THE CREAMING OF GINGER
 Part Two

Nostalgic Recollections From The Golden Age Of Troilism


Sleep never came easily to Pam.  The collection of little brown 
bottles on the bedside table bore witness to that.  But tonight no 
amount of sleeping pills would stop the endless stream of images 
running through her brain.

Memories of a stranger's hands running smoothly over her breasts; 
warm brown eyes that tried to hold her gaze but were drawn 
irresistibly downwards, to where the tight black curls of her sex 
were on show.  Images of her husband's expressions as he watched her 
being mounted, the disbelief in his staring eyes, the seedy, grubby 
fascination, the way he kept licking his dry lips. Glimpses of the 
compulsion that had driven him to arrange his own cuckolding.

But Sam, at least, had no trouble sleeping.  He was on his side, 
turned away from her as usual, breathing deeply and slowly.  Back 
there on The Heath, as she took the stranger into her, as she gave 
her husband his first piece of fresh cream pie, she'd vowed he'd pay 
for his pleasures, that she'd make him clean up every last drop of 
the sperm she'd taken for him.  But like most of her plans, it hadn't 
happened.  As soon as he'd come, he'd lost all interest.  As usual.  
And when she'd not taken her shower but come to bed with the 
stranger's semen still inside her, he'd shown no interest, even when 
she tried to blow him, which usually worked.  I bet the cunning 
bastard knew what I'd got planned for him, she thought.

So she'd laid there for hours, listening to the clock, re-living the 
action, still stunned that she'd actually done it.  Wanting to talk 
it through with him, to understand.  Wanting to clean herself up and 
yet needing to keep something of Mick inside her.  It was him that 
had made the difference, she decided.  Tipped the scales, made her 
decide to go through with it.  She hadn't expected him to be so 
young, or smell so good, or be so gentle, or make it last so long.  
Or make her come the way he had.

I bet Ginger wasn't expecting that, either, she thought, smiling a 
slow, contented smile and slipping her hand between her legs.  Yes, 
it was still there, though it was a sticky wetness now, not slick and 
slippery like at first.  She sniffed her fingers, trying to recall 
the smell of him but it had been hours ago and the scent was no 
longer fresh.
 
Ugh!  Time for a shower.  She swung her legs off the bed and walked 
naked into the bathroom.

Ginger slept on, oblivious.


*    *    *    *     *     *


The events of Tuesday night provided virtually the sole topic of 
conversation for the rest of the week.  Ginger could be boring at the 
best of times but he wouldn't let the subject drop and drove Pam to 
distraction.  Within hours, it had become a total obsession and she 
listened with mounting concern as one plan replaced another.

They'd advertise in contact mags.  They'd join a nudist club.  He 
could take Polaroids.  No, better still they'd use some of that money 
his father had left him and go to Amsterdam.  They had clubs there 
where you could just walk in and fuck whoever you liked.  And they 
ought to get a video camera.  And anyway, he'd heard rumours that 
there were parts of The Heath where couples put on shows while guys 
watched.  Even joined in if you wanted them to.  And there wasn't 
just Mick either.  What about Mark?  You two certainly seemed to hit 
it off last Christmas at the firm's party.  Yes, thinking about it, 
they shouldn't stick with just one man.  You never know what might 
happen.  You might develop feelings for each other.  Yep, we ought to 
stick to strangers, thinking about it.  Safer that way.

Pam felt her spirits sink as one grand scheme after another unfolded.  
She knew resistance was useless once her husband locked on to a new 
craze.  He would just keep on and on and on, wearing her down until 
she gave in.  The only way out was via the bedside bottles of 
sleeping pills or through the door.  And she'd tried them both before 
and failed.  She was thirty eight and fading fast.  She couldn't 
support herself on her salary as a part-time medical receptionist.  
Not in anything like the lifestyle they enjoyed now.  A wimp, a 
failure.  She couldn't even give him the children they'd both wanted 
so much.  And the sex had been going downhill for years. 

Until Tuesday night, that is.   

