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Subject: {ASSM} Repost: The Blackmailed Mother - Book One
Date: Sun, 29 Jun 2003 04:10:09 -0400
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LLP-218: The Blackmailed Mother - Book One
By: Peter Jensen

http://whiteshadow.pornopartners.com

WARNING: This story is fiction, and should be treated as such. The 
following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains 
descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex 
stories upset you, do not read any further.

Copyright remains with the author and any copyright notices along with 
last known contact information for the author is included if available. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Chapter 1

A light drizzle and a leaded sky with scudding clouds greeted Lonnie 
Cannel when she awoke in the half light of the early morning. She had 
left the bedroom window open slightly, and the cool air which blew 
through the crack rustled the flowers on the nightstand and rippled 
across the thin sheet which covered her. She stirred; frowning at first 
as she unconsciously tried to cover herself with more, then became 
fully awake and saw that the blanket was knotted at the foot of the 
bed.

Damnation, she thought, sitting up abruptly to grab the blanket. 
Another night of tossing and turning. She hated to sleep alone, and 
that was the problem. Her husband, Roger, was gone on another trip. 
Business, always business, him and his new job at Skopos, Incorporated. 
He never had time to be a husband to her any more, and she ... well, 
she was little more than a pretty doll for him to use when he was 
around. She wasn't a wife, she was just someone - almost like a whore 
- for him to have sex with, always available.

Piqued, she stopped unfolding the blanket. Sleep was gone now, 
impossible in spite of the early hour of the morning. She stretched 
languidly on the bed, releasing the last of her stupor.

Lonnie Cannel was a wife any man would be proud to have. Her husband 
called her a "sex machine that can cook," and said it with a grin. Her 
long, raven-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she 
stretched, curled around her full breasts and made a contrast to her 
blush-red nipples and aureole. Her breasts were still firm and taut, 
even though she was the mother of a fifteen-year-old daughter, and she 
was increasingly glad that she had followed her doctor's regimen when 
Jennifer was born. The exercises she'd done faithfully had prevented 
the slightest trace of stretch marks from the birth, and she could walk 
around in a bikini and still look like she was Jennifer's older sister 
and not her mother.

The sheet had slid down to her girlish waist and her round, tapered 
thighs. She kicked the sheet aside with her long, slim legs and stood 
up, flouncing her hair and yawning. She was naked, as she always slept; 
naked and desirable. Her face went well with her body, a sort of pouty, 
sensual, flirtatious look about it with its small nose and full ripe 
mouth and large hazel eyes. There was nothing aloof about her; it was 
pure animal, pure female.

Lonnie giggled to herself as she crossed to the window and shut it. A 
little shiver of delight passed through her stomach as she recalled the 
number of men who stared at her, their eyes and the bulge in their 
loins hard and wanting. And of their propositions even though most of 
them knew that she was married - not that she had ever been 
unfaithful. Of course, a little coy flirting never hurt anybody, and it 
made her feel so good. She'd never let the game get out of hand, and 
she didn't intend to, but it was nice to know that a woman of her years 
could still attract, still arouse men on a basic, primitive level.

Not that her husband seemed to take all that notice. Damn, damn - how 
long had it been this time since she'd had Roger inside her? She leaned 
on the window sill and stated out at the wind-whipped yard and answered 
herself: too long. If it hadn't been for the bright visits and constant 
chatter of her best friend, Cylvia Oliss - who also happened to be the 
wife of Skopos' vice-president in charge of marketing - well, if it 
hadn't been for Cylvia to help take her mind off things, Laurie didn't 
know what she would have done, how she could have managed this long ...

When Lonnie had called herself a whore, it had been with a slight 
tingle, a secret thrill the way forbidden thoughts can do. She enjoyed 
the sex which she gave her husband, wanted and needed it, and was at 
the moment naked and desirable - and desiring.

"Hurry up, Roger," she moaned aloud to herself. "Hurry up and get 
home." Roger was due in sometime today and she ached to see him again. 
It was always like this, when he was gone. Not so bad at first, but 
progressively more frustrating until by the day he leas expected back, 
she was nearly crazy with her anticipations and pent-up needs. I could 
have him make love to me from now until Christmas without stopping, she 
groaned inwardly.

She smiled ironically as she turned from the window and lay down on the 
bed again. Her mother had given her interesting advice when she'd first 
married, advice which was now a sore point between her and Roger. Her 
mother'd said: "You keep a man with good looks and a hot body. Anything 
else he can buy in a store." Sure - only you needed the opportunity to 
use that burning little trap between the legs.

