wanted to run, to scream, to escape his accusing eyes any 
way possible... Now! 

"Hey, what's the matter?" he inquired with gentleness. "I was only wondering 
what an artist feels-if you can stay objective all the time." He felt sorry 
for her, truly sorry, even though the feeling was mixed with mounting 
stimulation and he had a hard-on that jerked in his trousers the more he 
imagined the torturing, yet thrilling scene of Inger being fucked hard and 
deep by the boy with the mammoth cock. He could envision her holding his 
balls, the same huge balls in the drawing, tickling them with her slim, 
graceful fingertips as the savage nitwit ploughed her until they both came 
off. 

It was working, it was working! Her delicious body looked better than ever! 

"Listen, baby, I wouldn't blame you," he said, "if the boy did get you hot 
and bothered. Hell, it's normal. And you're always telling me how honestly 
natural it is for sexually healthy people to want each other's bodies ... 
Okay, don't worry about it. If the kid turns you on, so what? And even if 
something hap.-pened, I'm grownup-I'd understand...It wouldn't hurt. I know 
you love me." He moved his face forward, careful not to shake the trust he 
saw building in her. His face was a scant few inches from the fine blonde 
hairs covering her closest arm, and he inhaled the sweetness of her skin as 
one breathes in the finest exotic incense to caress the senses. She shivered 
as though her spine were being brushed with the lightest feather, then 
swallowed deeply and moved closer, placing her hand on his neck with loving 
tenderness. 

"And I love you," Inger whispered. "Thank you, darling, for understanding so 
much . .. I'll do anything you want me to do." 

"Come to bed... We'll talk about it there," Marty said as he rose, casting a 
last look at the sketch of Chuck before rolling it up and handing it to her 
with a knowing, passionate glint in his eyes. 

It was the first time she had felt completely at ease with Marty in over two 
years, she thought happily as they headed for their bedroom. 

 Chapter 6 

Marty and George Pollard were sitting at a small table near the back of the 
Casswell, an informal restaurant-bar that catered almost exclusively to 
businessmen and upper middle-class daytime shoppers. Marty liked the 
Casswell, just as he liked all the old buildings in that area. Hearing about 
them being torn down, even reading about it in the newspaper, gave him a 
distinct pang, as though he had heard of the death of a friend. Today, 
however, he had only a peripheral sense of the restaurant, the other diners, 
the tables set with silver and red plaid napkins and glasses-these all 
existed just beyond his consciousness, like designs on the rim of a plate. 
What he was most aware of was his pleasurable session in bed with Inger the 
night before-one of the best times they had had since they were first 
married. She had been spectacular, twisting and squirming beneath him so 
that not even a complete eunuch could have restrained him-self from reaching 
the pinnacle of lust, it made him wonder, of course, if maybe his suggestion 
that she jump in bed with the boy had not already been carried out, for he 
doubted that he had done anything differently during the act itself. But 
what if they had ... fucked? What if? 

"Marty!" George Pollard said with good-humored irritation. "You've been 
woolgathering for the last ten minutes. I've been trying to draw your 
attention to that girl who just walked in-the one over there." 

"Oh ... yes," Marty said as he turned his head to follow the direction in 
which his com- panion's finger pointed. The girl was lovely, he had to 
admit, when his search came to an end with the discovery of the girl George 
was talking about. She was short and beautifully stacked, and she was 
wearing a bright sun- yellow dress that clung to her pert figure like 
shimmering skin. Then he recognized her- Jill, hell yes, his former 
secretary, the one he had to let go after she had riled several of his 
clients by flashing her huge bust and wonderful legs while they waited for 
admittance to his office. Even Inger had been upset by the girl's presence 
in the office and had months later confessed relief when he had told the 
girl, as diplomatically as he could, that she was not quite suited for the 
job. It had been sad in a way, because she had been mar-velously efficient 
and had proved herself to be intelligent and sincerely curious about every 
legal matter that came to her attention. Evidently she had had similar 
problems, concerning her figure, with former employers, for she had merely 
grinned and been polite when he gave her notice. 

"Dammit, Marty, come on! What do you think of her?" George enthused. 

"Why don't we buy her a drink and find out?" 

"What the hell are you talking about? You can't just pick up a girl like 
that," George fumed, screwing up his face in an expression of impatience. 

"Can't we?" Marty asked, smiling with mock smugness. He rose then and walked 
directly to where the tormentingly beautiful girl was standing as she waited 
for a table. She recognized him immediately and extended her gloved hand in 
greeting. 

"Why, hello, honey! I was just thinking of you this morning," she said 
warmly. She was an open, blond, fair-skinned girl, in some ways as 
attractive as Inger and very much like her in manner. He chatted about 
incidentals with her for a moment or two, then invited her to join him and 
his friend for lunch and a cocktail. As they approached the table where 
George was waiting, his eyes wide and incredulous over what appeared to be 
Marty's phenomenal luck, Marty leaned close to her and then draped his arm 
around her narrow shoulders with a kind of brotherly affection. She 
responded, leaning into Marty's shoulder as though it were something she 
were used to doing all the time, thus shocking George Pollard all the more. 

"Well, George, I didn't think I'd have any trouble picking up this broad," 
Marty teased, "and as it turned out, I didn't." Jill seemed to understand 
the game immediately and at the last minute chose to sit in the chair 
closest to George Pollard's plump, solid figure. 

Marty had never really liked George and actually enjoyed the man's 
befuddlement when Jill moved her chair closer to him, her trim, willowy body 
not more than a few inches from his. George coughed and pretended to be 
bored, a gesture so conspicuously phony that it made him all the sillier in 
their eyes. Then, as they went through the motions of introduction, Marty 
found himself re-evaluating his stocky neighbor. George had that peculiar 
combination of suavity-the effect of his early success as a businessman, 
taking over and expanding on a small network of stores-and an almost 
childlike awkwardness. He had always reminded Marty of those precocious 
little boys at school who were shoved several grades ahead, who delighted 
the teachers, and yet were always the butt of jokes ' among their 
schoolmates, never quite fitting in, despite endless geniality, even 
obsequiousness. 

"That's such a pretty tie," Jill cooed, fingering George's tie like a wife 
admiring her mother's Christmas present to her husband. "Fantastic!" she 
said, catching Marty's eye and winking. "You know, it says something about 
you-something important." "Hmmmm, yes, I suppose it does," George said 
flushing as he picked up the end of his tie to inspect it. His voice became 
husky and self-assured as he added, "The thing about ties is that it's just 
about the only area where a man can exert any taste in what he wears. You 
see, most things like suits are so plain-always so bland in color and cut." 

"You're quite right," Jill exclaimed. "Now you take this dress, for 
example-it's not a tie, but I own three others exactly like it except for 
color and a slight variation in style. Women are lucky when it comes to 
clothes." Marty laughed inwardly when he saw George's eyes pop at the sight 
of Jill's deep, provoking cleavage disappearing down the front of her 
low-cut dress. The foxy little bitch was making George fidget and blush like 
a young boy during his first visit to a whorehouse. Then Marty himself 
stared at her. Now, close up, he realized a strange new fact about her 
appearance. Her dress, which he had taken for a uniform yellow, was not what 
it had at first glance appeared to be. It was cut out at various places to 
reveal bare flesh, one such place being a circle around her stomach in the 
middle of which, like a bull's-eye on an archery target, her navel was 
revealed. The other he saw when she leaned forward to pick up her 
drink-another place in the back, curving down dangerously low almost to the 
point where her spine ended and spiraling up to a thin strip near the neck. 

Evidently amused by Marty's absorbed stare, she laughed and said, "What do 
you think of it? I saw the pattern in a French magazine, liked it, and made 
four of them with just enough difference to be able to wear them to the same 
place four days in a row." 

"You must get an interesting suntan wearing a dress like that, if you're 
outside very much," Marty chuckled. He tried to picture Inger in the same 
dress and the vision brought a euphoric feeling to his groin. 

Just then the waiter, who had been hovering discreetly near their table, 
approached and quietly placed their orders in front of them. Jill and Marty 
began to eat at once, but George sat there impassively, still fascinated by 
the hole cut out around Jill's belly button. Thoughts from the first days of 
his marriage to Sandy flickered hazily through his mind. He remembered how 
she had worn a dress, then as daring and promiscuous as Jill's seemed to him 
now, to a party at his tennis club. He had resolved to himself that he would 
"score" later that evening, and had ... Several months later they had been 
married and began what to him was a romantic, active sex life. Not long 
after that, he had bought his small but promising chain of stores and 
invested every cent of his inheritance in them. Sandy had complained, mainly 
about his increasing lack of attention to her, and he had been irked at 
first, thinking her silly and selfish because she could not conduct herself 
as he thought an energetic young business-man's wife should. Gradually, 
though, he knew it was simply that he had lost interest in her-at least 
sexually. His arousal by girls such as the one sitting beside him now, 
talking to Marty, became the main source of his interest in sex, even love, 
and he came more and more to think of his wife as just someone who was there 
when he came home to sleep and eat. 

"Well, listen, you two, I've got to take off. I'm due back at my office for 
an appointment in ten minutes. I'm taking off early for a change," Marty 
said as he picked up the check and slid his chair back from the table. 

Jill glanced up from her partially-finished lunch to flash him an 
affectionate smile of farewell, adding conspiratorily, "I'm working for 
another attorney now, but you know I'm always available if you're in a jam 
... Don't hesitate to call." She waved good-bye as he turned to walk away, 
punctuating her gesture with a mock-solemn wink, then turned back to George 
who was still staring at the soft expanse of tanned skin that peered from 
the cut-out portion of her dress. 

Marty grinned to himself when he looked back from the entranceway across the 
room to see the two deeply engrossed in quiet conversation, his neighbor's 
face absurdly close to Jill's cleavage as he leaned closer to her to 
emphasize some point he had obviously just made. 

Though Marty had known of George's extramarital activities for some time 
now, he had never actually seen him in the process of seduction. The sight 
of George's almost-adolescent fascination with a harmless patch of bare skin 
struck the attorney as so ludicrous that he was forced to think of something 
else to keep from laughing out loud in the restaurant. A sobering thought 
came quickly to his mind-his wife Inger and that young Hercules, alone in 
the house for hours yesterday afternoon. 

What really had happened, he wondered as he drove along the boulder-lined 
state highway that curved and twisted like an asphalt river, winding 
gracefully between the city and the outlying highlands. He had tried to 
force the question from his mind during the important meeting after lunch, 
but it kept popping up, distracting his attention from the commercial issues 
being discussed with his client, until he finally ended the conference, 
citing a need for several documents not yet in his client's possession. 
Luckily, the corporate representative with whom he had met that afternoon 
had been, young, a junior executive who was awed by Marty's wide reputation 
as a corporation counsel. To the attorney's relief, the young man did not 
question his decision to conclude the appoint-, ment, but had smilingly left 
the office with profuse thanks for Marty's time and efforts. 

Now, as he drove leisurely along the deserted road, Marty's thoughts dwelled 
once again on his lovely wife and her association with the well-endowed 
young boy. Jealousy was a new addition to Marty's emotional make-up and his 
own reactions surprised him. As with other unanticipated developments in his 
professional and private affairs, he tried to analyze the occurrence 
objectively with an eye to all revelant concerns, but this situation 
continued to worry and amaze him. Before he met Inger, no woman had ever 
appeared so attractive to him, both physically and intellectually, however 
the doctor had very tactfully suggested that perhaps Inger's unthinking 
acceptance of sexual desires as simply a healthy natural function had, in 
essence, turned him off. He found the mystique, the shadowy secrecy 
surrounding the sex act had faded, and with it, his interest. 

But then, he mused, a new element is added. Inger's provocative sketch 
appeared once more in his mental vision, the long, limp sex organ standing 
out as if spotlighted. Of course, his beloved wife would never even consider 
... or would she? As his imagination stiffened the cock, filled it with 
surging lust-driven blood, he pictured the massive instrument crammed 
brutally into his young wife's unresisting cunt, filling and stretching her 
vaginal passage until her smooth white belly could only quiver helplessly 
above the cruel impalement. Once again, Marty felt his own prick lurch under 
the tight confinement of his trousers and his foot pressed the gas pedal 
toward the floor of the car, speeding to his arrival at today's modeling 
session. 

 Chapter 7 

Marty paused on the flagstone stairway to gaze thoughtfully at the heavy 
oaken door leading into his home. He had left the car down on the shoulder 
of the highway and hiked up the steep drive to the house, planning to 
surprise her with his first free afternoon in many months. But as he stood 
on the doorstep, his courage suddenly deserted him and he considered walking 
back down to the car and driving it up to the house to give her fair warning 
of his arrival. As it passed through his consciousness, the idea of warning 
his own wife seemed suddenly ridiculous and he slowly turned the knob, 
admonishing himself to be quiet so as not to disturb Inger as she worked. 

He slipped into the spacious living room, only to find it empty. In 
consternation, Marty checked his wrist watch. Yes, it was nearly four 
o''clock, almost an hour after Inger and the boy were scheduled to begin the 
sitting. Disjointed images of his wife laying naked with the young brute 
flashed through his mind. Were they in the woods, out by the canyon, maybe 
in the wild-flowers in the tiny clearing behind the house? Despite his 
mountainous anxiety, he felt a growing sexual excitement at the lascivious 
thoughts. 

Suddenly his eyes fell on a small, neatly folded pile of clothes under 
Inger's easel. The topmost garment was a pair of white under-shorts rolled 
tightly into a ball and placed on some faded bluejeans like a snowy peak on 
the heap of masculine garments. His gaze traveled upward to the easel where 
he could barely discern the rough beginnings of another drawing of the boy 
model. But where were they? he wondered, hardly forming the question before 
it was answered by a deep moan from the master bedroom. Their bedroom! 

Forcing his legs to carry him to the back of the house, he tried mentally to 
deny his fear of viewing what was obviously happening in his own home. He 
stood for several moments at the edge of the open bedroom door, calling on 
all his emotional strength, before he rasied his head and peered around the 
door frame to find the source of the grunts and moans that were now 
increasing in volume and frequency. His mind blanked with shock at the sight 
he beheld and he leaned heavily against the doorway for support as he 
watched un-comprehendingly the spectacle of sexual de-pravity taking place 
before him. He wanted to run, to get away, to somehow forget that he had 
ever been home that afternoon, but his limbs were paralyzed and he stood 
motionless as if rooted to the spot. 

There, in front of him, on the bed he had shared with her for all the years 
of their marriage, Inger crouched on all fours like a tawny lioness about to 
leap, but she was solidly anchored in her position by the taut-bodied youth 
who held her hips high in the air as he stood behind her, rhythmically 
fucking his huge member in and out of her exposed cunt. Marty stared in at 
them with astonishment as Inger clawed at the bedspread like a woman 
possessed, her head down and moaning incoherently as the boy brutally pulled 
back at her hips, sinking his massive gleaming cock up to his balls between 
the soft golden hair-lined lips of her vagina. The boy no longer resembled 
the stupid, almost sweet-faced lad in Inger's draw-ing, but wore a 
demoniacal expression, his eyes glazed and face contorted with greedy lust. 

"Aaaaaaah ... harder! Fuck harder!" Inger cried as her ass gyrated under the 
boy's hands| and he pounded savagely into her with growing abandon. 

When Marty heard the lewd words escape his wife's lips, he felt his horror 
at the obscene sight change to uncontrollable anger, and yet despite his 
revulsion at her unforgivable wantonness, a wave of passion flooded through 
him- Although he longed to fly into the bedroom and tear the madly fucking 
youth away from his wife's buttocks, maybe to beat him to death or screw her 
until the bitch pled for mercy, he nevertheless watched the couple as their 
naked, perspiring bodies continued to hump and heave in exciting unison. 
Even in his rage, he could not help but be proud of Inger's beautiful body, 
her smooth creamy buttocks waving high off the bed, her full, heavy breasts 
swinging and bouncing from the terrific buffeting her entire lower body was 
undergoing. As Marty watched the scene with rising excitement, the 
beginnings of an idea were taking shape in his mind. Yes, he almost said 
aloud, what's good for the goose certainly is good for the gander ... Why 
not? 

He heard Inger and the boy screaming out their climax together just before 
he closed the front door behind him. Marty took the forest path back down to 
the highway, just in case one of them happened to glance out the window 
after they rose from their wild spell in bed. Well, he pondered, it seems 
damned strange to be paying some kid to fuck my own wife-especially since he 
was supposed to be just sitting around while she looked at him. Christ, the 
kid ought to be paying him ... or at least doing a little extra work around 
the house ... for what the punk was getting. A strange smile lit his face by 
the time Marty reached the car where he had left it parked. With a dry 
chuckle, he slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove off toward 
Rocky Cliff Inn to speak with the manager. 