On Tuesday night she'd done the unthinkable.  Given herself to a man 
she had never met before, an old school friend of her husband's.  And 
actually enjoyed it.  No, more than that, she'd loved every minute of 
it.  Once she'd realised that she was not being offered like some 
ritual sacrifice to a dirty old man with bad breath.  No, the 
stranger had been a man she would have fancied across a crowded room.  
A man she would have relished an affair with.

Not that there'd been many of those, lately.

Not like in the early years, when she first realised that marrying 
Ginger was the biggest mistake of her life.  She'd still had some 
spirit then.  Nothing too risky, of course.  Friends and neighbours 
mainly.  Oh and a couple of memorable quickies with a gorgeous 
lifeguard at that expensive hotel in the South of France.  Once even 
while Ginger was in the same room as them, flat-out dead drunk on the 
couch where they'd left him, while they used the double bed just a 
few feet away.  Ironic, really.  There she'd been, pulling the pillow 
over her face as she came, so she wouldn't wake him up and yet all 
the time he would have enjoyed watching.  Especially, she now 
realised, if she'd let him follow the guy in.  Given him - what was 
that expression he used? - oh yes, a nice slice of cream pie.

Just like the one she'd given him on Tuesday night.  

And now he wanted more.  And he didn't seem to care too much who 
supplied the cream.  That worried Pam.  The sex with Mick had 
reawakened long-forgotten feelings and she had readily agreed to do 
it again.  A bit too readily perhaps.  Maybe Ginger was already 
suspicious.  Maybe she'd enjoyed herself a bit too much.

Now he was talking casually about offering her to complete strangers.  
Well OK, maybe Mick had been a complete stranger on Tuesday but he 
wasn't now and she badly wanted to see him again.  To do it with him.  
Just the thought of it started to make her feel moist.


*    *    *    *    *    *

Ginger finally got through to Mick on Friday morning.
He'd sensed Pam cooling off when the subject got around to orgies and 
gang-bangs and after all, Mick was a nice guy with a wife and two 
kids.  He wasn't going to risk all that by doing anything stupid.

But he'd asked Ginger to phone him at work rather than at home and 
was proving a difficult man to track down.  The session he and Pam 
had planned for Friday lunch-time looked like it wasn't going to 
happen, after all, which was a pity because they'd both arranged the 
afternoon off.  As he told Mick, what with it being such short notice 
and all, he'd understand if he couldn't make it.

But he could and he did.

Actually, he was a good twenty minutes late and they'd almost given 
up on him.  It wasn't quite how Mick had imagined it, either.  
Instead of Pam floating into the room on a cloud of perfume, dressed 
in something diaphanous, she was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for 
the evening meal.  Ginger was still his usual leery self though, and 
invited him through to the lounge while barking at Pam to go and get 
ready because their guest was here.

"We've been thinking about you a lot since Tuesday, Mick." 

That high monotone gave Mick the shivers. Poor old Pam, living with a 
dick-head like Ginger.

"And guess what we found in the spare room?"

Shit, thought Mick, not his fucking Abba albums. He was boring 
bastard, Ginger.  He really was.

It was an old black and white school photo, dating back to the early 
sixties.  And there, circled in red crayon, were their faces.  They'd 
been closer then, despite the two years between them, and sharing the 
same girl for six months had just been a practical teenage thing.  
There was no birth pill in those days and girls who'd do it without a 
rubber, like Carol Dean would, were in short supply.

Then they'd gone their separate ways until, some twenty years on, 
Ginger had phoned him out of the blue, asked him how was he, how was 
the family, how was business, how was the dog, oh and by the way, 
would he like to fuck his wife?  Never did have a lot of finesse, did 
Ginger.

So why did he feel uneasy about this little arrangement?  After all, 
it had worked just fine on Tuesday night up on The Heath.  Even if 
Ginger had thrown him out as soon as he'd done his stuff.  He had a 
good idea why, too.  Perhaps that's why he was feeling a bit nervous.  
What if his old buddy turned out to be a shirt-lifter?  Fuck that, 
he'd deck him if he just so much as touched his ass.