The opportunity was going to come in a little while, she hoped. The 
very thought of Roger taking her, spreading her thighs and hammering 
his hardened penis long and deep inside her belly was exciting. She 
cupped her breasts as she sat on the bed, examining the nipples, 
slightly startled at the way they suddenly began to harden. She moved 
back so that she could lean against the head rest and look down at them 
and tweak the nipples between her thumbs and fingers until they were 
fully enlarged. It was overwhelming her, this manipulation of her 
sensitive breasts, just as it always had. Some women aren't aroused by 
their breasts being touched, others are teased only if their nipples 
are softly stroked. But Lonnie had always had nerve endings more 
exposed than most; sometimes even wearing a brassiere sent waves of 
delicious feelings soaring through her.

Now, as she stared down at the white globes jutting from her, she was 
doubly excited by the realization that soon, very soon, her husband 
would be placing his hands on them, caressing them, kissing them hotly 
.... With a low mewl of passion, she let one hand slowly move from her 
breasts and down her smooth, flat plane of a stomach, down to the soft 
curling fleece of her pubic triangle, then out around her thighs and 
buttocks, then dipping once more to the lips of her pussy. Closing her 
eyes against the guilt in her mind she let her fingers open the 
swollen, moist lips, part the pubic hair, and slide in, finding the 
clitoris waiting and eager. She circled the quivering bud, spreading 
the rising juices in a slow caress, groaned softly between clenched 
teeth as her probing finger felt its way to her open, wet cunt- hole. 
Her thighs widened to her squirming touch, and she pinched the tender 
pink skin of her vaginal lips and mouth, luxuriating in the sharp pain 
as her hips jerked upwards.

Then she jammed her fingers into her hungry pussy, and she pressed 
herself tightly to the mattress as she masturbated, writhing and 
twisting, her thighs pumping in time to her plunging fingers. The cords 
of her neck stood out and the mattress squeaked as she lashed and 
bucked with the fever of her sexual urgings.

"Oh ... God ... oh God," she moaned. She felt like a panther, rubbing 
herself this way, and she knew that if just the thought of Roger 
returning did this to her, his real arrival would be absolute heaven. 
"Oh ... God ... I want ... Roger!"

Suddenly she heard a car stop in front of the home, and a door slam. In 
another moment, the car slipped into gear and sped away. Who could that 
be? she asked herself, her hand frozen in mid-stroke, still in her cunt. 
Is it Roger? He's taken a taxi home?

As if in answer, the front door of the house opened loudly, and she 
heard the familiar sound of his footsteps. She quickly removed her 
toying fingers and whipped the sheet over her. A warm flush ripped 
through her ... Roger, Roger, hurry to me, please ... I need you so 
much right now. Then the bedroom door banged, and a muscular, tall man 
with cropped brown hair and a round, open face entered, his hands 
gripping the handles of two suitcases. "Hi, honey!" he said 
breathlessly: "Took the first flight I could." He dropped the bags just 
inside the door and came toward her. "Boy, it's good to be home again."

"Shh," she said. "You'll wake Jennifer." She laughed delightedly. "Shut 
the door and come here and give your wifey a big kiss. God! How I've 
missed you!"

He did as she asked, and then his arms were around her and her lush 
lips were against his as she claw to him. "Darling ... darling," she 
whispered in his ear. "I love you, my darling."

Roger kissed his wife again, then pulled away from her. "I don't have 
much time. Have to be at the office, you know." He grinned at her and 
began to loosen his shirt and tie. "Just enough time for a quick shower 
and change."

"Business," she pouted. "Why don't you spend sometime with your wife 
any more? Are you tired of her?"

"Lonnie, you know better to that," Roger said. He stood up, freeing 
himself from the near- tentacle grasp of his fevered wife. He unbuckled 
his pants and removed his shirt. "That's why I took the early flight, 
just so I could see you."

Impulsively, she let the sheet fall away from her nude body and 
stretched out, letting his eyes feast on the thighs and breasts and 
legs he loved so well. She raised one leg and let it part so he could 
see the black pubic hair, slightly damp from her fingerings, and her 
teasingly puffed vaginal lips. "All of me, Roger?" she asked in a husky 
voice. Little butterfly sensations flitted in her tummy as she saw the 
effect her display was having on her husband. She licked her lips. She 
felt so wicked; but he was her husband after all!

Roger Carmel gaped with utter fascination at the breathtaking sight of 
his wife stretched out so wantonly on the bed. It was a replica of the 
vision he had beheld the previous two weeks as he'd lay in his motel 
bed and stared at the yellowed ceiling and wished his cock was in 
something warm and moist like her cunt and his arms were tight around 
her as he spewed his seed into her womb. It was an erotic spectacle and 
he swallowed tightly.

"... Lonnie ..." he whispered hoarsely. He dropped his pants, and 
stepped out of them, leaving them to puddle with his shirt and shoes on 
the floor. He was now only in his underpants and socks, and his cock 
began to thicken with pulsing blood, hardening from the lascivious 
sight of his wife tantalizingly smiling at him. He glanced at the clock 
on the dresser. There wasn't time ... he had to get to work.