At the hotel, he located the manager and ob-tained Chuck's home address, 
assuring the man that there was nothing wrong with the boy's work but that a 
matter of trivial importance, had to be discussed with his mother. It was 
early yet, nearly two hours before Chuck and Inger would be finished 
"working" and, besides, Marty was not due home himself for about three 
hours. He had plenty of time to knock off a few much-needed drinks at the 
hotel before making the drive across the peninsula to Chuck's home. Anyway, 
he wanted sufficient time to think through and refine the initial stages of 
his new program for stepping up the benefits of his marriage to Inger. 

The hotel cocktail lounge was crowded with summer tourists and a few local 
residents, one or two of whom Marty recognized. He kept his back to the 
throng, though, and stared out the window at the sea glittering like a field 
of diamonds. After two double shots of bourbon on the rocks, he felt the 
tension draining from his body, replaced by a warm sense of satisfaction 
over his restraint at seeing his wife being fucked dog-style by a young boy 
so. many years her junior. He wondered what his psychiatrist friend would 
say if he knew that Inger had taken the professional advice on her own, 
without even knowing it. Would her action be as effective, even though he, 
her husband, had so far not had a real, acknowledged part in it? Yes, it 
would, of course it would, he decided; hell, it already had .. He was still 
half hard just remembering how out of her mind with lust his wife had been 
when he left. Next, he found himself won- -dering about the true 
circumstances of Inger's liaison with Chuck. Had the boy been the aggressor, 
or had she followed Marty's own encouragement to take on another male? And 
when had it happened-the first day? Just today? Had the pair extended their 
erotic game to include other things, such as? 

"Another drink, sir?" the waitress inquired, looking down at his empty glass 
with two melting ice cubes in it. 

"Uh, no, no thanks, I've got to be leaving now," Marty said as the voice 
jolted him back to the moment and the room full of people. Checking his 
watch, he noted that it was time to leave, so he rose and withdrew a wad of 
bills from his pocket, peeling off a single which he threw down on the table 
as a tip for the waitress. It was an exorbitant amount, he thought, but he 
was feeling generous and wanted to share his high spirit with others. 

The drive down from the highlands and through the little towns on the 
peninsula was one of the most enjoyable Marty had ever made. Occasionally, 
he was amused at himself for looking over at other motorists while waiting 
for traffic signals to change, musing over whether their private lives were 
fulfilling, if they were plagued with sex hangups, if any of them had the 
same choice he had to improve his life and love. He was on the threshold of 
happiness because he was strong, a leader objective and shrewd enough to do 
something decisive about his and Inger's life. If his plan worked, he would 
definitely make reservations for them at the Clareborn Cove Hotel, probably 
for the next week if he could manage to juggle his court calendar 
accordingly. They could even have sort of a second honeymoon. .Suddenly he 
spied the street sign he had been looking for-Roberts Avenue. He wheeled the 
big heavy sedan around the corner and began to check the numbers on the 
mailboxes. It was certainly a lousy neighborhood, he thought to himself, 
practically an outright slum. The houses were small and run-down, built 
mostly of adobe and patched here and there with un-painted plaster and crude 
boards. The ones with lawns at all were weed-choked and usually littered 
with the debris one sees in front of most houses in poor neighborhoods, 
broken toys, bald tires, dog dung. Finally, he saw the number the hotel 
manager had given him. Surprisingly enough, the house Chuck lived in was in 
fairly good repair, was newly painted, neatly kept, and the lawn was free of 
weeds and had been recently mowed... No doubt it was Chuck's doing. 

Marty parked and walked up to knock on the door, his self-confidence making 
him look like a bill collector or plain-clothes police detective. After a 
moment, a short fat woman who reminded him of the typical cleaning woman one 
sees in movies, opened the door and glared at him a long time before 
speaking. 

"Yeah, whatcha want, mister?" she growled, her black beady eyes burning into 
him like hot rays.. "I'm Mr. White... Your son Chuck works afternoons for my 
wife," Marty hurriedly explained, not wanting the woman to slam the door 
shut in his face before he could accomplish the purpose of his visit. "I'd 
like to talk with you for a few minutes, if I may. It's fairly important." 

"Oh yeah," she beamed as she recognized his name from the personalized 
checks her son brought home. "Sure, sure I know you... You come on in, now, 
and we'll talk. Criminey, Mr. White, you sure don't know how much those 
checks come in handy... You gotta be poor to know the meaning of a 
buck-nowadays anyhow." She escorted him to an ancient velour chair with worn 
shiny spots on the back and along the arms. The interior of the house was 
immaculate, he noticed, taking the seat she had offered; not a single item 
was out of place. 

"Well, whatcha wanna talk about, Mr. White?" she asked, taking a seat across 
from him. She sat with her fat knees spread to balance her tremendous 
weight, and Marty could see fold after fold of blubber hanging along her 
thighs where her cheap dress had hiked up when she sat down. Granted, she 
was clean, he mused, but how on earth such a gross creature could produce 
such a remarkably well-built son, even an idiot, was beyond him. 

"I guess we should start," he said, "by finding out if you know what Chuck's 
doing with Inger-my wife. Has he told you anything about the work he does?" 

"Nope, except that he says he don't do none. He just sits around while she 
makes pitchers ... Don't seem honest work to me, but we sure can use them 
bucks he earns." At least Chuck had not come home with tales about his 
sexual exploits with Inger, Marty concluded, relieved. 

"Yes, simply said, that's exactly what he does. My wife's an artist and uses 
your son as a model. And by the way, she's quite pleased with Chuck's 
patience." 

"Ha! that's a laugh," the obese woman cackled. "The kid's not smart enough 
for much of anythin' else. It ain't patience, it's juss what dumbness he got 
from his pa." 

"To get to the point," Marty chimed in, ignoring her reference to the 
obvious, "I came to ask you to recommend a young girl, say about Chuck's 
age, to work with him as a model for my wife. The pay is the same and of 
course we'll pay the girl a little extra to make up the cost of bus fare to 
Pacifica Woods. Do you know of anyone, some pretty girl, who would like to 
earn some extra money?" "Extra, hell!" the big woman boomed. "Around here 
there juss ain't no such thing as extra bucks ... But lemme think a bit." 
Marty sat quietly, wordlessly hoping that she would come up with some 
delicious young morsel just right for his plan. He had in mind an innocent, 
virginal type, at least tolerably well put together, who could be talked 
into playing an easy, very basic role for money. Almost any kid in this area 
would welcome a chance to make some easy cash, he was positive, and there 
was also the advantage that whomever he hired would more than likely be less 
morally inhibited than a kid from a more prosperous section of town. 

"Hey, I juss got it! Marie, Chuck's gal-friend. She'd love makin' some bucks 
... and she's a looker. Boys all the time affer her HI box-'scuse me-but she 
don't give up nothin', no sir. Chuck's too dumb to git it hisself." 

"How old is she?" Marty asked, trying to hide his rapidly increasing 
interest by lighting a cigarette. 

"Eighteen, about," Chuck's mother answered. "But she sure don't look it... 
'Bout eighteen, I'd say." 

"Fine, she sounds fine. You'll get in touch with her, I hope, and explain 
everything," Marty said presumptively, certain that the ten-dollar bill he 
was handing the fleshy woman would guarantee that she would. "That's for 
your trouble... Oh, there's one more little thing I hope you'll do for me. 
I'd appreciate it if you'd not tell Chuck this evening about our talk. He'll 
be with my wife tomorrow afternoon, and I'd like to introduce Marie as a 
surprise ... a kind of gift, if you know what I mean." 

"Gotcha," the woman winked, stuffing the bill down the front of her dress, 
between her large sagging breasts. 

"I'll pick her up here, if it's okay with you. Say around three o'clock 
tomorrow afternoon." 

"She'll be here if I gotta drag 'er," she said, rising to her feet with 
great difficulty as Marty stood to leave, smiling with the same charm he 
often used in court to seduce a witness into saying something to strengthen 
his case. He bade Chuck's mother good-bye, then, and walked out to his car, 
feeling smug and already eager to return to the dingy neighborhood the next 
afternoon. The scheme was working far better than he had expected, so far 
anyway, but the true test would be the young girl herself. 

He looked at his watch again and made the quick, perhaps premature decision 
to stop on the way to telephone Clareborn Cove Hotel for reservations. The 
stop, the call, and the drive the rest of the way home would make his 
arrival coincide very nearly with young Chuck's departure. 

 Chapter 8 

Inger was finding it difficult to grasp the meaning of Marty's behavior on 
the night before. He had arrived home grinning like a school boy, not even 
drunk, and seemed to have completely solved whatever had been troubling him 
lately. Then he had taken her altogether by surprise with the announcement 
that he had just made a telephone call to Clareborn Cove to arrange for 
their reservations at the hotel there. They would be staying for two or 
three days late next week, according to his schedule at the office and 
whether or not the hotel reservation clerk would be able to fit them in on 
the days they wanted. She had been happy, of course, not only because of the 
prospective trip, but also because Marty was happy and had not found it 
necessary to rattle off his usual nightly attack of her per-sonal values and 
her dedication to art. Nor had he bothered to ask how yesterday's sketching 
session had been-had not even wanted to see what pitifully little sketching 
she had done. 

There was obviously something in the air, for there had been other more 
subtle changes in his attitude. He had been exceptionally tender toward her 
all evening, offering to rise and fetch whatever she might want, a drink or 
something, and later in bed, he had actually held her as though she were a 
little girl who needed protection against the world and all the evils in it. 
It had been wonderful, she recalled-just as when they were first married. 
But then, just as she was beginning to enjoy his new gentleness and 
attention, he had asked her, still softly, something they had never before 
mentioned. How many men had she gone to bed with in her life? It had thrown 
her for a loop, but his tone and manner had remained the same, still sincere 
and tender, and he had seemed genuinely curious. At first she had tried to 
dissuade him from pursuing the uncomfortable subject, saying she had never 
kept track and believed that quality was a more important issue than number. 
But he had been gently adamant, so she thought back over the years, counting 
her lovers as accurately as she could remember them. When she had tallied 
thirty-three, a total far greater than she had ever realized, she had been a 
little shocked and ashamed, afraid that Marty would think her sluttish and 
promiscuous. But he had simply nodded ... was silent for awhile, seemingly 
thoughtful, inward, not really distant from her and yet not really there 
either. It had been a strange evening. 

Inger was still in bed as she now reviewed the events of the previous night. 
Then she re-rembered the time and jumped up, feeling guilty for having slept 
so late when there was much to do. She crossed to the closet and took blue 
nylon robe from its hanger, slipping it over her nakedness. She buttoned it 
part way down, leaving the bottom portion open to allow the cool morning air 
to play over her legs. She might as well enjoy the coolness now, she 
thought, as it would probably be hotter than blazes by noon. She caught a 
brief glimpse of herself as she passed in front of the full-length mirror 
next to the bedroom door, and she was pleased with what she saw. Her skin 
was milky white, clear and sensuously soft-looking, and her cheeks were 
slightly rosy even though she had just risen from a full night's sleep. 
Marty had also noticed the blossoming quality in her appearance, saying that 
her work with Chuck was evidently agreeing with her. 

His reference to Chuck had caused her a moment of panic, but she had taken 
hold of herself and shown no outward sign that she and the boy had spent 
practically the whole afternoon making love, not working. Just the memory of 
the youth sent a little thrill of pleasure through her, making her nipples 
harden and tingle ... But no, she had already decided that she and Chuck 
would spend the entire afternoon session working to make up for the time 
they had lost in the past two days. Still, though, she enjoyed tantalizing 
herself with remembrances of the boy's strong body, his animal lust, and the 
amazingly rapid way he had grasped the essentials of love-making. She had 
been thankful that Marty had not made any real sexual over, tures in bed 
last night, because she had been ex-hausted by Chuck; and then too in the 
back of her mind she knew she might just melt today and wind up in bed again 
with her virile adolescent model. She was resolved not to, but honesty did 
make her admit the possibility. 

Just then Inger heard Hans barking furiously at the kitchen door. The 
massive Russian wolfhound had dug under the wire fence of his run at the 
side of the house and disappeared over a week ago. She and Marty had both 
been frantic with worry. They had offered a substantial reward in the 
newspaper and had spent hours driving up and down Springer Mountain, 
stopping the car every hundred yards or so to get out and call the dog by 
name. Finally, after several days, they had assumed that the valuable beast 
was either dead or had been stolen and taken off the penisula to be sold. 

Inger hurried into the kitchen, her heart lifting with joy as she flung open 
the door and saw the huge brown creature standing there on the porch, his 
thick brushy tail wagging crazily. When she admitted the dog, laughing aloud 
at his enthusiatic entry, he reared and nearly bowled her over as he placed 
his great paws on her shoulders. Inger giggled and hugged him with all her 
strength, asking him where he had been,rubbing and ruffling the coarse hair 
on his back talking a steady stream of affectionate nonsense as if he were 
capable of understanding every word. After a moment, however, Hans walked 
away from her and began sniffing at the door of the pantry, his great tongue 
lolling out and dripping saliva in tiny pools on the floor. "So, you want 
food, eh? Cupboard love, eh?" she chortled as she opened the refrigerator 
and took out a two-pound package of ground beef that she had planned on 
using for dinner. When she had set down the meat and watched for a moment as 
the big dog gulped at it, she thought of Marty, how happy he would be to 
know that their pet had returned from his wanderings. Her first reaction was 
to telephone him at once, but then she recalled that he was no doubt in 
court. Well, she would just surprise him, then. She would put Hans in their 
bedroom and take great delight in watching her husband's face when he went 
in to change clothes upon his arrival home from the office. 

Marty loved the dog as much as she, maybe more. Originally, buying Hans had 
been her idea, but as time passed her husband had developed an affection for 
the mammoth beast and often the two of them, man and dog, would romp for 
what seemed hours on end. Inger had sometimes been a trifle jealous and felt 
left out. 

But Hans was home now-and that was worth all the jealousy she had ever 
known! She had moved into the living room and was now sitting on the couch, 
leisurely smoking. Presently she heard the clicking of Hans' paws on the 
hardwood floor as he left his plate and padded in to join Inger. He nuzzled 
her leg until the loose skirt of her robe fell aside, revealing the ivory 
smoothness of her rounded thighs, then began licking and nosing her belly 
just above the blond patch of exposed pubic hair. He pushed his massive head 
down into her crotch then, his long red tongue still slithering in and out 
of his drooling mouth as it probed and lapped at the enticing female odor 
rising from her vagina. She shivered and chilled from the unexpected 
stimulation of the dog's hot wet tongue and the warm blast of his breath 
against the sensitive area. 

"Hans, you devil, you stop that!" she said with mock sternness. But he paid 
no attention and renewed his effort to reach the source of the wonderful 
scent that was exciting him. With a powerful downward push, he succeeded in 
opening Inger's tightly clenched thighs with his nose and ran his tongue 
wetly the full length of the narrow pink slit that came into view. Her clit 
came suddenly alive and throbbed as the hairy dog's long moist tongue 
flicked hotly over the sensitive bud. She found herself responding, her hips 
digging back at the dog, quivering of their own volition, until it fully 
dawned on her what she was doing. 

"Back, Hans, back!" she snapped, pushing his face away with both hands. The 
huge brute moved to one side reluctantly, only to sit up and place his front 
paws on the back of the couch, his hind-quarters beginning an obscene 
humping motion against the edge of the cushion. Inger watched aghast as his 
glistening, scarlet penis slipped out from its hairy sheath, dripping; the 
tapered erect point jabbed and danced as he tried futilely to bury it in the 
cushion. The hot scarlet of his jabbing penis contrasted startlingly with 
the lighter, muted color of the couch cushion, and Inger scolded herself for 
the spasms of erotic pleasure that made her loins quiver as she wondered 
what it would be like to have the dog's lewd-looking organ sunk up between 
her open thighs. The very thought of it was perverted, disgusting, and she 
rose to her feet, taking the mountainous Russian wolfhound by the collar to 
lead him outside to his run, where she would tie him until Marty could 
repair the fence. 

Later, after securing the rutting dog to a tree with heavy rope, Inger began 
to entertain the possibility of doing her first real painting of Chuck in 
the clearing behind the house. It was quite private, blocked off from 
anyone's view, and now it was truly warm enough for her model to pose nude 
outside. Of course she must do at least two or three more studies of him 
first, a back view for one ... Yes, she would do a back view this 
afternoon-one with him standing, head canted downward just a little. And she 
would ask him if he minded going along with her plan to move outside, 
probably early next week, when it came time to start work with oils. She 
knew he would do anything for her- anything but stop driving her wild with 
his Greek god-like physique and raw, maddening love-making. Well, today 
would be different, she swore all over again ... It had to be! 