Still, Pam was a good looking woman and with no kids to fuck her up, 
her body was still taut and firm.  Especially her tits.  She had tits 
you could stand your beer on.  Not like Josie, his own wife.  The 
good bits had all started heading South the moment their first one 
was born.  A nice enough woman, and a great mother to her kids but 
oh, with an arse like a barn door.  No, she was a bit of all right 
was Pam, and Mick had every intention of fucking the living daylights 
out of her this afternoon, Ginger or no.

That's why he was late.  He'd spent those twenty minutes in a car 
park, spraying his dick with 'new improved Stay-Spray - for those who 
like to linger longer'.  Who wrote crap like that?  Mind you, the 
stuff was fucking good.  Trouble was, he might just have overdone it.  
Sat there looking at this stupid fucking photo, knowing Pam must be 
undressing for him, he couldn't feel a lot happening in the 
underpants department. Suddenly Ginger took the photo back and said 
in that leery nasal whine of his,

"I think she's ready for you Mick.  Go on in and enjoy yourself.  
Don't mind me if I pop my head round the door, will you?"

As long as you keep your hands off my bollocks Ginger, thought Mick, 
you can do what you want with your fucking head.  But touch them, 
mate, and you're fucking dead.


*    *    *    *    *    *

The curtains were closed, cutting the light down to a mellow glow.  
Pam was lying on her side in the middle of the marital bed, her head 
propped up on one hand, watching with interest as Mick undressed.

He had a certain style, you had to admit.  Ginger would have left his 
socks on and walked around with his dick swinging about, arousing 
laughter rather than desire in her.  No, Mick was definitely 
different, leaner and more muscular and he left his briefs on too, 
for her to take off.  He got onto the bed and she lay back and 
reached for his hand.

Mick had forgotten his worries about the Stay-Spray, for he could 
feel himself beginning to stiffen just looking at her.  She was naked 
except for a gold neck chain and a silky slip that clung to her like 
a second skin, and she smelt of flowers and lemons.  They kissed long 
and deeply, taking their time, stroking each other, she quivering 
each time his hand swept along her flank, his fingertips leaving 
little sparkling trails of pleasure behind them, like the wake of a 
ship.

They parted for breath and he nuzzled into her neck, pretend-biting 
her with his lips, tracing little circles in her ear with his tongue.

Suddenly she wanted it to happen now, right now, before Ginger came 
in.  Wanted her new lover to herself, to take him right now, with no-
one watching, denying her husband his strange little pleasures.  She 
reached down for him, clutching his balls through his briefs, 
squeezing, making him gasp with pain and pleasure, running her nails 
along the outline of his cock, feeling him twitch and harden under 
the thin material.

Mick pulled at her right shoulder strap and she let go of him, 
bending her arm to slip the strap off, pulling his head down to her 
exposed breast, shivering as he suckled on it. Soon the slip was down 
around her waist and his head was buried in the deep, fragrant valley 
between her breasts. Again she tried to hurry him, pushing his head 
down towards her sex. Hot and moist and open for him.  Naked under 
the silk.

Mick slid down the bed, biting her gently all the way, feeling her 
mound pushing up through the silk, and at last, lifting the hem to 
claim his prize.  As he did, Pam closed her eyes and spread her legs 
wide, bending her knees to offer herself at the best angle.  She 
could feel his hot breath on her curls, a slight scrape on her thigh 
from the stubble on his chin.  She shuddered as his warm, wormy 
tongue started seeking out her wetness, finding it and burrowing into 
her, deep, really deep inside her, circling and thrusting and fucking 
her like a miniature cock.

Mick was in his heaven.  She tasted not of the sea, like some women, 
but of honey and warm cream.  He gorged himself like a parched man 
offered a juicy, succulent fruit, twisting his tongue this way and 
that, sometimes going deep, sometimes sliding it up the groove, 
pushing aside her labia, searching for her clitoris.  And finding it 
and feeling her jump with pleasure as he opened her up with his two 
thumbs, peeling back the skin of her hood and teasing her tiny pink 
jewel with the tip of his tongue.