With a frustrated moan, he tore his eyes from her and walked stiff-
legged to the bathroom. "Tonight, honey. Tonight we'll make love. I'd, 
I'd like to now ... but there's not enough time."

Lonnie wanted to cry with the overwhelming agony inside her. She'd done 
everything she could to interest him, and still his business was more 
important. She fought back tears of frustration as she heard the shower 
go on and her husband step into the tub and pull the curtain closed. 
Again she touched her throbbing vagina, gently managing the warm flesh. 
She rubbed harder and harder as the spray in the bathroom beat a tattoo 
against the tub, and she felt her cunt palpitate against the palm of 
her hand with heavy sexual excitement. Then the shower ended, and after 
a few moments, Roger reappeared, rubbing the drops of water away with a 
large bath towel.

"Roger," Lonnie groaned, her voice provocative and husky. "Roger, don't 
get dressed ... please, not yet."

Roger came over to the bed. "Honey, you've got to understand. I've only 
got an hour."

The sight of his soft cock, nestled against his balls incited still 
further passion from the starved young woman. She patted the bed beside 
her. "Sit down, Roger. Just for a minute. That's all. Spend a minute 
with me."

Her husband sat on the edge of the mattress as if he was giving himself 
running room to escape. He couldn't keep his eyes off Lonnie, in spite 
of his vow to be on time at the office. There was so much to do ... the 
meeting scheduled for ten ... But right before him was the sensuous, 
squirming details of her nakedness resplendently clear, from her erotic 
red nipples downward to the delicate triangle of soft, black pubic hair 
beneath her still flat, almost virginal white plane of her abdomen.

"Darling, don't I please you any more?" she said plaintively. Her hand 
was encircling his waist now and slowly slid over his hips and thighs 
and into his loins. He groaned with the sensations of her feather-light 
touch. The erection which had half begun when he'd first undressed and 
she'd displayed her body so salaciously had gone down in the shower. 
When he'd emerged from the bathroom, toweling himself dry, his cock was 
thoroughly limp and his thoughts were entirely on what he and his 
assistant, Martin Oliss, were going to say at the meeting

But now he found that he couldn't move from the bed. His penis did all 
the moving - straight up, leaping into full, raging erection. His 
wife's hand was around it now, tenderly stroking it up and down as only 
she could, and then she took his heavy testicles and softly rolled them 
between her fingers.

She looked up at him, smiling cattishly. "You like what I'm doing, 
Roger darling?"

Roger didn't answer. He couldn't, his tongue stuck to the roof of his 
mouth. His heart hammered with the beating of his transformation from 
businessman to lover ... there was no way of stopping it, he realized. 
His cock's large hardness couldn't be denied. Neither could his wife. 
He glanced at the clock with agonized eyes. He wasn't going to make 
that meeting at this rate.

Then, suddenly he didn't care. His wife's ministrations and sensuous 
provocations were too much. Nothing else mattered to him now but 
plunging his aching cock into her delightful flesh, and Roger reached 
for Lonnie, his hand slipping gently beneath her dark tresses and 
drawing her head to him. Their lips met momentarily and then broke 
apart ... reaching out but not quite touching. He drew her closer, 
grasping her lower lips between his teeth and pulling the moist, soft 
flesh into his mouth ... his teeth slipped off and his lips enfolded 
her as he sucked her lips into her mouth.

"Darling ... darling," she murmured as he sucked.

Lonnie felt a tingling shock run icily into her. Her darting tongue 
wedged beyond his lips, back inside, over the roof, and across the 
front of his teeth, caressing ... always caressing.

Roger leaned forward, his momentum carrying them both back onto the 
pillow and he crushed his mouth harder against hers, his arms pressing 
her to the pillow. He raised himself and rolled, half sitting, so that 
he was beside her. Lonnie lay back against the sheets obediently, her 
arms wide and her legs slightly spread ...

"Yes, Roger," she whispered softly, her lashes shadowing her cheeks as 
she closed her eyes. "Please take me ... take me ..."

"Yes, yes ..." he managed to say. He ran his hands over her throbbing 
breasts and down her belly, into the sob, fleshy folds of her cunt 
where moments before she had played with herself.

Lonnie moaned, her body alive to his caresses. Her creamy satin skin 
was a lamina of hot desire. God! she wanted him! Her body cried out to 
be loved tenderly and totally ... as he was doing now. She wanted him 
to merge with her, crawl up inside her and possess her and quell the 
raging torrents that were building up in the very depths of her soul 
from his maddening strokings. Dear Lord, her husband - the only man 
she could give herself to without fear of guilt - was making her 
deliriously happy.

"Oh yessss," she whimpered. "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there. There ... 
oh yes, therrrrre!" she moaned, helplessly caught up in the tingling 
pricks of lust that were dancing through her. She sensed the dewdrops 
of moisture rising between her open thighs as the exposed hair-lined 
lips of her pussy began to spasmodically contract wetly against one 
another. Roger ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her ear and 
plunged it deep inside. Her whole being seemed aflame with a febrility 
of surging senses. She couldn't wait much longer or she would go mad!