At quarter of three, even before she had had a chance to make a change into 
less provocative clothes as a measure of safety against Chuck's arousal, he 
appeared at the door, huffing as he had been for the last two days from his 
jog up to the house. 

"I come up through the woods," he said to ac. count for his early arrival. 
She saw that he was still wearing the same shirt and jeans, as always, and 
that they were once again freshly washed and pressed. 

"Okay, Chuck, please get out of your clothes and stand over there," she 
instructed, her voice as cold and businesslike as she could make it. "I want 
you to stand with your back to me today." He finished undressing with haste, 
obviously befuddled and intimidated by her offi-ciousness, and quickly moved 
to the spot she pointed to with her finger. Inger knew a moment of weakness, 
a pang of regret that she had to bully the youth simply because she was 
afraid of her own emotions taking control again. But there was no choice. 

"Now turn around. Look down ... No, not that much-just a little ... Okay, 
hold it there." She began immediately to capture the main lines and bulging 
muscles of his torso, working intently as tiny rivulets of perspiration 
streaked down her brow. Chuck was also sweating, his broad fanning back 
shining as though it had been oiled lightly for a body builder's show. Had 
he ever chosen to enter a contest, she knew he would win easily. His form 
was imbued with grace and flawlessness that few people ever imagined, let 
alone saw in the flesh. 

"Listen, Chuck, stay perfectly still-I'm eoing to open the front door to let 
in a breeze. I'll be back in a second." She half ran to the door, opened it 
anjd stood for a moment to allow the rush of tangy sea air to flow over her, 
cooling her, then swiftly returned to her easel and took up the piece of 
charcoal again. 

"That's nice, ma'am ... I feel it on me," Chuck said without so much as 
flinching as he spoke. There was a long pause as she worked on, pleased with 
the progress of the drawing, then the boy spoke again. "Ma'am, you mad at 
me? I done somethin' bad, somethin' you don't like?" The contrite, doleful 
tone of Ms voice made her sigh and feel sorry that she had to treat the 
dim-witted youngster so harshly in order to contain her own shameless desire 
for him. 

"No, Chuck, I'm not mad at you ... I'm-I'm only trying very hard to get my 
money's worth out of you for a change. So don't move, whatever you do." She 
amended her bossy tone with a light tinkling laugh to put him at ease as 
much as she could while continuing to work. 

"Thanks, Mrs. White ... That makes me glad, that you ain't mad at me. Heck, 
I'd come up here for nothin'. I sure like you." Inger smiled, thanking him, 
but not pausing for fear she would lose the spirit of her involvement in the 
development of the figure she was doing. She worked on, pleased with her 
efforts, until she heard footsteps mounting the stairs on the front porch. 

"Inger, you home?" a woman's voice called from the open doorway. It was 
Sandy Pollard her neighbor, a pale woman of about thirty slender without 
being tall, whose light brown hair hung far down below her shoulders and was 
her best feature. Sandy could see Inger standing at her easel but not the 
corner of the room where Chuck was standing with his wide back flaring out. 
"I hope I'm not intruding. I didn't know you were working," the brunette 
said as she entered the room, not yet aware of Chuck's presence. 

"Oh, that's all right, we'll be taking a break in a few minutes," Inger 
said, feeling irritation at the interruption and at the same time a sense of 
satisfaction when she realized that Sandy had not yet seen Chuck's nude 
form. Gesturing to-ward the boy, Inger added: "As you can see, I've hired a 
model." Sandy's eyes followed her Danish neighbor's finger that pointed 
across the room, and caught sight of the young Adonis, his naked back and 
buttocks causing her to gasp and involuntarily avert her eyes. Inger saw 
Sandy's startled reaction out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing, 
reapplying herself to the sketch as an inner amusement filled her, making 
her bite her lip to keep from breaking out into laughter. If it were not 
that the work was going so well, she might have played on Sandy's 
embarrassment for all it was worth. 

When she was convinced that she had finished the basic form and the dynamics 
of his stance were just right, Inger turned to Sandy and grinned, saying, 
"That's all for now. Now, I'd like to introduce you to Chuck ... Chuck, come 
and meet my friend, Mrs. Pollard." Inger watched Sandy's eyes drop to the 
boy's hairy crotch as he obediently turned around and lum-bered over to the 
pair of women, his long thick penis swinging to and fro as he walked. After 
the introduction had been completed, Chuck took a seat directly across from 
Sandy, his dull eyes missing her flustered expression as she stared, now 
openly, at his magnificent young prick and testicles hanging far down over 
the edge of the chair in which he sat. 

Sandy was flabbergasted, had never seen, never known that a male organ could 
be so large and breath-taking, so formidable but exciting. George's sex 
organ was ridiculously small-not that it mattered, as he seldom used it to 
satisfy her anyway-but this mere boy sitting before her was absolutely 
incredible! 

"Well, what do you think of him?" Inger asked, certain that the woman seated 
beside her would quail and blush. 

"If I told you the truth, you'd change your opinion of me," Sandy said. 
Then, boldly, she went on, "One thing, I think it's a crying shame that 
someone with Chuck's advantages should spend all his time just standing 
there. How old are you, Chuck?" 

"Eighteen, I guess. .. My mom says so," he bumbled out, unable to take his 
eyes off Inger's long, beautifully rounded legs, the first stirrings of lust 
causing his big cock to jerk slightly between his legs. He was dimly 
conscious of the other woman's interest in him and swerved his gaze to meet 
hers. He was not at all fazed when he saw that she was brazenly sur-veying 
every inch of his body she could, particu-larly his slowly rising penis. It 
was good to have real, grownup women look at him, he de-cided; it made him 
hot inside and he wanted to touch them back with his hands.... Jesus, he was 
getting hot now, for that matter, and would give just about anything to get 
up that very min-ute and reach out to feel the soft white skin of Mrs. 
White's nice tits ... even though he felt sort of afraid to, because she 
seemed mad today But that other woman, Mrs. Pollard, seemed pretty hot 
herself ... Maybe he could start out with her. 

"Chuck, I think you're forgetting yourself," Inger said sharply, even though 
her own eyes were locked on the handsome young boy's steadily hardening 
prick, a silent, pulsating glow of warmth beginning to spread through her 
loins and flood the area around her clitoris. 

"Oh, Inger, leave him alone. He's just healthy-and God knows, we need some 
healthy males these days," Sandy blurted, reprimanding Inger for what seemed 
to be prud-ishness. The brunette's mind was reeling and she stared 
enthralled at Chuck's stiff, projecting rod of flesh without shame or any 
inkling of embarrassment. She could feel her small but well-shaped breasts 
straining under her thin summer blouse, the tiny pink nipples growing taut 
and throbbing until she feared they would burst any second. My God, she 
thought, if only she could touch him, just once, just to see if he really 
was as hard and muscular as he seemed to be, sitting there so tenderly young 
and available. 

Her daring wish was soon to be realized, for suddenly Chuck rose from the 
chair, unable to restrain himself a second more, and strode over to stand in 
front of Sandy, his prick jutting out only inches from her face. Then, 
without ceremony, he reached out to seize one of her still-clad breasts, 
pawing and squeezing it as though she were merchandise on display to be 
tested before buying. Sandy did not protest-all that mattered to her now was 
the obscene pleasure coursing through her like a fire out of control. She 
wanted to be subjected to any lewd demands the passionate youth expected of 
her sex-starved body. Next, as if controlled by an alien force, Sandy leaned 
forward and did some exploring on her own, boldly stroking the curls of 
pubic hair above his cock, feeling his young muscles tense beneath the 
gentle pressure of her fingertips. He groaned, moving closer to give her 
better access to his passion-inflamed groin. 

Inger could not believe what was happening before her very eyes. The 
fluttering sensations in her breasts and loins were also turning into a 
raging fire of lust as she watched Sandy take Chuck's great straining shaft 
in the clenched fists of her hands, slowly sliding up and down its length in 
a milking motion. Inger's vaginal slit was becoming moist under her sheer 
silk panties, and she saw Chuck's face change into that of a wild youthful 
savage as he watched the motion of Sandy's hand on his cock, seeing it 
continue to grow as he felt an ever-increasing tide of desire coursing 
through its rigidity. He moved up even closer so that his knees were on 
either side of the slim brunette's head, and his long pulsing cock throbbed 
out directly over her face, presenting her sex-filmed eyes a view of the 
quaking sperm-filled ridge running be-neath it. His balls lay almost on her 
chin. 

"Lie down ... on the floor," Sandy said husk-ily, pushing him back a little 
as he spoke. Chuck did not have to be told twice-he immediately responded 
and knelt first to his knees and then rolled over on his back in one 
continuous movement. "Aren't you going to join me, Inger?" Sandy said with 
sly, lascivious grin on her face, then moved out of her chair to kneel on 
the plush carpet where Chuck was lying, waiting. 

Inger sat still for a moment, feeling the firm resilient mounds of her 
breasts swelling and quivering even more as tremors of greedy hunger for the 
young boy made her whole body shake. At last she could no longer remain 
sitting there, doing nothing, while Sandy prepared to enjoy to the fullest 
the feast of youthful male flesh there on the floor like a banquet of 
beauty. She must share him as well, Inger thought, sliding off the seat to 
the floor on her knees, then crawling to one side of Chuck's naked form, 
opposite Sandy. Both women began to strip off their clothes, too, tossing 
them in a tangled pile on the carpet above the youth's head. When they also 
were naked, Sandy's slight small-breasted form made a striking contrast to 
Inger's more voluptuous Scandina-vian body; yet they were both lovely, each 
in her own way, and Chuck was at a loss to decide which one he wanted first. 

Finally, his weak mind chose Inger, because he knew her, and he placed both 
of his hands gently behind her head, bending her neck down toward him so 
that her face and mouth were poised directly in front of the palpitating 
head of his enormous cock. He pushed upward a little, his buttocks lifting 
off the floor, until the wide head of his penis was pressed gently between 
her slightly parted lips. He groaned anew as he felt the soft lipsticked 
surfaces brush teasingly and moistly against the sensitive skin of the 
glans. Her lips closed at the first touch and he held his breath, waithing 
for the beautiful woman to issue a cry of protest... but she said nothing. 
Instead, her lips fell limply open and her head pressed forward of its own 
accord without his having to exert the least amount of force. The movement 
caught him unawares, surprising him, and he watched with unbelieving delight 
as the tight rounded ovals of lipstick covered mouth closed over the tightly 
stretched skin of his cock. He had never in his wildest dreams believed he 
would know the day when a real woman did to him what he had heard the 
smart-ass boys at school talking about. But there she was-he could look down 
and see his big thick cock skewering into the face of a really pretty woman 
... and she was liking it, too. 

"Hey, save some for me," Sandy said as she grabbed the base of the cock and 
wrenched it from Inger's mouth with a pop. The slender woman fell at once on 
his slippery member and guided it into her soft moist lips, massaging the 
tender flexible skin of his balls with one hand and pinching her erect right 
nipple with the other. She began to use her tongue, slowly at first, and he 
shuddered as he felt it swiping around him, causing his cock to jerk inside 
her hot mouth. Her lips were soft and smooth and clasped tightly to him in a 
sucking ovalled elastic ring. He could feel them eagerly sliding down his 
prick and taking as much of him as she possibly could in her mouth, 
surrounding the throbbing staff with the delicious warmth of her saliva and 
the tender inner flesh of her tongue. He pressed his hands against her 
hollowing cheeks and pressed inward almost cruelly, her burning tongue 
continuing to twirl almost torturously around the huge cock at the apex of 
the withdrawal, the tip flicking magically over the tiny opening of the 
glans on the end. He flexed his loins, his head still raised high enough to 
watch the top of her head bobbing up and down below. The sight alone of what 
she was doing made it all the more stir-ing for him. 

Suddenly Sandy jerked the cock from her sucking lips and bent it toward 
Inger, who without hesitation closed her mouth on the thick, turgid head and 
once again almost choked from the sheer size of the organ buried between her 
puckered lips. She sucked at it hungrily and could feel the boy's heated 
reaction, so she began to draw on it a little harder, the tips of her teeth 
digging gently into the rock-hard re-sisting flesh, leaving small white 
trails of spittle along the length of the jerking rod. Then Inger felt the 
warmth of Sandy's palm against her hip pushing until she was forced to kneel 
on all fours to keep from losing her mouth's grip on the semen-oozing penis 
disappearing into he r face. Sandy grasped the base of the cock with one 
hand and wiggled down flat on her belly between Chuck's wide-spread thighs, 
taking his soft, hairy balls in her hand. Inger continued to suck 
voraciously, her lips touching Sandy's, hand where it still clutched at 
thebottom of the youngster's shaft, squeezing and letting go of the cudgel 
with a maddening rhythm ... Then Inger saw out of the corner of her eye that 
Sandy had swallowed one of the big balls and was trying desperately to cram 
the other one into her mouth too. 

Great torrents of heat were building deep in the young boy's aching 
testicles as he watched the two luscious women working, sucking and nibbling 
at his fiery organs. The muscles of his stomach flexed until he was afraid 
they would snap from the pressure as he arched his back up off the floor and 
drove even further between the red wetness of Inger's lips, the thin pink 
ridges of her flesh pulling out from her mouth but clinging avidly to his 
thrusting prick. His balls in the other woman's stretched mouth was just as 
deeply exciting and he knew she was nearly suffocating even though she 
tickled and teased the tender, sensitive sacs with her darting and rolling 
tongue without let up. 

"Ahhhhh, suck, Mrs. White ... Suck my nuts Mrs. Pollard. Suck me off good 
Oooooooooh!" Chuck moaned over and over again, his mouth opening and 
shutting as he muttered incoherently, the fire in his balls now unbearably 
hot. At last, he gasped-the real moment was here and a low, guttural sound 
started from somewhere deep in his chest as he felt the first surges of 
sticky white sperm begin to rage through his cock. He began to thrash from 
side to side like a demented animal as the dam of his desire began to burst, 
causing him to involuntarily jerk his prick from Inger's sucking mouth and 
begin to spew the hot white gush-ings of cum directly in her face. The thin, 
quick spurts shot from him like warm, thick cream, dripping from her 
beautiful face to fall and form lewd puddles of the substance on his own 
belly. Sandy grappled at his thighs to pull herself higher and bend down to 
drink from the little pools of cum, trying not to lose a drop of the 
precious, lust-inciting fluid, not if she could help it. Inger licked her 
own lips where some of the sweet youthful cum had landed or run down from 
other parts of her face, relishing the liquid as though it were a vintage 
wine. 

"Well, ladies, that was quite a performance. I didn't know either of you 
were so accomplished," Marty's voice suddenly rasped from where he was 
standing in the hallway with a pretty, young girl at his side. He chuckled 
ob-scenely and placed his arm around the beautifully built girl's shoulders, 
turning his head to ask her, "Don't you think so, Marie, don't you think 
that Sandy and my wife did a marvelous job on your Mongoloid boyfriend? What 
do you think of him now?" 

"I -- I don't understand ... Why-why were they hurting him that way? ... Oh 
Chuck, honey, are you alright?" she half cried, her sweet voice filled with 
concern as she ran to the boy where he still lay on the floor, on his back, 
the mixture of a happy smile and uncomprehending confusion on his face. 
Marie knelt beside him, cooing and stroking his sticky stomach as she placed 
her head on his solid chest. 

Inger's first reaction to the sound of Marty's voice had been utter, 
paralyzing disbelief, then shame and humiliation beyond words. She had never 
felt so debased, so wicked, in her life. Afraid to meet his eyes, she turned 
to search Sandy's face for solace-an irrational move, she knew, but at least 
a straw of hope to cling to. But Sandy seemed unaffected by the arrival of 
Marty and the girl who was apparently Chuck's friend, and was staring hotly 
in the direction of the hallway toward Marty. Inger turned and with horror 
saw that her husband was completely naked and just now draping his shorts 
and trousers over one end of the bookcase at the entrance to the living 
room. His prick was standing out in front of him like a sword and he wore a 
salacious grin on his face as he eyed Marie's up-thrust buttocks where she 
knelt alongside Chuck. My God, no! It was unthinkable! Surely her husband 
would not think of fucking such a young innocent girl? 

All of Inger's liberal upbringing, her regard toward sex as a natural 
function, teetered on the edge of a collapse. 