Soon he felt her pull on his hair, pull him away as if she couldn't 
bear it any longer, and she sat up and twisted somehow, turning so 
that her feet were at the top of the bed, showing him she wanted a 
sixty-nine. Within seconds she'd pushed down his pants and taken him 
into her mouth.  He wasn't quite there for some reason, not quite 
hard enough but no matter, she'd had plenty of experience of that 
with Ginger.  She knew what to do.

Gently she worked on his knob with her lips and tongue, nibbling and 
biting and sucking.  His cock tasted so different to Ginger's, like 
he'd put some aftershave on it.  Yes, that must be it, that surgical, 
steely taste.  Very clean, anyway.  She took almost the whole shaft 
into her mouth and bit him gently at the base.  Then she sucked so 
hard she thought she'd hurt him but he didn't flinch, so she sucked 
even harder, drawing the blood into his erectile tissues, feeling 
them fill and swell and harden.

At last he was ready and she pulled away from him, sitting up and 
pushing him back on the bed.  Suddenly she realised Ginger was in the 
room, over by the door.  Naked.  And holding his new camera. Damn!  
Still, he wasn't going to spoil it now for her. If he wanted a show, 
she'd give him one.  Show him how a real man could turn her on.  

She straddled her new lover and reached down for him, guiding him, 
slipping on to him easily, lowering herself down the length of it, 
slowly, to relish the taking of every inch of him, putting her hands 
either side of his head and looking at the pleasure on his face.  
Mick cupped her full breasts and she lowered them onto his face.  
Without so much as a sideways glance towards the door, Pam began to 
fuck him.

Somewhere a million miles away a camera flashed and whirred but 
neither of them took the slightest bit of notice.  They only had eyes 
for each other.  And teeth and tongues and lips and nails.  Hot, 
sucking mouths and hot, sucking, sex.  Faster and faster she rode her 
man, feeling him buck and rise up to meet her downward strokes, 
riding the long, thick cock sliding into her, stretching her, 
penetrating, shafting her.  Trying to fuck him faster, harder, 
deeper, until he bruised and hurt her, making her grunt and gasp with 
the glorious physical lust of it all.

But if Pam was losing control, Mick had all he needed. The 
anaesthetic spray always improved his staying power but he'd never 
done three applications in twenty minutes before, and his cock felt 
like a dead tree-root.  The pleasure on his face was not coming from 
the nerve-endings in his prick but from the sight of Pam, flushed and 
sweating and radiant, her naked white breasts swinging and jiggling 
and bouncing with a life of their own.  And pleasure, too, of a 
different sort from the expression on Ginger's face over there in the 
corner, as he watched his wife taking a better fuck than he had ever 
given her. 

Yeah, that was the real crack.  The hurt in his eyes, the envy and 
shock on his face as Pam lost all self-control.  Christ, she was a 
noisy mare!  He grinned at his old school chum.  He'd show the 
bastard!  It was time to move up a gear.

He sat up and whispered to Pam.  A few twists and turns and she was 
flat on her back across the bed, her legs over his shoulders, while 
he stood, feet planted firmly on the floor at the side.

"Let's give the photographer a wave, Pam!"  

And they did and Ginger took the picture and Pam still has it tucked 
safely away somewhere, the three-quarter view of her taking her first 
stranger on the marital bed,  his dead tree-root cock quite clearly 
visible, well into her.  It's the only one left from the whole 
series. Ginger destroyed the rest.  Couldn't tear up or burn the 
Polaroids, so cut them all into little pieces and scattered them to 
the winds one night, over three miles of motorway.

In later years, Mick would come to understand why.  Once it had 
happened to him. No man who ever offers his wife to another really 
expects to be bettered by him.  And Ginger had expected his old 
school friend to give Pam a quick one and be out of the house within 
half an hour.  Leaving the pair of them to spend the rest of the 
afternoon together. 

But it didn't quite work out like that.