"Ohhhhh!" she cried. "I want you inside me! Now darling! Now!"

Lonnie twisted her husband's hair, pulling him violently over her. 
"Please, darling! Please!"

The strange obscenity of her passion-filled pleas excited Roger to a 
frenzied, blinding furor. He sensed his cock and testicles aching with 
blood-filled lust, and then suddenly grow flame-hot as one of his 
wife's hands closed like a steel trap over the thick, glistening penis. 
It pulsed wickedly against the palm of her hand as the slid up and down 
the hard flesh, and insane with lust, he didn't need further urging. He 
grabbed her jutting breasts and rolled on top of her, her legs wide and 
cradling his hips. The flowering lips of her cunt widened, and she 
guided his hardened cock to the wetness between her legs, her groans of 
desperate agony seething in his ear. She rubbed his swollen penis along 
her open pink slit and parted the soft, resilient pubic hair unto it 
was nestled teasingly in the entrance to her vagina

Her husband clamped his fingers into the full cheeks of her buttocks 
and rammed his body downward. His swelling cock disappeared into her 
cuntal tunnel with a wet sucking sound.

Lonnie groaned. Her body tightened into an arch of hardened passion at 
the initial entry split the walls of her vagina. Then she writhed under 
the rising heat of her delirious sensations, her belly squirming. She 
raised up under the pressure of his fingers, the glistening prick 
sliding out until its coronal ridge caught at the straining lips of her 
cunt, then surged in again. Up and down, faster and faster ... and 
Lonnie's face contorted with passion and her nostrils flared open as 
her breath burned her lungs.

Roger felt the smooth raw flesh of his passion-aroused wife's pussy 
clasp him tightly, pulse against his pumping shaft until his balls felt 
ready to explode, and he lost all track of time as the excruciating 
pleasure rocked through him. He drove deeper and deeper into her vagina 
with each thrust of his buttocks. His wife twisted her head from side 
to side, flaying her hair against the white pillow, and rode his cock 
like a bitch in heat. She drove her hips up, screwing every inch of his 
cock and routing the huge head around in her seething belly, causing 
Roger to gasp and quiver. A fierce storm whirlwinded through him as his 
penis sucked deep in her pussy and battered her cervix. He felt the 
eruption of his boiling sperm starting deep in his groin, and knew he 
was about to come.

Lonnie sensed it, too. She could feel her husband's cock swelling and 
straining against the moist ribs of her fleshy vaginal walls. She 
begged: "Please ... not yet. Not yet ... wait for me, wait ... please!" 
Her legs splayed wider and she bucked and writhed on the wildly 
squeaking mattress, her loins insatiable. "Now ... harder! ...

Not even Lonnie, crazed with desire building for the last two weeks, or 
her husband, a rutting animal of pagan demands, would have been so wild 
and free if they'd known that less than four feet away, two small eyes 
were watching them with glittering, unbelieving intensity.

*  *  *

Jennifer Carmel opened her eyes with a start, blinking rapidly in the 
darkened bedroom. She had been awakened by the front door opening 
loudly, then the thunk of a couple of heavy things hitting the floor. 
At the time she didn't realize that what she had heard were the 
suitcases her daddy had carried into the bedroom. Jennifer strained her 
ears to catch any more sounds, but everything was silent, save for a 
muffled kind of talking coming from the direction of her parent's 
bedroom.

Daddy was home!

With a thrill, the young teenager jumped out of bed, landing lightly on 
the carpet in her bare feet. She was a lot like her mother, only in 
younger miniature. Her pert face had the same frame of coal-black hair 
hanging loosely, the same color in her lovely eyes, and the same up-
thrust nose and full lips. Her father had given her a pale, almost 
iridescent quality to her skin and thinner arms and shoulders than her 
mother's, and a slightly higher cast to her cheekbones, which made her 
all the more sensual and provocative. Her breasts were smaller because 
they weren't quite as developed as he mother's, but they never would be 
as ripe or full; they were as if carved by a master ivory craftsman, 
small pointed cones which had peaks of black-berry-like nipples. Her 
buttocks were almost boyish, lithe and feline like some predatory 
cat's.

She was wearing her favorite nighty, a soft pink peignoir, Empire cut 
with a small red bow bunching the material under her breasts, acting as 
a sort of loose bra to jut them like display goods on a shelf. Not that 
she needed support for her breasts - they were firm and resilient like 
unripe peaches. The gown fell just below her thighs; it had once been a 
set with a pair of matching panties, but after Jennifer had discovered 
that wonderful playground between her legs, she made sure that the 
panties were conveniently lost.

Jennifer was a lot like her mother mentally and emotionally as well as 
physically.