Averting her eyes from the lewd sight of her husband's yearning for Marie, 
Inger saw that Chuck had taken Marie's head in his hands and was pushing her 
down toward his newly, aroused cock. Sandy was holding the thick pole, 
rubbing her thumb over the inflamed - head as she milked up more sparkling 
semen from the thick inner tube that ran along its length. Marty had crossed 
the room and was now on his knees behind Chuck's girlfriend, stroking his 
own jutting cock with one hand as he reached up under the young redhead's 
dress with his other, feeling the satiny roundness of her ass under the 
panties that embraced the cheeks. 

"Just a minute, boy," Marty barked at Chuck, who was trying to slip his 
prick into Marie's mouth. "Let's get her undressed first." 

"Yeah, yeah, Mr. White ... Okay, Marie, git them clothes off like he says," 
Chuck commanded, startling the youthful girl into action. She sat back on 
her haunches, reaching behind her back to unclasp the buttons of her cotton 
blouse and the hooks of her heavily laden brassiere. She was breathing fast, 
both excited and frightened by the new adventure in which she was a 
participant. The vision of Chuck's magnificent penis standing high in the 
air, his bloated balls cradling below it on the floor, made her young 
girlish heart soar higher than ever before, a bird on its maiden flight. She 
had never seen a naked man but had spent long hours in bed at night thinking 
of what was really the reason that boy's pants bulged and sometimes got wet 
in front when she was around. She has-tened to wriggle out of her skirt and 
brief pink underpants, then leaned forward again, allowing Chuck to steer 
her sweet lips down to his cock. When her open mouth had slipped over the 
blood-filled cocktip, engulfing it innocently, she began to follow the 
urgings of his strong hands that pulled her head up and down as he fucked 
back and forth into her soft wet cavern. 

Inger could barely hold herself in check, wrestling with her conscience as 
she sat next to Sandy, no more than six inches from the boy model's 
prostrate body, watching Marty fondle the softness of Marie's buttocks. 

"Take my prick ... and put it in your asshole, baby!" Marty ordered with a 
wheezing gasp, slapping the teenager on her hip to show that he meant 
business. Without thinking, the dazed Marie reached behind her and took hold 
of the trembling shaft, aiming the swollen tip at the tiny brown ring of her 
tight, hairless anus. The older man's cock leaped in her hand and he pushed 
forward as the girl rubbed the head up and down the full slit of her crotch, 
lubricating the tool without knowing it with her cunt juices. She still had 
not actually understood the curt order from the man behind her until she 
felt him reach down and guide the hard rubbery tip of his cock up from her 
vaginal lips and into the soft, yielding moons of her parted buttocks ... 

Good God! he had never seen such a perfect lit-tie asshole. 

A gentle wave of fear passed through the girl's virginal body as Marty's 
hands took a firm hold of her buttocks and drew them apart slowly 
insinuating the thick head of his penis between the soft yielding cheeks and 
into the rubbery flesh of her rectum. Marie's hips began an involuntary 
swaying from side to side in an attempt to escape the unnatural invasion of 
her tight, tiny rectum. But, the impatient Marty lunged forward then, 
sinking almost half of his cock in her tightly clenched rectal entrance. She 
felt the heat of his thighs against her own and the tormented elastic ring 
of her anus suddenly stretched to the point of ripping as he pushed into 
her. 

"Aaaaaagggggghhhhh!" she screamed, her face contorted with agony and 
helpless defilement. She tried to twist her head back and stop his depraved 
assault on her defenseless, never-before-fucked rectum. 

Marty gazed down insanely at his cock stuck into the young virgin's asshole, 
the long hard length buried inside her, and he grinned with satisfaction 
when her globular cheeks began a low, it seemed methodical rotation against 
him. In the meantime, Chuck drove hard into the girl's mouth, arching up his 
hips to sink his great cock all the way into her throat when the man behind 
her slammed into her behind, pushing her forward. Marie was obviously not 
feeling pain now, but pure pleasure, for she was thrusting and squirming 
back to meet the obscene impalement of her back passage, then driving 
forward with Marty's in-stroke to swal-low as much as possible of her 
boyfriend's wildly humping prick Inger could no longer tolerate her passive 
role in the orgiastic scene when she saw Sandy crawl away from her and 
position herself over Chuck's face, her legs straddling the boy's houlders 
and slowly lowering her steaming wet crotch down to his mouth. Inger watched 
fascinatedly as Chuck gazed up at the palpitating opening of Sandy's cunt, 
then ran out his tongue into the soft rimmed flesh, flicking at it for a 
moment, and finally pressing his gaping mouth over the clasping viscous 
opening. The blonde wife had to do something, right away! The closest unused 
male flesh was her husband's buttocks gyrating wildly as he fucked into 
Marie's tender asshole, his balls slapping against the young girl's erect 
clitoris as he buried his prick in her up to the hilt. 

Inger moved forward and grabbed the cheeks of Marty's flailing ass, prying 
them apart with her fingers as she pushed his knees a little further apart 
with her own. She knelt there a moment on all fours, holding open his 
forward pitching buttocks, looking at the tight brown ring of his anus as it 
clenched and unclenched with his efforts to satisfy himself and the moaning 
girl in front of him ... Inger conquered her moment of revulsion at what she 
was about to do, then gasped and bent down her head until she was only an 
inch or two from his rear at the end of his back-stroke. Now... now or 
never, she thought, working her head back and forth to fall in with his 
rhythm and finally pushing her head forward to lock her warm, wet lips over 
his anus, her tongue darting out lizard-like to circ-cle and trace the 
sensitive puckered area. 

Jesus, Marty thought excitedly, my wife is actually reaming me! The 
beautiful bitch is sucking my asshole! 

Steadying himself with one hand on Marie's enticingly rounded buttocks, 
still fucking into her expanded rectal passage, Marty reached for-ward and 
pinched one of Sandy's throbbing nip-pies, making the brunette woman moan 
and grind down even harder with her naked pussy into Chuck's frantically 
sucking mouth, impaling herself on the long wet tongue that slithered hotly 
up into her cunt. 

"Oooooh, oooooooh," Sandy cried, pressing forward as far as she could to 
enjoy the benefit of Marty's pinching and plucking fingers at her tit, yet 
being careful not to deprive herself of the thrilling contact with Chuck's 
mouth and tongue. She had never felt anything so wonderful, so thoroughly 
and deeply stimulating! God, yes! Suck, squeeze, take me, take me! And there 
before her eyes, thrilling her more, she could see the young voluptuous girl 
wantonly sucking Chuck's huge cock, taking almost the entire length of it 
into her mouth while she ground her smooth white ass backwards into Marty's 
lunging loins and received his swollen prick far up into her belly. 
Inger-Inger too was in the fun, now holding onto her husband's driving 
buttocks as onto a life raft as she sucked and tongued his asshole like a 
wild woman. Sandy saw that everyone was sweating freely, herself included, 
and their bodies glistened and flashed in the late afternoon sun streaming 
in the window. 

Marie could almost feel herself splitting open from the power and pressure 
the man behind her was exerting deep inside her, but she loved every second 
of it and occasionally lifted her head from Chuck's pulsing organ to shout 
back encouragement to the old man who was violating her rectum so 
wonderfully and savagely. He now began to screw into her with 
ever-increasing speed, his hand dropping from the slim brunette woman's 
breast to rip and pull at her own breast hanging far down beneath her, 
bouncing wildly with the buffeting she was getting at both ends of her 
pleasure-wracked body. Then he released even her breast and reached back to 
spread the soft white rounded globes of her ass with both hands as if they 
were clay to be molded at will. 

Marty felt as though his penis would burst at any minute, not just at the 
end but all along the full length where the rubbery tight walls of little 
Marie's rectum held it vise-like and hot. The girl was mumbling and 
whimpering incoherent noises around the cock in her mouth and he increased 
the vigor and power of his strokes until he was driving her forward so far 
that Chuck's upward bucking cock sank into her throat all the way up to the 
thickened base of his cock. He could feel Inger's mouth following him, 
sucking and probing his desperately clenching rectum with lewd enthusiasm, 
shamelessly now, as though she had discovered an entirely new sexual 
satisfaction that she had not known existed. 

Marie felt the cock in her ass jerk and began to realize that something 
fantastic was about to happen, that the blonde woman's husband was swelling 
and on the verge of exploding inside her wide-split, brutalized rectum. 
There was a muffled gurgle behind her and she felt his huge throbbing rod of 
flesh burst like a dam as he gave one last tremendous buttock flattening 
thrust into the back of her upraised buttocks and emptied his hot sperm in 
spurt after spurt far into the depths of her asshole. Marie thought the 
ejaculating cock would never stop shooting into her and could feel the hot 
sticky fluid overflowing around the instrument and forcing its way out of 
the stretched opening of her rectum that was encircling the base of the 
shaft like a tightly sucking mouth. She gasped out a deep sigh of regret as 
she felt the deflated and limply hanging cock slowly withdraw from her 
flooded behind. There was a barely discernable wet, slurping sound as it 
slipped out from between her full white globes. Then came a sudden rush of 
cool air into the wetness of her crotch as she continued to suck and swipe 
with her tongue at the cock still in her mouth. Chuck too was approaching 
his orgasm and she was certain that the flexing and swelling sex organ would 
grow to such a size that her lips would tear painfully apart at the sides of 
her mouth. "Gaaaahhhhd, I'm cummminnnnn'," the muscular boy screamed, his 
words muffled by the grinding force of Sandy's moist pussy down into his 
face- Marie choked, almost gagging, as her virile young boyfriend's hot load 
shot into her throat, welling up to fill her rosy cheeks until she had to 
swallow madly to keep up with his great torrent of gushing cum. Still, it 
was too much for her and thin trails of the milky white juice oozed out of 
her mouth and down onto the thick veins of cock and, further down, onto the 
now-spent balls that Sandy had sucked and tickled earlier. 

Sandy was also nearing orgasm, twisting her hips down to receive every bit 
of ecstatic pleasure she could get from the boy's tongue running fast and 
furious along the spread slit of her twitch-pussy ... Even though he had 
cum, the eager Chuck licked gluttonously at her flame-seared cunt. 

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming t o o o o o o o," Sandy shrieked. She reached her 
hands down beneath Chuck's head, tangling her fingers in the thick thatch of 
his hair, and pulled upward to press the handsome young face hard into her 
steaming crotch, rolling and wiggling her flanks in spastic uncontrollable 
passion. 

Inger and Marie watched the display of orgasm, envious that they had not yet 
been brought to completion themselves. 

Marty seemed to understand and with a heroic compassionate effort, raised 
himself to his knees from the floor where he had fallen exhausted a moment 
before. 

"Come on, boy, we've still got two more to bring off," Marty said to Chuck, 
shaking the boy's leg to bring him back to the reality of the moment. Chuck 
nodded dumbly, looking to the mature man for an explanation of the 
statement. When Marty rolled his beautiful blonde wife over on her back and 
began to hold open her long, flawless legs, Chuck finally perceived the 
man's meaning and pushed the panting Sandy to one side, away from his face, 
so that he could sit up and reach for Marie's still-pulsing body. He also 
pushed his girl to the floor, flat on her back, and pried open her semen 
drenched thighs until he could see the tight vestal slit of her soft 
hair-lined little pussy. 

He had always wanted to play with her cunt and tits, had pictured them in 
his slow mind at night while he played with himself under the covers, 
pretending that his semen-lubricated hand was the snug little hole between 
her pretty white legs. Now was his chance and he was really going to take 
advantage of it. 

"I can't fuck ya yet... unless ya wanna wait awhile," he said, lifting his 
head to look up at her through the firm white spheres of her breasts. 

"No, don't wait, honey ... Do what he's doing," Marie begged as she pointed 
to Marty who was now crazily sucking and licking Inger's naked cunt. "And 
Hurry, Chuck, please hurry up and do it to me as fast as you can." 

The dull-witted boy needed no further prompting and bent his head to fasten 
his mouth, still wet from Sandy's cum juice, to his girlfriend's trembling 
vagina. He reached up with one hand to knead one of her tits and dropped his 
other hand down to cup her smooth young ass, his fingers creeping down into 
the crevice to tease her still-oozing anus. He circled it a short while and 
then inserted two fingers up to the second knuckle, causing her to flinch 
and throw her cunt up onto his long protruding tongue, which he drove into 
the hotness of her cuntal lips. She screamed and started a spasmodic up and 
down movement, pushing her ass against his fingers and then her loosening 
vagina into his mouth. Her nipples thrummed and threatened to crack, they 
were so hard, and she could sense a strange building of sensation in her 
clitoris where he jabbed and nibbled and sucked like a maniac. 

"Don't stop! Oh never stop! ... I'm doing it -it's cummmming all over me 
Aaaaaaaggghh!" the girl yelled, the rising scream of her first climax 
mingling with the cries from Inger's throat as she too achieved delicious 
orgasm under Marty's sweating face. 

After a long wordless silence, while the five utterly wornout people heaved 
and gulped, trying to regain their breath, Marty rose unsteadily with a 
wide, satiated grin on his face, and made his way to the bar. 

"Anyone for a martini?" he asked, adding, "I mean except for you kids ... I 
think we've got some soda in the icebox for you two." 

 Chapter 9 

It was a sunny Saturday morning in Pacifica Woods. Marty was still sleeping, 
but Inger had risen early and was standing at the huge front window, looking 
out at the blues and greens of the sea running like oils where the depths 
and shallows varied several times as far as she could see. The room was 
washed with bright light except for the mottling shadows of trees outside 
which cast their forms in silhouette on one wall. 

Inger was wearing the long, flowing robe that Marty had given her as a 
present in celebration of all the new and wonderful events that were taking 
place in their marriage. The sunlight streaming in made the thin fabric 
almost transparent and she seemed even taller and more beautiful than usual. 
She tiptoed, then, from the window to a nearby chair, curling herself up in 
the luxurious upholstery to muse for a few minutes on the adventurous series 
of events that had occurred since that seemingly innocuous afternoon, 
earlier in the week, when Chuck had appeared to model for her in the nude 
... In some respects, she was happier than ever before, felt secure, loved, 
confident that her husband was coming to terms with himself in their 
relationship. 

After he had driven home Marie and Chuck, convincing them both.that they 
should not divulge the afternoon's activities to anyone, Marty had returned 
home and, over many cups of hot coffee, they had discussed their marital 
problems, many of which Inger had never known existed. He had seemed calm, 
almost serene, for the first time in months as he told her of his secret 
visits to the psychiatrist-and of the man's shocking advice. She had been 
sympathetic and inwardly angry at herself for not having long ago recognized 
where Marty's problems lay-if they could be called problems-and was amazed 
when she realized that the doctors's strange prescription had also worked 
for her, bringing her to heights of sexual arousal she had never known or 
dreamed possible. She had been absolutely dumbfounded at her own reaction to 
the sight of Marty's cock skewering into young Marie's lovely buttocks. She 
had been jealous, rabidly at first, and angry and hurt, but then a fever 
pitch of sexual excitement had drugged her mind and she had wanted nothing 
more than to have a thick cock driving into her too. When Marty had finally 
turned to her and forced open her legs to kneel and suck her cunt, she had 
felt as though a thousand bolts of lightning were tearing through her body 
... It had been one of the most incapacitating and satisfying orgasms she 
had ever experienced. 

During their long discussion, Inger had also made a confession. She 
remembered now her humiliating embarrassment when she had shamefacedly told 
Marty the broad story of her short affair with Chuck. She had been astounded 
when he gleefully asked for more of the juicy details like an adolescent boy 
hearing his first dirty story. Nor had he shown anger, only a little worry 
that perhaps Chuck had been more fulfilling to her. She had not known how to 
explain that it was a completely different experience for her, that her 
sexual involvement with the well-endowed, naive youth could not really be 
compared to Marty's maturity, his greater understanding of her emotional 
needs as well as the basic physical satisfaction of the sex act. 

To her surprise, Marty had clapped his hands and laughed out loud as if she 
were a witness giving unexpectedly beneficial testimony. Then, he had 
suggested something that seemed peculiar to hear even now. Would she agree 
to having Chuck and Marie back for more of the same thing on a regular 
basis? She remembered that she had been afraid to agree too quickly, on the 
chance that she might hurt his feelings, and had nodded hesitantly in a way 
that could be interpreted as a yes or a no. 