Instead, he learned the hard way that inviting a second man into a 
relationship is a strategy not without risk.  Oh, if it works it can 
be wonderful, deepening  and enriching the love and trust between 
husband and wife  enormously.  If all three partners approach it with 
respect for one another; if all three are honest and open with each 
other; if everyone sticks to the rules; if both men work together to 
pleasure the woman, instead of competing, trying to outdo each other.

But that's a lot of "ifs". And instead of sharing a life-enhancing 
threesome with his wife and friend, Ginger got the other, raw, end of 
the deal.

He may have been a boring bastard but he thought the world of his 
Pam.  And it must have been a shock, as Mick later came to learn for 
himself, to watch the woman he loved take the best fuck of her life 
from a rival male.

Amazingly, it didn't put them off threesomes for good.  Just slowed 
them down for a while.  Made Ginger realise that no matter how good 
you think you are, there's always someone better.  Made Pam aware 
that no matter how  she enjoyed herself with other men, she must 
never again show it so fully.

Eventually they even got briefly involved with Mick again, though it 
was never quite the same, after that Friday afternoon.  But no matter 
how many men she took between those long, slim legs of hers, and 
there were many over the next twelve years or so, Pam always kept a 
special, secret place in her heart for her first stranger.  Just as 
he does for her, to this day.

Ginger and Pam went on to become a regular attraction on The Heath 
and for a time she even held the local gang-bang record, taking six 
wet fucks in a single night.  Well, Dover's a small, conservative 
kind of town and even six must have taken Ginger a lot of trouble to 
arrange.

Mick serviced them as a couple occasionally and Pam individually many 
times.  She often told him that, for her, the best cream pies she 
ever served up for Ginger were the ones he didn't realise he was 
getting.  The affair just kind of fizzled out when Mick moved away 
and became, as some readers may well have begun to suspect, a writer.  
And these days, he takes it easy on the Stay-Spray.

But back on that Friday afternoon, as Ginger watched his bride 
discover a level of pure, carnal, physical pleasure she had never 
known before, all of these things were far into the future.

Right now there was nothing to do but watch.

Watch his wife lose control so completely, so utterly, that she ended 
up crying hysterically as Mick pounded relentlessly into her, taking 
her through orgasm after orgasm, each one more intense, more gut-
wrenching, more violent than the one before. 

Watch her wild-eyed, lathered in sweat, helpless as the spasms of one 
climax merged into the next, tearing at Mick with her nails until he 
bled, urging him on until she was hoarse, to fuck her, fuck her, fuck 
her, even though she couldn't bear for a moment longer the exquisite 
agony of his dead tree-root cock slamming into her, splitting her, 
stretching her, reaming out her unbearably tender, exhausted pussy.

Watch as she lay whimpering and trapped under a strong man, too 
floppy and too weak to stop him  buggering her.  Watch as Mick just 
pulled it out of one hole and slipped it in another without asking 
anyone.  And Pam bent almost double, her long legs over his 
shoulders, squealing like a stuck pig, helpless to resist as he 
pushed through her sphincter and up into her tight rectum.  And watch 
as he took her to another climax, made her come right there in front 
of him, turning her around, pulling her buttocks apart to show Ginger 
where they were joined, how hard he was and just how deeply he was 
embedded in her anus.  

And then making her come again, fucking her violently, remorselessly,  
in a frenzy of sweating, animal-grunting lust, ignoring her pitiful 
pleas to stop, until the feeling returned to his tree-root cock and 
at last he burst inside her, spilling his sperm into her bowels, jet 
after jet, until his balls were drained dry.

*    *    *    *    *    *

Mick slunk out of the house and back to his car like a thief in the 
night.  Christ Almighty, what was all that about?  He'd been invited 
in to screw her and he'd done just that.  Enjoy yourself, wasn't that 
what Ginger had said?  So he had.  And given her a right seeing-to 
while he was at it.

So why the big row?  Why the "never darken our doorstep again" bit?  
He always knew Ginger was a funny bastard, right from their school 
days but for a minute back there, he thought he was going to try and 
get fucking physical with him.