She heard the shower go on then, and smiled to herself. Daddy was 
taking a shower; she couldn't go in the bedroom now. But she would in a 
little while, and run up and give him a big kiss. Maybe he'd be in his 
bathrobe and naked underneath and she'd accidentally brush against him 
and feel his thing against her leg. She liked doing that ...

Not that she'd ever seen him naked. She hadn't seen any boy naked, 
except for the few little babies she'd changed while babysitting. All 
they had were little worms between their legs which wouldn't get hard 
no matter how much she diddled them. She'd heard that a man's thing ... 
his penis! - was large and could get like stone. She'd been told that 
by her best girlfriend, Tamera Oliss.

Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed and passed the time while her 
father was in tile shower by thinking briefly of Tamera. It was neat 
having her parents so close to Tam's parents; mothers bridge-club 
partners, their fathers working for the same company. Tam was a grade 
higher than she was, but that didn't stop the popular and vivacious 
girl from being friends - really good friends - with Jennifer. And 
Tamera was going steady with Vic Statler, the high-school's star half-
back, a muscular, handsome boy which made all the girls swoon 
(including Jennifer), just as if he had stepped out of a movie 
magazine. How had Tamera ever latched onto such a boy?

Jennifer had an idea how: sex. Tam was, well, "experienced," Jennifer 
was sure, and probably from Vic ... but what a way to go! Just thinking 
about those strong arms around her made her go all goose-pimply. Not 
that Jennifer had ever asked Tamera about it; that would be bad taste; 
but after that episode in the girl's shower room last April ...

Jennifer had walked into the deserted locker room after staying late to 
practice volleyball. She'd undressed and walked into the showers, and 
there was Tamera! The older girl was sitting on the floor, her back to 
the tile, the spray of the shower beating down between her legs. And 
her hand was down there, rubbing as fast as it could. Tamera was 
moaning and her eyes were clenched; thinking she was in pain, Jennifer 
had rushed over and asked what she could do. Tamera had told her, after 
she'd gotten the innocent girl to lie down beside her and spread her 
own legs wide ...

The thought of Tamera's cool fingers on her little pubic lips made 
Jennifer blush, and she averted her eyes from the image in her mirror. 
They didn't talk about such things in her sex and health class, but she 
knew instinctively that adults would disapprove. Tamera and she had 
gotten together a few times after that, to play with each other's pussy 
-- and once Tam had persuaded Jennifer to let her be kissed there, but 
Jennifer had gotten scared after a couple of minutes and made Tam stop.

But Jennifer hadn't stopped wanting to feel those strange, 
scintillating feelings that she'd been introduced to in the shower 
room. She never let the boys who dated her do it to her ... never! She 
was going to be married a virgin like her mother did, and anything past 
necking and fondling her breasts was strictly off limits. There were 
times after a drive-in movie or party when she'd cried out her 
frustrations in her pillow, for a boy she'd really liked at the time 
would have gotten her hotter than the hinges of hell. But after a few 
weeks the boy would no longer be important to her, and she would grow 
fond of another boy, and she had known that to give into one wouldn't 
be good. She wasn't ready to settle down, to truly fall in love.

Of course, no boy had come along like Tam's football star, but when he 
did - if he did - Jennifer knew instinctively that she'd have an 
awful time keeping her resolutions.

So the use of her fingers had proven a salvation, a release from the 
gnawing frustrations which ripped through her sensitive skin now and 
then. Especially after a heavy date, for when she'd finished her cry, 
she'd relax, and let her fingers do the walking ...

She realized that the shower was over, and went to the door. It was 
going to be nice, seeing her father again. She padded out of her room, 
which was at one end of the long, tri-level home, and passed through 
the kitchen and living room, and stepped down the wide, shallow steps 
to the hall leading to the guest room, patio, and master bedroom.

"Yes, Roger. Please take me ... take me ..."

Jennifer froze on the landing, hand gripping the wooden railing. That 
was her mother! She had never sounded that way before! Was she sick? Or 
was she ...! A flash of an image came across the teenager's mind. Was 
her mother and her father doing things in there? Were they making love? 
A weird anticipatory tingling started growing in the pit of the girl's 
stomach. She'd never seen two people make love, though she'd often 
wondered about what it would look like, especially as she was 
masturbating. Then she would imagine herself under the heaving frame of 
the boy who'd fired her sexual desires that particular night. She'd 
never really thought about her parents doing it. They'd have to - she 
was here, wasn't she? The image of a hard, swollen penis screwing into 
her mother leaped up and she trembled with guilt. She told herself she 
should go back to her room and get dressed. She could see Daddy later, 
afterwards ... and the thought of the act which she would have to 
patiently wait to end made her suck in her breath. Stop it! Stop it!

"Oh yesssss," her mother crooned again. "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there. 
There ... oh yes, therrrrre!"