Later, they had retired to the bedroom and Marty had driven her once again 
that day to the crest of sexual frenzy with his hands, finally fucking her 
with his wonderful re-hardened cock until she came and came again with the 
intensity of the pleasure. Afterwards, she had been de-liciously lazy, not 
caring if she ever moved again, and Marty had brought her dinner in bed. 
They had shared the feast, kissing between bites like two young lovers 
finding each other all over again. Of course, she had not grown quite 
accustomed to the idea of her own husband fucking anyone else, not even a 
teenager, but the picture of it did fill her with a kind of perverse 
excitement, she had to admit, and now she looked forward with eager 
anticipation to the next session with their two young sex companions. Marty 
had even suggested that they have Sandy over again, in the event that Marie 
might not be able to accommodate their schedule. 

In all the confusion of activity, she had forgotten to tell Marty about the 
miraculous return of Hans, their Russian wolfhound. He had discovered the 
dog's presence in the run the next morning when the giant beast had yelped 
to be released from where he was tied to a tree. Marty had laughingly 
proposed that maybe she should see if Hans could be enticed to partake of a 
little afternoon dalliance. The suggestion had left her flushed, at a loss 
for words, and she was too embarrassed to relate what had happened on the 
morning when the big dog had returned. 

"Hey, baby, how about a kiss for your weary old husband?" Marty said, 
stumbling sleepily into the living room and crossing over to her to take the 
kiss with or without her permission Inger giggled happily, rumpling more his 
a\-ready-tousled hair and passing her hand lightly over his naked back and 
buttocks. He sat down next to her and she leaned over to kiss the dormant 
penis that had given her such pleasure recently. 

"Hey ... hey, restrain yourself!" he mockingly protested as her pink tongue 
flicked out to lick teasingly along the rim of the thick tip. "You'd better 
save your enthusiasm for tonight. You're going to need your strength to 
handle both of us." 

Yes, tonight was special, she suddenly realized, remembering that yesterday 
Marty had come home, his spirits a little dampened, to inform her that he 
had arranged with Chuck's mother for the boy to spend one or two nights a 
week with them but that he had not been so lucky with Marie's parents. The 
shapely young girl had been discreet enough not to say anything about her 
wild afternoon with the Whites, but her mother and father had said that they 
had reservations about their daughter's posing naked even for art's sake and 
despite the fact that they needed the money she could earn. Marty had 
launched one of his most eloquent summations, but her doughty mother and 
stern-eyed father had held to their decision. 

Inger shivered in sensual anxiety, wondering if tonight Marty and Chuck 
would do the same things to her at the same time that they had done to the 
innocent girl that strangely decisive afternoon. She was not certain, that 
she would like it, but it had been so exciting to watch that she knew she 
would not object if they decided tonight to try it. Even now, Marty rambled 
on with the stimulating descriptions of different things that he and Chuck 
would do to, and for, her reborn body. 

Marty slipped a hand under her chin, lifting her head up to face him. "Just 
think, baby, just think of two big stiff cocks fucking you out of your mind 
... in you at the same time ... all the way up you together ... our balls 
hitting against each other between your legs as we fuck you and fuck you and 
fuck you. That dumb kid and I are going to do that this evening... We're 
going to fill you full of cock!" 

"Oh, darling ... darling, I love you," Inger sighed as she snuggled into his 
arms, her eyes glued to the half-hard staff pulsing between his legs. Yes, 
that was what she wanted, both of them, both men inside her, all around her, 
all through her at the same time. The first realization that Chuck was also 
important to her sifted into her lust-blurred mind, and the desires mounted 
proportionately within her ... As for Marty, just the thought of fucking his 
wife while the boy screwed her underneath, while she handled the nitwit's 
cock, drove him to such a height of excitement and jealousy that he could 
hardly contain himself until Chuck's arrival on the bus at seven o'clock 
that evening. 

Marty had promised to drive down to Rocky Cliff Inn to pick him up for the 
ride back, as much to save the boy's strength as out of any real kindness. 
Now, though, he had work to do, briefs to read, and besides, later that 
afternoon he wanted to make a couple of important telephone calls-one to 
Clareborn Cove Hotel, to inform them that there might be three people in 
their party on the following Friday, and another to the psychiatrist... to 
thank him and say that his professional advice seemed to be working out 
splendidly. 

At a little after seven that evening, Marty was tearing down the narrow, 
curving Springer Mountain road in the big sedan, trying to make up lost 
time. He and Inger had fallen asleep just after dinner and not wakened until 
about ten minutes ago. She was home now, dressing and making up, and he was 
still in an old pair of lounging jeans and a ragged sweatshirt. Hell, so 
what, he said aloud to himself, Chuck always wore jeans and a silly plaid 
shirt, and it obviously made little difference in his sex ap-peal, not to 
Inger anway. Nor to Sandy. Christ, he had been almost as amazed to see 
Sandy's proficiency in cock-sucking as he had Inger's. After all, Sandy was 
supposed to be the Paci-fica Woods old maid of sorts, much more interested 
in telling tales on her friends than in getting down to business sexually. 
Not that he had ever blamed her for the image she projected-far from it! 
Anyone with a husband as empty and preoccupied with business as George, 
deserved all the extra action she could get. And man, had she got it! It had 
been the wildest thing he had ever seen, her sucking both of the kid's 
mammoth balls at once while his wife sucked his obscenely huge prick. It 
might not be a bad idea to have Sandy stay with them some night, when George 
was away on one of his frequent business jaunts, and have the two women give 
his own joint the same excellent routine. It was damned unfortunate about 
Marie, though. She would have been even better, her innocence and delectable 
young body all the more stirring. 

Damn, he hoped that that lame-brained Chuck had not been early, seen that no 
one was there to meet him and, discouraged, caught the next bus back across 
the peninsula ... But no, Marty knew the lad had better sense, at least 
enough to know which side his bread was buttered on ... "Ha!" Marty laughed, 
immensely amused by his own joke-one that Inger would not yet understand. 
She had no knowledge whatsoever that he actually intended to stage a real 
sandwich with the boy, and that she was the filling-that he virtually had 
meant that she would have two cocks in her at once, one up her ass and one 
in her pussy. Just the thought of it rattled him and he drifted to one side 
of the one-lane, bumpy road, swerving at the last minute to avoid ploughing 
into the ditch. 

On the road again, the car now under control, Marty heaved a sigh of relief 
and vowed to keep his mind on his driving. It would be a hell of note, he 
thought, if he were to crash and cripple himself just as things were going 
so well. Then he saw Chuck in the wide path of the car's head-lights, 
walking fast along the dirt shoulder of the road, occasionally picking up 
his stride to a dog-trot. Marty applied the brakes and slowed the powerful 
sedan to a halt, leaning his head out the open window to hail the boy. 

"Hey, Chuck, it's me-Mr. White. What's the big hurry?" Marty asked, amused 
by the tall boy's haste. 

"Gee, I'm sure sorry, Mr. White... I didn' see you nowhere at the hotel and 
started up... Ah'm sure sorry if ah'm late. Musta bin that bus," Chuck said 
between breaths, still squinting as the headlights blinded him. 

"You're not late, I am ... And I'm sorry," Marty apologized, opening the 
door opposite him so that Chuck could climb in beside him on the front seat. 
"Inger and I took a little nap after dinner and forgot the time. I was 
afraid you'd be discouraged and go on home." "Dis-cur ...?" Chuck frowned. 
Quickly apprehending his confusion, Marty simplified: "I was afraid you'd be 
mad because I wasn't there to meet you. Discouraged means ... well, it means 
... Hell, forget it. How are you this evening?" he asked, realizing that it 
was senseless to tax the boy's feeble brain with words of more than one 
syllable. And yet he also felt a flash of compassion for the oaf, a feeling 
tempered with gratitude for Chuck's unwitting aid in helping to solve what 
had been a tragic disorder and illness in the marriage Marty and Inger had 
been floundering in ... Maybe he could return the favor and help Chuck in 
some vital way-perhaps money, special schooling, or at least some decent 
clothes. He knew that Inger would be more than willing to shop for a new 
wardrobe for Chuck. The hell with the money-despite his own troubled 
emotions during the last few months, his law practice was flourishing and 
raking in tidy sums, case after case. The boy needed something to help him 
along, something more than his fantastic body and colossal cock ... But 
maybe not, Marty smiled as he swung the nose into a driveway to turn around, 
the big tires squealing as the car dove slightly forward and rocked to a 
stop. 

"Ah'm okay, Mr. White," Chuck said at last, having waited until Marty had 
negotiated the sedan back onto the road to begin the steep climb toward the 
house. "An' I sure thank you and Mrs. White for all you done for me ... I 
sure like her." 

"I'll bet you do," Marty chuckled. "But listen, how would you like to take a 
trip with Mrs. White and me? Next weekend? We're going to a pretty place ... 
for two days ... and you could swim and fish and ... do other things." 

"Heck, okay!" Chuck said. He was almost beside himself with happiness and 
the fact that the educated man at his side actually wanted him to go 
somewhere with him-and with his wife too. Maybe they could even repeat what 
had happened a few days ago-and fish and swim too! 

"Well, we'll see," Marty said as he headed the long vehicle into the parking 
area beside the house. "It will have to be all right with your mom and dad." 

As they entered the house and strode down the hallway into the living room, 
Marty felt a moment of concern when he saw that Inger was no-where in sight. 
God, had she chosen to back out at the last minute, just when everything was 
primed for a whole night of orgiastic fun? 

"Inger, we're here," Marty called. "Where the hell are you hiding yourself?" 

"I'm in here, in the bedroom," Inger's voice answered. "Come on in, it's all 
right." 

Marty walked to the rear of the house, Chuck closed behind him, and entered 
the bedroom, catching his breath when he saw that his gorgeous blonde wife 
was sitting up in bed, completely naked except for a fluffy quilt which she 
had thrown over her legs against the chill evening air. Her full upright 
breasts were clearly exposed to their view, the bud-like nipples already 
hard as though she had been ma-nipulating~them in preparation for their 
arrival. The flat, firm plane of her stomach sloped enticingly down to the 
golden hair of her groin, rounding out then to her lovely white hips and 
tapering in again to the symmetry of her rounded thighs. 

"Gee, she wants it, don't she, Mr. White?" Chuck said knowingly as he began 
to undo the front of his trousers, his eyes still fixed on In-gef's plump 
breasts. 

"I think you're right, boy ... So let's not keep her waiting," Marty said, a 
lewd gleam in his eyes as he also worked hastily to rid himself of his 
cumbersome clothes. His prick was already humming tight and climbing higher 
every second, just as Chuck's was, he noted out of the corner of his eye, 
once more astonished by the size and thickness of the boy's abnormal cock. 
He saw that Inger was watching them closely, an almost smug expression on 
her face at the power she had to make their sex organs tormentingly hard and 
erect whenever she chose. 

As Chuck stood at the edge of the bed, uncertain what to do, Marty tossed 
his shorts on top of the pile his and the boy's discarded clothes had formed 
next to the dresser. With the ease of intimate knowledge, Marty lay down 
beside Inger and took one of her hands to place it on his pulsing, erect 
prick. Already mindless with passion, she obediently clasped his rod and 
began stroking it in time with her provocatively undulating hips, her eyes 
now closed with the transport of her arousal. She squeezed and jerked at the 
cock, delighting in its hardness, and then felt Chuck's huge member nudging 
for attention against her other hip. She seized it also, pulling it forward, 
harder against her, feeling the huge head sliding slickly with its oozing 
semen up over her thigh and onto her belly. Their hands came from nowhere to 
clutch and knead her swollen tits, their fingers now and then scrabbling to 
find hef bursting nipples to pinch them, driving her mad with an 
ever-increasing tempo of shameless desire. 

"Ah, God, darling, do something, do some-thing before I go out of my mind!" 
she moaned at Marty, who had already begun to lift her up into the desire 
position for a sandwich-the dou-ble fucking by two men at once, an 
experience he knew that most women longed for but seldom enjoyed in reality. 

"Get on your back, boy," Marty panted, indicating with a sweep of his hand 
where Chuck should lie, then shifting Inger's writhing body on top of the 
youth's hard stomach while he positioned himself behind her, his knees 
between their splayed-out legs. He was shaking violently, poker-hot with 
animal lust; he had never dreamed that such debauchery, such glorious 
depravity could be prescribed by a doctor, actually sanctioned as treatment 
of an illness. An illness? Glory be to illness! 

"Inger, do you hear me? I'm going to fuck you in your asshole!" Marty 
yelled. "And Chuck's going to ram his big prick up your cunt! Do you 
understand?" 

"Ooooh, yes!" she groaned, as his vile words penetrated her nearly insensate 
mind. "Yessss, fuck me, fuck me, both of you Pleeeeeaaasse!" She could feel 
the pit of her stomach roiling, her thighs quivering and ready to receive 
both big cocks between them. Then Marty opened her buttocks wide with both 
hands, reaching in with his thumb to probe at her tiny, tightly puckered 
anus! She turned her head from watching Chuck manipulate her breasts hanging 
inches from his face. She could see Marty stroking his thick, blue-veined 
cock, pulling his foreskin back, exposing the big bulbous head as he readied 
himself to implant the thing deep up in her rectum. She spread open her 
thighs further as she saw him aim his glistening cock-head directly at her 
anus, feeling a slight pang of fear at the thought of such a large fleshy 
thing entering her there. But he wanted this, and now so did she, so she 
reached back between her legs and guided his stiff cock up to the tight 
puckered entrance of her rectum. Then she held her breath as the smooth, 
rubbery head touched her, teased there for awhile, pressing harder, then 
popping suddenly through the snug elastic ring. The pain was excruciating 
and sent waves of agony through her entire lower body, but Marty caught hold 
of her shoulders and pushed harder, inch by inch slipping further into her 
burning asshole, until at last he shoved the full length of hs cock into her 
up to its hair-covered hilt, his balls slapping harshly against the backs of 
her thighs. She screamed, again and again, first in agony, then in 
increasing pleasure, mewled like an animal bitch and gradually sank back her 
white buttocks to take in more of his jerking cock. 

"Now, boy, now! Stick your prick in her cunt!" Marty shouted at the 
glassy-eyed youth beneath Inger. Chuck needed no further encouragement and 
grasped his throbbing weapon with one hand to place its great fanning head 
against the lips of Inger's wet, ready pussy. Feeling the moist, 
pressure-tight channel of her vagina, he pushed upwards, and Inger groaned 
piteously as the monstrous cock wormed up into her, inch by inch, until she 
could feel the hardness of his pubic bone against her erect clitoris. She 
whim-pered helplessly, both with the throbbing pain and also with the 
humiliating posture she sud-denly found herself in, sandwiched like a slut 
whore between her grunting husband and the youth, both of whom were now 
fucking in and out of her with their angry, fiery cocks. She could feel 
every ridge and vein on them as they thrust deeper into her lovely white 
body with only the thin layer of fleshy tissue between rectum and cunt 
separating the huge, hard columns. 

Marty was fucking wildly now, ramming his prick all the way in her with a 
wet slithering rush and then dragging it out almost to the head. He could 
look down and see his plunging cock shoving and pulling at the stretched, 
thin ring of anal flesh as it gluttenously sucked up and swallowed the 
lust-hardened shaft. Below his own prick, he could see Chuck's cock 
skewering into her hair-lined cunt, spreading the soft clinging lips wide 
and almost to the tearing point. And he could feel it too, inside Inger, as 
the dull-minded boy reamed wetly into her, all the way up to her cervix, 
battering it cruelly, threatening to break through the fragile tissue and on 
into the deeper confines of her stomach. 

"Ooooooh!" she groaned aloud like some bitch in heat as both husband and boy 
screwed into her as though she were a helpless ragdoll impaled on the two 
stiff, rampaging cocks. Then, as if on a prearranged signal, they began to 
fuck into her in unison, withdrawing together and then ramming 
simultaneously back up into her cuntal and rectal passages. My God, it was 
good-no, beautiful! she thought dazedly as they roughly battered her 
rhythmically between them, glad now that her husband had chosen to use her 
this way ... "More, I want more! fuck harder, faster!" she shouted at her 
husband and the boy, grinding her asshole and cunt down on them to meet 
their thrusts and bury as much of the two cocks in her as she could. She 
felt Marty's hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he held her 
for support, then arched down her neck so she could watch as well as feel 
Chuck's big hands squeezing and milking her heavy, swollen tits ... Her 
nipples were achingly rigid and dug into his palms like tiny pebbles. 

"Hump, baby, hump!" Marty said through his tightly-clenched teeth. 