Fuck that for a laugh, thought Mick.  You do an old friend a favour 
and look what happens.  It'll be a long time before I give him a 
lesson in screwing again. Serves him fucking right.  If he can't do 
the job properly, there's plenty who can.  Me especially.

He started the car, reversed into their drive, swung out onto the 
main road and headed for home

Well, perhaps I did go a bit over the top, he eventually conceded.  
It was that fucking spray.  I couldn't feel a thing.  Still, it 
showed him who's the boss. 

I'll give it a week or so then give Pam a ring at work. I didn't hear 
her complaining.


*    *    *    *    *    *

Ginger came back into the bedroom with a wet face flannel and a towel 
and began to gently wipe his wife down.  She'd stopped crying now and 
except for the occasional sniffle, seemed calm enough.  Exhausted, 
though.  Her short blonde hair dark and matted with sweat, soaked 
right through.  So shattered she didn't resist as Ginger rolled her 
onto her front and started drying her back.

He was feeling ashamed at not having intervened sooner but, he 
reasoned to himself, she was having the time of her life until the 
bastard had buggered her, something he'd never been allowed to do.  
It must hurt like hell, being fucked like that.  Still, that didn't 
stop her coming another couple of times, did it?  Perhaps he should 
check she was OK, in case the bastard had split her and she was 
bleeding.  Gently he eased her buttocks apart.

And that was the moment that all his well-intentioned remorse seemed 
to evaporate.  For though  her sphincter looked red and sore, there 
was no blood.  But instead of the tight little star of muscle that he 
was used to seeing, it was enlarged and slightly open, as if she 
couldn't quite close it.  And there in the centre of the ring was 
what this had all been about.  A glistening, translucent pearl of 
sperm, welling up from inside her rectum. 

Instantly he felt himself stiffen and he let go of her buttocks, 
closing them on her secret.  He couldn't.  Not after all she's been 
through.  She'd only just stopped crying.  

But what had it all been for, if he didn't?  And anyway, she'd had 
her fun.  Hours of it.

Pam lay there passively, not resisting.  She was calm now and knew 
what was coming.  She could read him like a book.  The tender loving 
care was just Ginger's clumsy attempt to check her out down there, to 
make sure Mick had left him something.  Which he had, of course.  And 
Ginger would have to have his cream pie and she would have to serve 
it up.  Even though it was going to hurt like hell.  

"Sam?" She only called him Ginger when their friends were around. 

"Yeah?"

"It's all right.  Go ahead.  Do it.  I don't mind, honestly."

He knew she was lying and in pain but the temptation of that sperm 
oozing out of her ass was too powerful.  He just couldn't stop 
himself. "Well, perhaps if I'm gentle.  Not like him."

"No, not like him.  Gently.  Go on, I want you to."

"Honestly.?"

"Honestly. Please."

"Well, perhaps if you knelt on the edge of the bed.  Just to make it 
easier."

Somehow she found the strength to move, to rearrange herself for her 
second man of the afternoon.  She knelt on the edge, legs open and 
lowered her face down to the cover, presenting her rump to him.

And as he slipped into her stretched, lubricated rectum, Pam bit her 
hand to stop crying out.  Through the tears of her pain she could see 
her way out, the little collection of bottles on the bedside table.  
But as the sucking, squelching sounds of her husband enjoying her 
grew louder, a worm of pleasure awoke in her bowels; a restless, 
wriggling worm that grew stronger with every stroke.  And suddenly 
there was no decision to make.

Screw the sleeping pills.  She'd never realised till today just how 
good sex could be.  Even with Ginger.  She had a lot of lost time to 
make up.  And not so many years to do it in.  If cream pie was what 
he wanted, cream pie he was going to get.  As many helpings as he 
liked.  And fuck it, who cares who supplies the cream?  The worm was 
wriggling furiously now, deep inside her intestines, sending waves of 
glorious animal pain into her belly.

Gritting her teeth, she gripped the bed, tightened her arse and 
pushed back into him, hard as she could.

 
*    *    *    *    *    *

Copyright David Cook 1997
All Rights Reserved
Email  d.cook@netcom.co.uk