Jennifer found herself drawn down the hall, her pussy twitching with 
lewd thoughts. She couldn't do anything anyway, for the door to the 
bedroom was shut. She hunkered down by the door, every nerve and fibre 
of her tender young body on fire from the forbidden thrill of listening 
in on her parents. Her heart stopped and ache dared not to even gasp. 
Strange noises continued to flood her ears from the other side, their 
intensity increasing with every passing second. With a mind of its own, 
her right hand inched toward the handle. Did she dare to open it, just 
a crack?

"Ohhhhh! I want you inside me! Now! Now!"

Heavy rushed breathing and the staccato sounds of squeaking bedsprings 
punctuated by animal-like groans and moans blinded the teenager's 
normal sense of decency and decorum. Goaded to an uncontrollable pitch 
of curiosity and sexual arousal, she took a deep breath and slowly 
turned the handle down, not making a sound. She inched the door open, 
then open another fraction ...

She paled and her eyes bulged wide, and a cold chill ran crazily up the 
full length of her spine.

The foot of the bed was pointed right at the door so that she could see 
the complete carnal scene. Her father and mother were making love 
violently! Jennifer could even see her father's thick, hard penis 
disappearing and reappearing into her mother's softly hair-ringed pussy 
with each piledriving thrust and withdrawal that he made. Her mother 
had her legs splayed wide on either side of his plunging body and 
periodically she would kick them high in the air then wrap them around 
her husband's driving buttocks, her ankles locking tightly behind his 
thighs, pulling him into her with all her strength.

Jennifer could feel the sweat flowing freely on her young body, 
trickling down beneath the folds of her pink nighty. She had a strange 
sense of not being a part of herself, the shock of actually viewing 
sexual intercourse that strong on her, and she couldn't understand it. 
Down between her clenched thighs her tight, still virgin cunt was 
tingling like it had never tingled before. She thought fleetingly of 
leaving ... but she continued to watch with hypnotic fascination, now 
beyond it rationality.

She centered her gaze on the muscles straining out on her mother's 
inner thighs as Lonnie Carmel struggled like a drug-crazed nymphomaniac 
to get her husband deeper inside her hungrily sucking vagina. 
Jennifer's father was cupping her naked buttocks with a savage strength 
that cut red, bloodless lines into the full, uplifted moons. He 
squeezed her buttocks together, forcing the walls of her vagina tighter 
around the thickness of his rigid pelvis, and Jennifer studied the 
thin, moistly glistening lips of her mother's pussy as they strove to 
milk the giant shaft of its strength. The teenager could see the thinly 
parted pubic hairs grazing teasingly against the narrow ridge which ran 
the full length of the underside of her father's penis.

Jennifer heard the almost incoherent moanings as, her parents thrashed 
around on their bed. Goaded to a mind-warping frenzy of abandon, the 
little girl brought her hand down along her body and across her thighs, 
to rest against her own tender pubic mound, and then to rub it back and 
forth through the silken material of her shorty nightgown. She could 
feel wetness flowing on her thighs and down her inner legs, and she sat 
on the rug and chanced opening the door a little bit more so that she 
could see better from her sitting position. She gathered the hem of her 
nighty, bunching it up along her firm, young thighs, exposing the 
whiteness of them and the young, sparse growth of her pubic hair. Again 
she lowered her hand to her pussy mound and began to rub - faster and 
faster in a froth of passion and empathetic emotions.

Her mother's mewls of pleasure were becoming more desperate, and the 
glazed eyes of the daughter stayed glued on the lewd, obscene coupling 
taking place a few feet away. Jennifer's middle finger slid along her 
wet cunt lips and found her clitoris, teased it with her fingernail and 
felt waves of consuming lust rip through her. She dropped her finger 
still lower, insinuating it in her now thirstily throbbing vagina, 
pumping in rhythm to the fucking on the bed while her thumb toyed with 
her erect little clitoris.

The girl was caught up in the passion of the occasion. She wriggled on 
the rug and let her wet thighs open completely and propped one leg on 
the door jamb, and the shock of the autumnal cool air in the house 
wafted over her steaming cunt and gave her a new shudder of ecstasy. 
The wet, sucking sound of her masturbation was clearly discernible to 
her ears, and her little body heaved and bucked from her whipping 
fingerings. She secreted heavily, more heavily that she'd ever 
remembered.

Roger Carmel was grinding down faster now, and the groans and howls 
were furious. He smacked against his wife, driving her deep down into 
the groaning mattress with each mighty surge. The loud clap of belly 
against belly, testicles against buttocks, were like claps of thunder. 
His wife curled and uncurled her legs in wild desperation around his 
hips, and both of the adults were breathing wildly, with rivulets of 
perspiration streaming down their pumping and hollowing loins.

Jennifer wanted to scream to wail as she became delirious with her own 
maddening passions, straining to hold back the explosion which was 
threatening to inundate her like a tidal wave. She nearly went out of 
her mind as she heard her mother moan:

"Please ... not yet, not yet wait for me, wait for me ... please!" And 
then after a few more moments: "Now ... harder! ..."