"Oh, yesss, yessssss," she groaned, her eyes rolling in her tossing head as 
she tightened more hungrily around the cocks relentlessly pounding into her 
wet, defenseless passages with a rhythm that made her think vaguely of the 
waves crashing on the beach at Pacifica Point. Again and again they pounded 
against the drenched area of her two ravaged passages, fucking faster and 
faster until her tongue hung out loosely betweeen her lips and she gasped 
desperately for air, her blonde hair spilling down and swaying as she worked 
to keep up with their steadily accelerating pace. She hoped it would never 
end ... this delicious double fucking, the most wonderful, exciting, 
maddening screwing she had ever had. She wanted to tell them, to thank them 
and kiss them, yet her brain was too flooded with ecstasy to even form the 
words on her lips. Instead, she bucked all the harder trying to demonstrate 
the pleasure she felt but could not say. It was an unknown kind of 
masochistic joy, maybe as much from the sheer helplessness of her role as 
from the lewd lovely thought of being fucked half to death by two men at 
once like this. Whatever it was, it was heaven and she was rocked by one 
orgasm after another, until she thought she would never cum again, but did, 
time and again. 

And then, her brain reeled anew as she heard a low ape-like groan suddenly 
escape from deep in the throat of the sweating, pump-boy filling her cunt 
with his thick cock. She peered down between her bruised breasts, still 
locked in the boy's steely grip to watch his cock begin throbbing out its 
vulgar hot liquid deep inside her sucking cunt. She could see it jerking 
forward and tunneling its way as deeply into her as it could possibly go to 
shoot its hot flood of sperm far, far up into her wildly contracting belly. 
Then she saw the lewd white fluid of his pent-up desire bubbling and 
overflowing out around his tightly sheathed penis and down the insides of 
her wide-spread thighs. 

"Ah'm doooooin' it! ... Ah'm, cu-uuummmmmin'," Chuck cried out to no one. He 
jammed up into her crazily a last time, causing her to jump from the pain of 
his blunt cock-head against her cervix, then collapsed back on the bed as 
his own sperm dripped out of her and down onto his completely drained 
testicles. Inger could feel Marty's hot load building up too to the bursting 
point as his prick thick-ened and flexed in her desperately contracting 
rectum, and she clamped even harder on it to speed of his orgasm. Suddenly 
she felt the ob-scene boiling river of his cum shoot with a spurt-ing thud 
against the depths of her asshole as he pitched out of control with her own 
final cum-ming. the electric sensations of fulfillment rippling through 
every bone and muscle of her body like a current of unbearable pleasure. She 
could feel every jerking pulsation of his spewing cock as it emptied his 
lust-born deposit of hot white cream deep, deep up into her still-sucking 
bowels. 

For what seemed hours, their panting filled the now otherwise silent 
bedroom, until finally Marty rolled over from between Inger's buttocks, his 
deflating cock slipping from her flooded asshole with a slight, sucking 
popping sound. Thin strings of his sticky white cum still spanned the short 
distance between the end of his penis and her slowly closing anus. Inger 
felt a quick draft of cool evening air from the window flow over her naked 
crotch like a soothing balm to her thoroughly used, deliciously aching 
genitals. She lay then between the sprawled forms of Marty and Chuck, her 
legs still open as the pink loose folds of her vulvae glistened with the 
sticky white fluid that dribbled out from deep in her dilated womb. Thin 
streams of it trickling out to run down into the soft yielding crevice of 
her buttocks and mix with that of Marty's oozing from her forever stretched 
rec-tum. 

Inger rested quietly in the stillness, feeling the gentle sea breeze drying 
her sweat-soaked body. The two men flanking her were motion-less and, as she 
turned her head to ask about her husband's reaction to the orgiastic 
experience she realized that he had drifted into sleep, completely drained 
by the wild fucking he had arranged for his young wife. The lovely blond 
felt a momentary spasm of disappointment-there had been so much that she 
wanted to ask him, to know, but then she realized that she too was weary and 
utterly spent. Smiling slightly, she remembered that there would be many 
other times for talking ... all the years of their life together. 

She stretched her exhausted body out on the bed, almost purring in a state 
of complete contentment. She knew she was cherished and loved, even 
respected, and completely, unimaginably satisfied. Though it had been 
frightening, and perhaps a little humiliating, to have those two huge cocks 
ramming into her loins, she now realized that Marty had been right all 
along-another male had been the answer, for both of them. Hoping that he too 
had felt as beautifully satiated as she, she nestled into her husband's 
shoulder and let sleep overtake her. 

Her slumber was interrupted several times during the night by insistent 
hands on her breasts or roving brazenly between her thighs. Before morning, 
the trio performed again, other thrilling and sensual acts, all morality 
cast aside as they allowed their most primitive in-tincts to overcome them. 
Sometime before sunrise, Inger finally fell into undisturbed and well-earned 
sleep, not waking until far into the morning. 

"Well, what are you two doing in my kitchen? I thought this was a woman's 
domain," Inger said in greeting as she stumbled sleepily into the modern, 
well-equipped kitchen, her blonde, newly-brushed hair gleaming in the 
morning sunlight that flooded the room. Her smooth, lightly tanned skin 
glowed damply from the quick washing she had just given it. 

"Hell, look here! I'm damned if it isn't Lady Godiva," Marty grinned, 
reaching out to envelope her in an enthusiastic embrace. "You're just lucky 
we don't dress for breakfast around here." 

"Hi, Mrs. White," Chuck beamed. "Mr. White and me, we made you a big 
breakfast... to surprize you ... Uh, ah'm sorry, Mr. White... I forgot, I 
guess." Chuck picked up a glass of orange juice from the table, averting his 
eyes in embarrassment over his disclosure of their secret, but Marty just 
laughed and turned from Inger to slap the boy heartily on the back. 

"That's all right, son. It's about time the lazy bitch hauled herself out of 
bed anyway. Breakfast in bed would've just spoiled her." Then, turning again 
to Inger, he chided with a merry, lascivious glint in his eye, "My God, 
woman, you look beat. But I don't understand -you've been in bed for the 
last twelve hours How damned much sleep do you need?" 

Her eyebrows raised and she started to sputter a mock indignant reply, but 
Marty broke in, sav ing, "By the way, baby, do you know that we're having 
for breakfast? Chuck and I have made pancakes and sausage, and then a little 
later we're going to have brandy-^and you. Doesn't that sound absolutely 
delicious?" he chuckled. 

Marty twisted her around, giving her a gentle shove back toward the bedroom. 
"Now go in there and put on a robe or we may just have you for an appetizer. 
I think Chuck's already getting a bit hungry." 

"What do you mean-Chuck's getting hungry? Don't tell me that you're all worn 
out after that simple little experiment last night?" She sighed in pretended 
sorrow, asking, "What's the matter-am I getting too fat?" She struck a 
seductive pose in the kitchen doorway, blinking her eyelashes suggestively, 
as she joined in with a little teasing of her own. She saw that both her 
husband's and the boy's cocks were rising to stiffness as they ogled her 
jutting breasts and the roundness of her white-mooned buttocks. 

"Heck, no, Mrs. White ... why, why, you look about as good as anythin' I 
ever seen," Chuck finally broke in, excitedly adding, "Come on, Mr. White, 
let's do her now ... Like ya said we could! We can eat later!" 

Marty tore his eyes away from his wife's tantalizing body just long enough 
to look at Chuck and say, "By God, you're right, boy, let's do her now." 

 Chapter 10 

"Oh, Marty, look at this!" 

Marty's head jerked up at Inger's sudden distressed cry and he saw that she 
was pointing to an article on the front page of the local newspaper. It was 
late in the evening, several weeks after their orgiastic night and day with 
Chuck. The delightful effects of their experience with the boy had stayed 
with them and they had decided to have her indulge in sex with him only when 
they felt the need for a refreshing change from their regular sexual 
routine. Marty had found that just thinking about his beautiful young wife 
being fucked by the handsome adolescent clod turned him on almost as much as 
having the boy share her with him. And Inger herself was more than contented 
by her husband's increased interest in her body... Of course, Chuck still 
posed for her in the nude and she was well pleased with the advanced results 
she was seeing in her work-even if occasionally she was tempted to break her 
promise to Marty and tempt the youth back to the bedroom for an illicit 
session of lovemaking. Chuck also was disturbed and confused when she 
shunned his advances, thinking she was angry with him for something he had 
done; but Inger had tried to explain, saying that it was no fault of his, 
but merely an agreement she had worked out with her husband. Still, the tall 
youth seemed restless, uneasy around her, and more than once she had had to 
scold him for staring at her instead of keeping to the position in which she 
had posed him. 

Now there was this, this horrible thing in the newspaper. 

"Marty!" Inger said again, impatiently, her face clouded with worry and 
distress. "Chuck's in serious trouble! What can we do?" 

She ran across the room to him, thrusting the newspaper in front of his 
face, her finger pointing and jabbing at the front page article. Marty took 
the paper from her and read: 

YOUTH HELD IN RAPE Charles Barrington, of 1720 Roberts Avenue, Coastline 
City, was arrested by local police last night as the result of an extensive 
investigation into the brutal rape of a tourist visiting the area. 

The boy is being held at the county jail in lieu of $5,000 bond and was 
unavailable for comment, although his mother, Mrs. Henrietta Barrington, 
told reporters at her home, "It just ain't possible. Chuck's a good boy. I 
brought the kid up right, even though Chuck's ... father wasn't no help." 

She said that she had no plans as yet regarding her son's bail or defense. 
The details of the case have not been disclosed by the police in an effort 
to protect the victim, Miss Christine Anderson, 27, a tall attractive blonde 
of Perth Amboy, New Jersey. 

Police sources divulged no more information other than that they have "an 
air-tight case..." 

Marty sat stupified for a moment, trying to organize his mind, then stared 
up in horror at Inger standing over him, her lips trembling as she struggled 
to control the involuntary welling of tears in her eyes. 

"Marty, we did this," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "We've simply 
got to accept our responsibility in this and help him all we can." 

"Certainly we'll help him," Marty snapped, feeling a brief flash of anger as 
he remembered that Inger, not he, had first gotten them involved with Chuck, 
first because of her vain belief that she was an artist and then, later, by 
seducing the youngster behind his back... No, that was silly, immature, he 
thought, chastising himself as he thought back to the endorsement he had 
given to her sexual indulgence with Chuck for everyone's benefit, his own 
included. 

"Listen now, baby, don't worry. I'll telephone his mother first thing in the 
morning and see what I can do about lining up Henry Fallbrook to defend him 
in court. Hell," Marty smiled, "it ought to be a cinch to get Chuck off on 
mental incompetency ... and maybe even help the kid to boot. He's obviously 
retarded and they'll probably teach him a skill wherever he goes ... You 
know, to help him be self-supporting when, and if, he ever leaves home." 

"Oh God, how can you just sit there? How can you be so calm and callous?" 
she asked accusingly, her eyes bright with the fire of anger and impatience, 
staring coldly down at him as though he were a creature beneath contempt. 
"What are we going to do to help him? ... I-I feel so guilty!" She was 
openly sobbing now, her heart breaking with the violent pangs of guilt and 
sorrow she felt towards the innocent boy ... If only she could take it all 
back, magically undo the events that must have led Chuck to take that poor 
woman by force. 

"Now honey, be reasonable," Marty soothed. "You should know that I feel 
terrible too, but there's just so much I can do. I didn't advocate rape or 
even suggest it. That was his doing... As for helping him out, I'll pull all 
the strings I possibly can. Just try to be calm and intelligent, that's 
all." 

"But can't we put up the bail money at least that?" she sobbed, the 
hopelessness of the situation overwhelming her. 

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good," Marty said. "In cases involving 
sex-especially rape -the prisoner is denied bail pending examination by a 
psychiatrist, which means that Chuck can't be released until he's declared 
legally sane in court. Please believe me, I'm just as saddened by this as 
you are." 

For the first time since reading the article, she realized how terribly 
selfish she was being, not even considering her husband's feelings or the 
chance that he felt the same sense of loss and regret that she was feeling. 
She slumped down to sit on the arm of His chair, watching his frowning face 
as he puzzled over the shocking, unexpected news about Chuck. 

"Darling, please, I'm sorry. I merely lost control of myself," she said 
softly, her hand reaching out to rub the back of his neck with tender 
affection. 

"Just don't worry, baby. I'll think of something," he whispered, touched by 
her contrite-ness and concern for his feelings. 

"I know, I know you will. Would you like some coffee?" 

"Please, baby ... Just give me some time alone to think over everything." 

When Inger had left for the kitchen, he sat for a moment without a thought 
in his mind, a practice he had learned that was advantageous just before 
entering the courtroom to plea an expe-cially complicated corporate case. He 
knew the gravity of the circumstances that confronted them and wanted to be 
at his sharpest while considering them. After a short while, he began to 
take a hard look at the facts. In the first place, just as he had explained 
to Inger, he knew that the setting of Chuck's bail at $5,000 was merely a 
legal formality, that no judge would permit the boy to go free without first 
ordering an examination by a court-appointed, qualified psychiatrist. It was 
an absolute must. And Marty knew that, just then, because of the fact that 
court calendars were especially heavy that time of year, it was fairly 
unlikely that Chuck's case would come to the attention of a higher court for 
virtually weeks. But that might just be an advantage, for it would give 
Marty enough time to make some important contacts, do some fancy finagling, 
and maybe arrange to have his own psychiatrist friend appointed to make the 
examination. After all, the crazy son-of-a-bitch had been the one who had 
suggested all this extra-marital hanky-panky in the beginning, so he damned 
well owed Marty a favor. A short chat with him tomorrow ought to fix up at 
least that aspect of the dilemma. 

More important, though, was the threat of Chuck's shooting off his mouth and 
implicating them in the whole mess. He could just picture the kid squirming 
under the questioning of two or three crafty detectives, finally spilling 
out the whole story just to please them. Christ, how they would love that! 
The very idea of a prominent local corporate attorney, and his luscious 
blonde wife, leading astray a half-witted teenaged boy would send them into 
fits of laughter for months. It was imperative that he see his old college 
pal, Henry Fallbrook, before anyone else in the morning. Henry had always 
idolized him and would be willing to break his neck to help out without 
nosing into things any more than was necessary. He would arrange through . 
Henry to see Chuck and offer the boy something too tempting to pass up-a 
car, a motorcycle, anything material and thus attractive to a boy of his 
age. 

As for Chuck's mother, a nice lump of cash would certainly make her more 
than cooperative and reluctant to involve Inger and him in any scandal, 
particularly if he suggested that her discretion might earn her even more in 
the future. 

It was a nasty situation, true, but there was no reason to place his and 
Inger's lives on the line-not just because they had all enjoyed themselves 
in some harmless fun, sexual or not. If even the hint of a story leaked out 
that they had been taking advantage of Chuck, and contributing to what would 
be called his delinquency, his law practice would go down the drain within a 
matter of a week or two. And then where would they be? Probably in jail, 
eventually, or at the very best, forced to subsist for a couple of years on 
what they had saved, until he could discover a new way to make use of his 
years of education and professional background. 

"Darling, you look really grim," Inger said sympathetically as she 
approached him with two cups of steaming black coffee. "Is the situation 
that bad?" 

"No, no, it's all going to work out, so don't you get yourself all 
flustered," Marty consoled. "It'll just take a few days of juggling and 
fixing... But above all, should anyone come nosing around ... and I mean 
anyone at all ... don't say anything until you talk to me about it." 
Wrinkling his brow, he added, "Moreover, it wouldn't hurt to be nice to 
Sandy for awhile. Despite her own involvement in this thing, she might just 
be stupid enough to say something incriminating to the wrong person. Okay?" 

"Okay, darling. You know best... And listen, I really was sincere when I 
said I was sorry... It's just that we were so happy, and I hated the thought 
of losing the boy. You know." 

"Yes, I know," Marty said, stroking her hair and pulling her down closer to 
him on the chair in order to kiss her neck and face tenderly, reassuringly. 
"Jesus, I just remembered! I haven't fed Hans this evening. I'll bet the big 
old fool's eating his heart out, out there alone with no one to pay 
attention to him." 

Marty rose with Inger close behind him and went into the kitchen to forage 
for food for their giant pet. 

"You know," Marty said as he took a package of meat from the refrigerator, 
"that dog's damned lucky. He doesn't have to worry about where his next 
meal's coming from and, above all, penned up the way he is, he doesn't have 
any sex problems." 

Inger nodded and turned away as her husband went outside to feed the huge 
beast. 

 Chapter 11 

The next morning, just before the first light of day, Inger awoke and stole 
carefully out of bed and made her way into the living room. Marty was still 
sleeping soundly, the result of having stayed up late into the night, 
mulling over the problem of Chuck and some other pressing matters. She found 
a note explaining this as she prepared a cup of coffee for herself in the 
chilly kitchen. 

In the living room again, she saw that the dawn was coming up as thick as 
glue; westward the sky had taken on the color of oiled steel and was ominous 
with storm clouds. As she watched the sea propping itself up in an endless 
succession of watery slabs, she reminded herself that she would have to 
bring in Hans after Marty left for the office. The poor beast, as huge and 
rugged-looking as he was, caught cold easily when exposed to inclement 
weather. They had nearly lost him during the second year of their marriage, 
when he had been left to fend for himself in the rain for almost two days 
while she and Marty were vacationing in the southern part of the state. 

The thought of loss caused her to wince as she remembered the newspaper 
article describing what had happened to Chuck. She had been ultimately 
surprized when Marty seemed so deeply worried, to be taking the boy's arrest 
even harder than she had at first ... It was unlike him, she mused, knowing 
that normally he maintained a professional objectivity about matters 
concerning the law. She found herself wondering if he was really worried 
about Chuck or perhaps just the prospect of enduring sexually without the 
boy's stimulating role in their sex life. If the latter did happen to be 
true, she could hardly blame her husband, for she too had begun to look 
forward eagerly to other sensual experiences in bed with her two lovers. She 
felt a rush of desire just remembering how they had used her the last time, 
driving her to soul-shaking-new heights of pleasure as they fucked her back 
and forth between them and caressed her that night and then again the next 
day. The feeling n of delicious remembrance was so intoxicating that she 
felt almost drunk with a hidden, exquisite power, a power to arouse men and 
drive them wild, a power so awesomely wonderful that it took her breath away 
just to contemplate it now, weeks afterward. 

Then her thoughts of power and sensuality were dashed by the vision of young 
Chuck sitting alone in a jail cell, wondering what he had done wrong that 
they should punish him. For Inger believed that she knew him well enough to 
understand that he had not meant to do that woman from-where was it, New 
Jersey?-any real harm. He probably had had the idea that all women over 
twenty were fair game, that they all wanted his fantastic body and were 
willing to suffer whatever advances he chose to make toward them. She had 
helped to form that belief in his dim mind, she knew it, and now felt an 
agonizing grief and sense of responsibility all over again. 

Suddenly her reflections were interrupted by the sound of the alarm going 
off in the bedroom, the insistent jangling sound filling her brain like a 
thousand tiny knives. Rising, she whisked into the kitchen to make a fresh 
pot of coffee for Marty. He would be coming in any second now, fresh as a 
daisy, his keen mind already planning his day and overflowing in a steady 
stream of intelligent conversation-one of his many abilities that she often 
had to brace herself to bear. 

"Hello, sweetheart, what's for breakfast?" Marty said with just the 
brightness that she had expected. "Come on, cheer up and don't look so 
damned glum. I've got everything about Chuck pieced together-there'll be a 
minimum of trouble, believe me. I'll get the kid the best counsel possible 
and he'll be in good care within a matter of weeks. Just trust me." 

"I do, darling-I do trust you," Inger replied feeling her own confidence 
rise to meet Marty's. 

"Hey, it looks like a whopper of a storm's coming," he said as he picked up 
the binoculars to watch the terrific slap of the surf against the rocks and 
sheer cliffs of the coast. He saw a fishing boat less than a few hundred 
yards off the shore, its tiny prow burying itself in the waves with heroic 
crunchings. "Get a load of that," he said as he handed the glasses to Inger 
and aimed his finger in the direction of the almost foundering craft. "That 
poor bastard of a captain must be saying his prayers." 

"Me too," she said, smiling up at him a feigned bravery. 

Just after Marty roared away for the office in the big sedan, Inger decided 
to follow his advice and telephone Sandy for a seemingly innocent chat, to 
find out if her neighbor had read about Chuck's arrest and also to drop a 
few well-aimed hints regarding the necessity for discretion about their 
afternoon with the boy. Surely Sandy must realize that she had as much to 
lose as anyone else, Inger thought as she dialed the Pollard's number; the 
woman had, after all, been more aggressive than Inger earlier that 
fatalistic afternoon, and she doubtless wanted to avoid any unpleasantness 
with George. 

"Hello, Sandy, this is Inger. I just wanted to call to see if everything's 
all right with you. 

You know, we haven't spoken to each other since ... . then." 

"Oh yes, I'm glad you called," Sandy's soprano voice replied. "I was just 
going to call you, as a matter of fact. Did you see the newspaper ... the 
story about your young model's escapade with the girl from New Jersey?" 

"Yes,___I saw it," Inger said coolly, resentment rising in her at the tone 
Sandy was taking. "Marty and I discussed the matter last night, and we 
thought you should know your place in the turn of events ... In short, 
Sandy, it wouldn't be at all wise to brag around about that afternoon. It 
could cause you just as much trouble as us, and besides, I'm certain that 
George wouldn't be too happy to know what actually happened." 

A long silence ensued Inger's remark, evidently a result of the effect she 
had planned to make on her gossipy neighbor. It was as though Sandy were 
being silent to be heard, to acknowledge that she well understood the 
implication behind the blonde woman's remark. 

"Yes, I understand, Inger-and thanks for calling." Inger knew that her point 
had been made and that the slender brunette had been frightened by the 
possibility of George's discovery of the true facts concerning his wife's 
comportment with Inger's simpleminded model on the floor. The silence on the 
other end of the line was proof enough. 

Inger noticed that the rain had started, was dimpling the now calm surface 
of the sea and rattering down in big bull-like drops on the roof. She felt 
cold and crossed the room to build the first fire that year since late 
April. As she stacked the logs in the cast iron grate, she thought of that 
afternoon only last week when Chuck had almost begged her to give him 
something more to do, and she had led him to the woodpile behind the house. 
He had said that he wanted to do more for the money he earned, but she had 
thought at the time that he instinctively wanted to get away from her for a 
little while - away from her womanly body that was so tantalizingly close to 
him while she sketched, yet so unavailable to him as she forced herself to 
keep her promise to Marty. God, if only he had known the temptation that she 
too felt when she sat for hours trying to attend to her drawing as he stood 
naked before her in all his youthful masculine perfection. 

Inger rose from the already-blazing fire and crossed the room to the carved 
oak buffet in which she kept all her sketches of Chuck, withdrawing the 
thick roll of papers from one of the cabinets in the massive piece of 
furniture. Kneeling on the floor, she carefully unrolled the sheaf of 
drawings and spread them out one by one until a large part of the living 
room floor was blanketed by the impressive display of her artistic 
proficiency. She rose and stepped back to obtain a better view, her face 
lighting in appreciation, not at the exhibition of her own talent, but at 
the breathtaking array of poses exploiting the boy's magnificent physique. 

Was it wrong? she wondered. Was she being unfaithful to her husband if she 
stared so lustfully at the body of the youth who had offered her such great 
sensual pleasure? No, Inger decided, it was not sexual interest she felt, 
but artistic awareness of his beautiful, muscular form. Still, she felt a 
throbbing heat growing in her loins as she thought of Chuck's huge hard cock 
ramming into her, filling her belly until she pled for mercy, then thrusting 
in to fill her even more. Suddenly impatient with her lascivious memories of 
the youth who no longer had a place in her life, she re-stacked the drawings 
and left them on the couch as she went out to the kitchen to bring Hans, the 
poor soaking brute, in out of the rain storm. 

"Hey! Down, down, Hans!" Inger laughed as the huge dog nearly knocked down 
the kitchen door in his rush to get in out of the rain, then jumped up on 
his mistress, slobbering great dog-kisses all over her face in his gratitude 
for being let into the house. 

"Oh, Hans, look what you've done to my dress!" she groaned after she finally 
pushed the big beast down to the kitchen floor and saw that the front of her 
light blue house-dress was streaked with muddy paw-prints. Beneath the 
Russian Wolfhound, the tiled floor already showed a dark pool of muddy water 
that was rapidly dripping from the beast's long wavy fur. "Okay, boy, it's 
not your fault," she sighed as his wagging tail sent the muddy droplets 
flying across the room, spotting everything from the table cloth to the 
stack of freshly washed dishes on the drainboard near the sink. "I guess I 
should have let you in sooner," she ruefully added, grabbing a fluffy 
terry-cloth dish towel to rub away the greater part of the moisture from the 
dog's coat. 

"Come on, boy," Inger ordered as she finally dropped the sopping towel in 
the kitchen sink. Let's go in by the fire so you can really dry out." The 
monstrous dog followed happily behind her as she led him back into the 
living room. The fire was blazing, spreading a friendly glow throughout the 
room, sharply contrasting with the cold gray wetness Inger could see outside 
the bay window. 

She had stripped off her damp garments as she walked and took them into the 
bathroom to hang the wet muddied clothing over the shower rod to dry. 
Returning to the living room, she found Hans sprawled in front of the 
fireplace, apparently fast asleep. The fire had warmed the room and Inger 
decided to wait before dressing again. The golden glow of the flames relaxed 
her and she sat down on the couch next to her sketches of Chuck, deciding to 
look them over once again-this time as an artist, not a woman. 

Despite her determination to stay objective, she found herself staring 
greedily at the topmost picture, the first nude study she had done of the 
boy. Her eyes roved over the graceful patterns of taut sinewy muscle that 
ripple over his limbs and torso, but no matter where on the drawing she 
looked, her gaze stubbornly returned to the long soft member that hung 
between his legs, framed by his heavy dangling balls. The insistent ache, 
rose again deep in her belly, and she was suddenly terribly aware of her 
body, her curved hips and buttocks pressing against the rough nubby material 
of the sofa, cushion, her high rounded breasts jutting out to partially hide 
from her sight the sketch that rested in her lap. As her hands began to roam 
restlessly over the smooth warm skin of her body, she remembered how 
childishly delighted Chuck had been on that first day when she had stood 
before him as naked as she was now. 

Inger leaned back into the soft cushion still staring at the drawing, 
realizing with surprise that she was terribly excited and needed release 
badly. Putting the picture aside, she began to knead her own breasts, 
pinching the soft pliant nipples into rubbery tightness. Though the sketch 
was no longer before her eyes, the image of Chuck remained as if branded in 
her mind. Oh, if.he were only here now, she thought as remembrances of her 
pledge to Marty faded in the light of her over-powering arousal. 

Inger's long shapely legs scissored open and closed slowly as she teased 
herself with the rhythmic pressure on her tingling clitoris, working herself 
into a burning passion. Complete surrender to the need building within her 
showed in her eyes as her buttocks twisted tensely into the soft cushions 
until she could feel the rough edges brush thrillingly against the tender 
swelling of her vulva. At the almost electrical contact, her breath 
quickened and the passionate yearning grew in her loins. 

Inger was astounded that the mere thought of Chuck's body had so heightened 
her arousal, but the slight shame she felt only stimulated her more. Her 
mouth opened in sensual rapture as both her hands scurried over body as if 
no longer under her control, floating over her soft ivory belly, then coming 
to rest on the dark golden vee at the entranceway to her burning genitals. 
Groaning-at the sudden contact with her hard sensitive clitoris, she spread 
her legs far apart exposing the moist glistening furrow between them. Her 
trembling fingers slid down to the soft, swollen lips, pulling them gently 
outward until the deep pink opening was fully exposed to the warm air and 
the mouth-like orifice throbbed, greedily open like the mouth of a gulping 
fish. 

Slowly and tenderly, she wormed her middle finger into the moist throbbing 
hole, forcing it downward until it was completely embedded in the tight, 
smooth passageway, at the same time flicking at her erect bud-like clitoris 
with another finger. Afraid to pause as her excitement mounted, Inger 
quickly thrust another finger past the rosy edges of her moist cunt, 
widening the lips as she rotated the inserted fingers in sensual abandon. 
Incoherent images of Chuck skewering her with his bulging rock-like prick, 
invading her cunt, her protesting rectum, jack-hammering into her soft, 
willing mouth, flashed through her mind. In a frenzy of lust, she jerked her 
legs back against her chest and heaved her hips upward to meet each stroke 
of her probing fingers. Her face contorted with the effort of her frantic 
manipulations. It was not enough! Clenching her teeth, she jammed another 
finger into her ravenously hungry pussy, writhing beneath the pounding 
instruments in unthinking passion. 

Deep moans of animal pleasure rose from deep in her throat as she speeded 
into a more rapid rhythm, straining for a climax, lunging up to bury the 
invading fingers deep into the tight pink opening. Her head rolled from side 
to side on the back of the sofa and she groaned in frustration as she tried 
and tried to bring herself to orgasm. Suddenly, another whine answered her 
own, and she opened her eyes to see Hans, the huge Russian Wolfhound, 
standing before her nakedly squirming pussy. 

"Oh, no, Hans. Go away," she begged. "You'll ruin it!" 

As if in answer, he brought his great panting head down to her defenseless, 
up-turned cunt and licked it, sliding his soft tongue from the tight 
puckered hole of her anus up to the tiny burning nodule of her clitoris, 
just as he had done once before. This time, however, his hot wet tongue sent 
her body trembling and jerking helplessly under the strange stimulation. No, 
no, she thought to herself, this is not right. It's unnatural, perverted! 
But as she tried to slip away, the big dog's tongue snaked out again, 
licking hungrily at her moist crevice, halting finally at her anus where the 
tip pushed trying to force its way past the outer fleshy ring. 

With a deep moan, she realized that her body would give her no choice she 
would have to surrender to the beast's exciting ministrations. Her thighs 
quivered back against her chest as the animal's cold nose pushed through the 
hair covered swelling of her cunt-lips, searching out the source of the 
delicious female cuntal aroma.. She squirmed downward in forbidden pleasure 
as the tongue flicked out again, curling deep into her vaginal passageway. 
She knew that she did not want to' do this, but the big dog's slathering, 
wet tongue was forcing her inspite of her revulsion, to enjoy this perverted 
stimulation. 

Suddenly the giant tongue stabbed into her vulnerable pussy like a thick, 
pink snake, plunging deep up into her pelvis without regard for the maniacal 
screams of passion that suddenly streamed from her lips. Oblivious to all 
morality and reason, she rolled her buttocks against the face of the animal, 
drowning the weird, obscene sensation of being licked and sucked by a dumb 
animal. Something told her that she should stop the great beast, get out of 
the lewd, unnatural situation before it went any further, but suddenly the 
dog lifted his head from her crotch to stare down in bewilderment at his 
mistress' frenzied excitement. 

Inger groaned as she realized she wanted still more of the horrible, 
debasing excitement. Her natural resistance had vanished under the maddening 
torture of the Russian Wolfhound's tongue and, fighting down her revulsion, 
she bent over to touch the sheath that enclosed the beast's penis. Inger's 
heart beat crazily as she took hold of the hairy sheath and began milking 
it, first gently, then with increasing authority. She flinched in fear when 
the animal began to respond, his natural savage lust kindling and jerking 
his muscles to life. She labored slowly, carefully, gasping for breath as 
she squirmed back into the cushions, pushing the wet, swollen lips of her 
cunt into the roughness of the fabric to further ignite the fire raging in 
her loins. 

A bizarre masochistic pleasure seethed unwanted in her as the glistening red 
penis slipped out from its furry casing, dancing and jerking in her hand as 
Hans began to hump obscenely and squirt tiny premature jets of semen on the 
floor. Once again she was controlling the body of a male, a dog, but 
nevertheless a male ... And she liked it, despite her awareness that what 
she was doing was degrading her even in her own eyes. 

Then, before she realized what was happening, the giant dog pulled away from 
her hands and reared up to place its forepaws on the couch above her 
shoulders. Almost sobbing in an agony of desire, she looked up at him 
leaning over her nakedness, then, as though a demon had taken over her will, 
she hungrily thrust her buttocks upward in an attempt to capture the 
lengthening shaft with her cunt-lips. Her mind reeling in a confusing daze 
of sexual need and debasing humiliation, she heaved towards the long scarlet 
organ as though she were a rutting bitch herself. The very thought of 
herself as an animal sent another electric tingle deep into her belly and 
she could feel the seeping wetness between her thighs increasing even more. 
Her heart pounded like a tom-tom. 

The dog pushed forward wildly as he struggled to plant the pointed tip of 
his cock between her thighs, thrusting against her until his tapering member 
by mistake found the tiny opening of her anus instead and popped into her 
cruelly. 

"Ooooooh, noooooooooo!" she screamed with the pain of the unexpected 
intrusion, twisting to one side in an effort to escape the hideous 
impalement. 

But Hans was not to be discouraged and returned to the attack with all the 
barbarous lust of a human Tartar, mindlessly, savagely humping against her 
hard, pea-sized clitoris and then slipping down to thrust between the lips 
of her white-hot pussy. Inger shamelessly and deliberately grasped the 
canine's slippery organ and parted her cuntal opening to assist Hans, 
holding her breath as he began to stroke into her, inch after inch of his 
thick cock disappearing in her with each new pile-driving forward thrust of 
his flanks. Suddenly she let out a high whistling sigh as the great cock 
slipped into her all the way and began to slam up the moist cavern like a 
speeding train running wild through a dark tunnel smaller than itself. 