The young teenager's breath rasped in her throat. They were going to 
climax! Her parents were going to come any second now! And she was 
watching it! Frantically she moved her clitoris, her cunt, her buttocks 
and anus with the fingers of both hands, impaling herself as deep as 
her hands would go. She was going to come too!

"I'm going ... I'm going to come, Roger!" Jennifer could almost imagine 
herself saying that instead of her mother. She ground harder and 
deeper, quivering under the pressure, gasping for imminent release.

Lonnie Carmel screamed, "AAhhhhh!"

And then her husband's low cry of climax came as he burst his seeds of 
love inside his wife. "Oooooooohhhhhhh, me tooooo!"

The daughter heard the sounds of their orgasms, and watched wide-eyed 
as her parents scrambled for completion. Her mother's buttocks began 
small, spasmodic jerkings up tight against her father's penis. At the 
same time, Roger Carmel groaned above his wife and his thick, fleshy 
cock throbbed out milky white semen, leaping bursts of his cum which 
inundated her vagina and cascaded hotly out from around the pink, wet 
lips of her cuntal opening.

Jennifer could see the stream of her father's ejaculations running down 
the widespread crevice of her mother's desperately jerking buttocks and 
pool thickly on the sheet below. Then, as if by remote control, her 
parent's cumming triggered her own. She strained and stretched her legs 
out in sudden convulsion and the earth seemed to open up beneath her. 
She lifted herself off the rug in a trembling arch and grasped the bone 
wall of her pussy and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

Then suddenly she collapsed, sliding to the floor, and breathed 
raggedly. She could hear noises from the bedroom, but they were noises 
of contentment and not of passion. She peered in with dull, half-lidded 
eyes and saw that her mother and father were laying still.

She beard her father say: "Oh Christ, honey, took at the time. I'm 
going to be late."

"Wasn't it worth it?"

"Sure, but ..."

A shock of panic went through the daughter. Her father was getting up! 
As much as she wanted to stay and see his sperm-emptied penis as he 
slipped it from her mother's vagina, she couldn't risk the chance of 
being detected. Exhausted, her body protesting, she dragged herself to 
her feet and wobbled slightly, her nighty sticking to the damp sides of 
her thighs and the wet matted hair of her cunt. She looked around and 
down and saw the wet spot on the carpet where she'd lain, and as her 
mind returned to sanity, she felt shamed and a little dirty for what 
she'd done. She clutched her gown around her protectively and groped 
her way back to her bedroom. But she didn't feel revolted, only 
satiated with pleasure.

Speaking of time, she told herself, once safe in the sanctity of her 
own room, I don't hare much of it myself! There was less than half an 
hour before school stated, and she had to catch the bus four blocks 
away.

In a frenzied hurry, she wriggled out of her nighty. The swift change 
from shameless little wanton to schoolgirl was not only necessitated by 
the time, but also because it saved her from dwelling on what she'd 
witnessed and done. A blanking of the mind - a salvation so that she 
wouldn't have to face the responsibilities for her actions. Naked, she 
went through her bureau and found a clean pair of panties, which she 
stepped into, her fingers tugging their elastic band until the smooth 
round cheeks of her buttocks and the soft mound of her cunt were 
snugged tight. She looked down to find a bra, and caught the sight of 
her tight panties and the split of full young vaginal lips, still 
swollen from her masturbation.

A moment of tiny shock crowed her mind, her body blending dangerously 
into the melting pot of sensuality she'd so recently partaken of. Then 
she quickly slipped into her blouse and miniskirt, and picked up her 
comb to untangle her hair. As she looked into her mirror and studied 
her dark waves, she saw that her mini skirt clung to her buttocks and 
was more than half way upper tanned thighs, with slight creases in 
front where her legs joined her hips. With sudden awareness she 
realized that she could almost see the lips of her vagina ... and 
another forbidden thrill passed through her, followed by a blush as she 
recalled the last few minutes and one experience she'd never had 
before. Embarrassed, she collected her homework and books.

She quickly left her room, only to find that her parent; still weren't 
out of their bedroom. She didn't have time to wait, even though she 
would have liked to have said hello to her father - and then decided 
it was probably just as well. After catching them doing what they had 
been doing, she wasn't sure she could look them in the eye. She went to 
the front door and opened it.

"Mom! Daddy!" she called over her shoulder. "Gotta run or I'll be late! 
See you when I get home from school!"

Not waiting for an answer, she raced down the front walk of her home; 
letting the door slam behind her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

The offices of Skopos, Incorporated were on the fifth floor of the old 
Antler Building, along Second Avenue in downtown Rapier City. Roger 
Carmel parked his Ford station wagon in the basement garage of the 
building across the street, and then walked down the street to the 
Antler Building, hurrying because he was late.