A moan of relief came from her contorted lips as she began to move 
rhythmically backwards to meet the lunges of the panting dog. His forelegs 
dropped down on either side of her waist, then, trapping her, and she began 
to undulate her body and ass in lewd circles, abandoning herself to the 
wonderful animal fucking she was receiving from Hans. Her face was twisted 
with ecstasy from the delicious fucking the dog was giving her, and her 
full, taut breasts bounced lightly, moving in time to the throbbing cock of 
the beast as it ran in and out of her like a hot poker. 

Oh God, she moaned inwardly, relishing every vicious slam of Hans' prick 
into her cunt, her mind straying for a second to thoughts of Marty ... how 
he might think of her now ... his own wife being screwed senseless by a dumb 
beast ... a big dog-cock filling her belly and pushing her inner organs 
higher, higher, until she was afraid they would rupture and burst out of her 
mouth. It was ripping her soul from her body and pushing it out of her with 
every punishing stroke. Oh Christ, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, you ... you 
beautiful bastard! "All, all of it-I want all of it!" she finally screamed, 
completely out of her mind now as she lewdly encouraged the dog on to 
greater ravishment of her pinioned body ... She was begging him to fuck her 
harder and faster and to shoot his hot cum up her pussy, aching to be filled 
with it in her madness, and that was all that mattered to her now. She was 
no longer human but a shaking mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that 
begged to be subjugated. She was revelling in her defilement, uncaring, no 
longer capable of thinking of sex as normal, healthy, anything but a 
tremendous shaft of animal flesh piston-ing back and forth in her stretched 
pussy, causing her to grind against the hairy, jerking body like an animal 
herself. 

Small droplets of moisture were building in the crevice of Inger's rotating 
thighs, glistening and sparking even in the dim light as they ran down from 
her buttocks onto the couch, sometimes sticking to the dog's heavy balls as 
they slapped hard down against her anus with each inward stroke. Then, 
slowly, steadily, inexorably, the beginning throes of orgasm began and she 
screwed up greedily against the brute like a she-demon possessed. Hans' 
long, slithering tongue hung from his mouth as he fucked into her waving 
crotch, saliva dripping from it onto the sweat between her wildly dancing 
tits. 

She screamed suddenly and rammed up against the dog just as he hunched 
forward and his cock began spewing its sperm in hot searing torrents deep up 
in her clasping vagina. Inger's hindquarters began to pitch and toss 
crazily, signaling her own thrilling climactic upheaval far inside her 
belly. Thick white liquid ran from the tightness of her cunt squeezing and 
sucking the prick of the dog, soaking her backside and pubic hair as she 
moaned and reached forward to drive the dog's still ejaculating cock deep 
into her for the last time. The Russian Wolfhound's deflating penis pulled 
out of her with a wet sucking noise that lewdly filled the room and left her 
animal-fucked cunt nakedly exposed to the lesser heat still issuing from the 
low-burning fire she had built. 

Hans dropped down to the floor on all fours again, his tail wagging in 
evident appreciation. Inger watched as, in a last act of obscene depravity, 
he dropped his head between her widely splayed thighs and lapped at the 
white sticky animal sperm still running from her battered cunt. He gulped at 
it thirstily until eventually there was no more, then he turned as from a 
meal he had just finished and lumbered across the room to lower his massive 
body in stages down to the rug in front of the fire, his great head nuzzling 
for a comfortable position between his paws. 

Gradually the realization of what she had done, behind Marty's back, in 
their own home, with their own pet, made her shudder and break into 
uninhibited sobbing. Just the sight of Hans sleeping peacefully in front of 
the fire, one ear twitching as he dreamed, made her feel vile and forever 
tainted ... Nothing she could do or think would ever erase the mortifying 
humiliation she felt in every fiber of her being ... She wished for death, 
for unending sleep and escape from the reality of herself-a wanton slut who 
would use anything or anyone at her disposal to temporarily quench the 
wildfire of passion raging within her. A nympho, yes, that was it-she was a 
dirty nymphomaniac who would accept the handiest cock, no matter from whom 
or tvhat, to quell her lust. 

After awhile she rose and trudged disgustedly toward the rear of the house, 
her still slightly damp garments clutched in one hand in a haphazard ball. 
She would change clothes and at least make an effort to imitate decency 
before her husband's arrival home. In the bedroom, she happened to glance at 
the tottering pile of old sketches of paintings she had done during the 
early half of their marriage, when she was still full of confidence and 
faith in her ability as an artist. Now they seemed ludicrous, the pitiful 
dabblings of a frustrated whore from Denmark, a married woman who took on 
young boys and big dogs whenever she felt the urge. Well, there was at least 
one consolation, she thought as she withdrew fresh clothes from the closet, 
and that was the merciful fact that neither the dog nor Chuck were 
intelligent enough to know how really depraved she was ... that she was a 
degenerate in disguise as a normal married woman. 

Inger showered longer than usual, trying vainly to wash her body of the 
evidence of evil just as Lady Macbeth had when she felt the blood lingering 
on her hands after her crime. 

"Inger? ... Honey? ... I'm home," Marty called from the living room as he 
unloaded his briefcase and a pile of thick envelopes from his arms onto the 
couch. He was tired, emotionally depleted, and wore a slight stubble of 
beard on his chin and cheeks like a badge signifying the pressures he had 
been under that day. Shrugging out of his rain-soaked jacket, he moved in 
front of the gaily leaping fire to absorb the welcome warmth, nearly 
stumbling over the snoozing Hans. 

"Hey, boy, inside for a change, eh?" Marty knelt then and gave the drowsy 
dog a good back-scratching, laughing to himself as he thought of the effort 
involved in merely petting such a mountain of a dog like Hans. 

"I didn't know you were home," Inger said as she made her entrance into the 
room, her skin glowing and large eyes bright despite the loggy, depressed 
feeling that weighed heavily on her spirits. 

"I just came in-soaked through, of course," he grinned, rising to embrace 
her. After they had kissed and held each other for a moment, he took on a 
serious expression and said, "Well, baby, are you ready for the news?" 

"What news, what's wrong?" Inger frowned. 

"Oh, it's nothing much. I just managed to do a little fixing here and there, 
bribing a few officials--that sort of thing," he said cryptically, still 
wearing a deeply serious expression on his face, as though he wore about to 
tell her of a tragic death or incident that had happened in the family. 

"Marty, dammit, don't tease me! What's wrong?" she shouted, her nerves now 
screaming at the suspense. 

"Darling, calm down now. I was just teasing," he soothed- "I had a long talk 
with Henry Fallbrook this morning, first thing, and explained as much as I 
could without compromising us. He was a gem about the whole thing, even 
laughed, and got to work on things right away-free of charge, I might add." 

"So-so what happened?" she urged. 

"Well, it just so happens that Hank and the psychiatrist are bosom 
buddies-went to school together or something, though I'm damned if I 
remember the doctor from those days. Anyway, to make a long story short, 
Hank and the doc had lunch with the judge scheduled to sit for Chuck's case 
when it comes to superior court, and they convinced him that the kid's okay 
and more likely to represent a social liability if he's jailed than if they 
simply send him off to learn a trade in one of the less scary state 
institutions." 

"But for how long?" Inger asked, her concern for the boy surfacing in the 
worried expression on her face. 

"That depends ... It could be for a year and then it could be until he's 
twenty-one, whichever age his immediate superiors decide is most to his 
advantage when it comes to the question of his fitness for society ... Now 
look," he said, lowering his voice to lend authority to his statement, 
"you've got to come to grips with the fact that Chuck did rape a woman ... 
on his own ... without our encouragement... for reasons of his own." 

"I know, but ... it just seems unfair ... He was so innocent and honest 
before he started taking lessons from us." 

Marty was suddenly filled with anger at her unreasonable attitude, her 
seeming vacillations from loyalty to him and then back to her illiterate 
young felon. Perhaps he had been mistaken in considering her mature enough 
to handle such a sophisticated sexual situation. 

"Inger, tell me something," he began dryly. "Are you so overwhelmed with 
guilt for our part in Chuck's delinquency-or is it that you're wondering how 
we'll ever get along without his charming stupidity and over-sized sex 
organ?" 

Inger's glance met her husband's wry smile, then fell away from his probing 
eyes. She felt as if she had ventured too close to a raging bonfire, as if 
the unanticipated heat had singed away the protective mask she wore, 
revealing the bestial ugliness that lay beneath her pretty face and pleasing 
manner. 

"Well, Inger, which is it?" he demanded. "After all, the whole idea was to 
help my problems. Has the remedy back-fired on us?" 

Inger racked her brain for something to say- anything to exonerate herself. 
But should she even try? she wondered. It was obvious to her that Marty now 
understood what kind of despicable monster she was. Of course, he would want 
a divorce, and she would not argue. She loved him too much to force him to 
call a nymphomaniac his wife. Tears welled in her eyes and her lower lip 
trembled as she tried to imagine herself walking bravely out of his life. 

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Marty asked, true concern in his voice as he saw 
Inger's face crumple in an expression of heartbreaking sadness. As he 
gathered her shaking body into his arms, he realized for the first time that 
she was deeply troubled. "No, baby, don't cry," he murmured, wiping away a 
lone tear that had rolled down her cheek. "Whatever it is, we can work it 
out. I truly didn't know you had become so fond of the boy." 

"Oh, Marty, don't mock me!" she cried, lifting her head to face him with her 
grief-stricken eyes. "I know that you've guessed, and when I tell you that 
you're right ... you'll want to leave me," she sobbed. 

"Honey, what are you talking about?" Marty asked in true bewilderment. 

"H-hans .,.. our dog, our an-animal..." she sobbed, barely able to speak 
through the emotion that wracked her body. 

"Yes, baby, I know all that about Hans," he said, exhibiting the first signs 
of impatience. "I've known about it for some time, ever since I paid the 
kennel four times what the brute was worth." 

Annoyed at Marty's tasteless humor at such a terrible moment for both of 
them, Inger drew herself up to coldly face him. "I'm afraid you don't 
understand," she announced, bracing herself for the final confession that 
would certainly end their marriage. "Marty, this afternoon ... I... made 
love with Hans!" 

"You're kidding!" Marty gasped, his eyes widening in sheer amazement. 

Inger stepped back from him in fear of the violent outburst she knew would 
erupt any moment, but Marty's face broke into a happy smile as he spoke. 

"Now, why didn't I ever think of Hans? Of course, a dog has limitations, 
but, my God, that monster's prick must be almost as big as mine. And he 
could be trained! Christ, think of the fantastic tricks we could teach him!" 

Stunned by the sudden realization that her husband still did not suspect the 
depths of her depravity, Inger listened in misery to his verbal musings. 
Finally, no longer able to contain herself, she broke into his stream of 
happy prattle. 

"Marty! You still don't understand "the gravity of the situation," she 
blurted. "Hans fucked me! And I deliberately enticed him! What kind of woman 
would do that?" 

"You beautiful numbskull, don't tell me you're finally catching up with our 
American sexual hang-ups!" he asked, grinning from ear to ear at the 
distressed look on her face. "You ask what kind of woman would do that-well, 
I'll tell you. A woman like you, baby, with normal, healthy desires ... A 
woman who, when she gets horny in the afternoon, has the basic good sense to 
choose a stud who won't kiss and tell." A worried expression crossed his 
face and he added, "I mean, it's just great as long as I don't lose you to a 
damned Russian Wolfhound. I won't, will I?" 

She knew at last that he understood her, what had really really happened 
that afternoon, and broke out into relieved laughter, shaking her head "no" 
in answer to his absurd question. She had never loved anyone in her entire 
life as much as she loved him at that exact moment. 

"Good!" Marty grinned, hugging her enthusiastically. "Then may I watch next 
time? Christ, now that I think of it, this is much more exciting than Chuck 
could ever be. My balls are aching at the mere thought of you with that big 
hairy brute of a dog." 

"In that case, when shall we perform? Of course, I'll have to ask Hans-to 
see if he can fit the appointment into his schedule," she giggled. 

"Well, not right now. The poor bastard needs a rest. Besides, I'd like you 
to save at least a little of your vast stores of energy for me." 

Marty paused then, the first glimmerings of an exciting new idea cousing 
through his brain. "You know, love, I've just been inspired. Why should we 
bother wasting time to train our stupid dog, no matter how valuable he is, 
when there's a great wealth of natural talent just begging to be used?" 

With Marty's last statement, they launched into a serious discussion that 
lasted far into the night. Marty had proposed that they petition one of the 
several adoption agencies on the peninsula on the chance that they might 
adopt a pair of youngsters about the same age as Chuck and Marie. After all, 
there was no reason why a successful attorney and his wife should be 
debarred as prospective parents for a pair of appropriate teenagers. They 
were perfectly reputable married people, with a more than adequate income, 
all the references they could ever require, and their home alone was an 
asset that would impress any government agency. 

After promising that he would devote every ounce of his attention and energy 
to the matter first thing the next morning, they wandered off arm in arm to 
the master bedroom, setting for the many dramatic changes that had 
transpired in their marriage during the last enlightening weeks. 

Inger smiled up at her husband as the sound of Hans' barking pierced the 
silence of the night. Was he remembering his interlude with her that 
afternoon, she wondered as she stripped off her underwear, basking in the 
appreciative gaze lighting her husband's bold eyes? Once they were in bed, 
she snuggled into Marty's arms under the single sheet covering them, 
drifting comfortably off to sleep with her mind filled with visions of the 
children they planned to adopt. She had never thought of herself as a 
mother, but the idea invoked pleasant images of domesticity as she grew 
drowsy and her eyes closed for the last time that night. 

 Chapter 12 

We are aware of Mr. White's fine reputation in this area as a corporate 
attorney and are taking this into consideration while conducting our routine 
examination of your fitness as prospective parents. 

We feel reasonably certain that our attention to your application will be 
such that you may expect to hear from us concerning a definite date for 
interview within the next ten days. 

Thank you for your interest in the many displaced children in this area. 

The answering letter from the adoption' agency arrived several days later, 
stamped ominously with a state seal. Inger trembled as she opened the 
official-looking portentous envelope, her nervous fingers nearing ripping 
the letter enclosed as she tore off one end of the missive. 

Dear Mr. and Mrs. White: 

We have received your application for adoption of two adolescent children 
and are now considering it. As you doubtless know, the adoption of children 
is a serious consideration to be weighed heavily by both the potential 
parents and the agency involved. A great deal of investigation is required, 
both for your own and the children's sake. 

Epilogue 

On the following Monday, when Marty's and Inger's anticipation was reaching 
the breaking point, they received a letter from the agency instructing them 
to secure a number of character references and a notarized affidavit 
stipulating their joint total income and political leanings. Marty laughed 
aloud at the latter request, saying that "some damned incumbent must be 
bucking for support in the upcoming election to be so flagrantly importunate 
..." about something so irrelevant as political commitment. 

They were overjoyed, though, just to be seriously considered as parents to a 
strange pair of teen-agers. Inger put aside her artistic essays into 
sketching and painting-for the time being anyway-and applied herself 
wholeheartedly to making their Pacifica Woods home an appealing haven for 
healthy, active young people ... kids who would want privacy and yet have 
access to adult companionship whenever they wanted it. 

She managed to talk her husband out of enough extra allowance to purchase a 
dart-board and furnishings appropriate for the bedroom that was located just 
off the kitchen. Later, after the newcomers to their home had settled in, 
she would approach Marty with the suggestion that their children be allowed 
to have their choice of sleeping arrangements, according to their desires 
and schedules. 

It was not as though she were being greedy, the wantonly lusty bitch she had 
recently thought herself to be, but merely that she deemed it only right 
that their own children should have a say in the matter of bed-partners. 
Then, too, there was always Hans to be considered if the children were 
unable to fulfill their roles as competent healthy offspring, adopted or 
not. 

Time would tell-it always did-and she and Marty were young enough to stand 
the test of time. 

Inger was finally happy, actually anxious to confront whatever new problems 
might crop up, as she smiled at her husband and walked casually out of the 
living room. 

It was a lovely day for a stroll, she remarked to herself as she descended 
the steps on the front porch and tossed her heavy mane of blonde hair. In 
the distance she could hear the sea plodding to shore like an hourglass of 
her own emotion. 

She laughed, hugging herself, as Hans began to bark at the hawks circling 
over the house like names for what she felt. 


End