Not that he could really mind that he was late ... the interlude of 
loving with his wife had made him feel better than he had in the last 
couple of weeks. No doubt about it: sex was the greatest tranquilizer 
in the world. He needed the eager arms and hot body of his lovely wife 
more than he could tell her; he needed her understanding and warmth and 
support, especially in these final few months before the coup was 
realized that was going to put Skopos on the tongue of every person in 
the country. He was sorry that he wasn't able to be around her much 
these last weeks, but it couldn't be helped. A little effort now, a 
little sacrifice, and the whole Carmel family would be able to retire 
with ease, and he could start making up the lost time.

Roger frowned as he thought of his beautiful young wife, Lonnie, 
pouting. He was doing all of this for her, couldn't she understand it? 
She wasn't very understanding about what was necessary, always 
demanding more of his time and attention than he could afford to give, 
as if the future didn't matter. It was always now, now ... but that was 
like a woman, he consoled himself.

The morning fog pulled up its skirts and dissolved among the tops of 
the buildings.. The street was full of ten o'clock businessmen hurrying 
and stenographers dawdling and women shopping. Roger paused long enough 
to buy a package of cigarettes at the counter in his building, and then 
he went to the elevator. The elevator operator eyed him sullenly, then 
carefully avoided his return gaze.

Roger pictured himself as the Provider of the family. The stalwart 
guard between Us and Everybody Else. As he rode up the elevator, he 
almost felt as if he was going into battle for Lonnie and Jennifer, 
that his suit was of armor, his attach� case a sword, and Skopos, 
Incorporated the arena. In a way, his vision wasn't too wrong, if a bit 
romantic. Lonnie didn't work, and Jennifer was too young - it was up 
to him to be the link between the close-knit family unit and the cold, 
different, potentially brutal world beyond their doorstep. It was he 
who wore the two hats of Husband/Father and of Mr. Carmel. It was he 
who shouldered the responsibilities to see that both hats were worn 
skillfully.

Lonnie had but one role, that of mate and mother. Sometimes it's 
difficult for a person who's committed to only one position to see that 
another person who must straddle two or more positions is constantly 
having to compromise. Roger was being pulled by the requirements of his 
career just as hard as he was being called upon to be with Lonnie. She 
wanted him home all the time - Skopos wanted him to be on the job all 
the time. The men he was going to meet this morning were going to pout 
in their own way just as forcefully as Lonnie had done, with the same 
cry:

"Spend more time with me!"

"What?" The elevator operator turned to Roger, startled.

"Nothing," Roger said, a little shaken. He realized that he'd suddenly 
burst out loud with his thoughts, a sure sign that the pressures, were 
getting to him. Just a little more, though, he thought ... hold on for 
a little more; you can do it, Rog. You have to do it ...

Skopos's downtown offices were actually for their sales force, though 
all of the upper executives were there as well. It was handier and a 
better area to live around than where the plant was. Roger, as chief 
engineer and vice-president in charge of development, was in the 
unenviable position of being liaison between the plant in Kirsten, 
Nevada, and the main office. He had moved from Kirsten when his 
promotion to vice-president had happened; Rapier City was much nicer 
and more varied than the smaller Nevada town; and he'd figured it 
really didn't matter at which end of the business he lived. He had to 
be at the other end half of the time, and his family would still be 
five hundred miles away. Here, they had a nicer home, a better 
neighborhood, and more things to do. For him to have turned down the 
promotion or shirked the duties and stayed in Rapier City all the time 
would be tantamount to quitting. Roger felt it was the best compromise 
under the circumstances.

Especially now, especially when his invention was at the brink of 
success. He went into the reception room, nodded to the PBX operator, 
and walked briskly to his office. His secretly, Agnes Goodfall, was all 
but wringing her hands.

"You're late," she said timorously.

"I know. Everybody in the board room?"

"Yes, Mr. Carmel. Including Mr. Quarran. He said --"

"I'm sure he did, Agnes," Roger said, cutting off her whine. He took a 
few papers from his desk and added: "See you later."

The president and chairman of the board of Skopos was sitting at the 
head of the board room conference table, leaning back with a cigar in 
his mouth like some despot. Not so benevolent a despot though; Jerome 
Quarran was a ruthless shrewd manipulator who'd taken over Skopos when 
the electronics engineer who'd started the company five years ago went 
broke. A scientist does not a businessman make. Quarran looked up with 
his thick, heavy, watery eyes as Carmel entered and took his usual 
chair on the left band side. He didn't say anything, merely brushed an 
invisible cigar ash off his plaid vest with that quick flick of 
annoyance superiors sometimes use on underlings.

The scientist who'd begun the company was across from Carmel. Wilfred 
Krocklin was in his mid-fifties, but looked older and emaciated. Unlike 
the arrogant and fleshy-jowled face of Quarran, Krocklin was gaunt and 
lined with doubt, with large, ever-frightened eyes like those of a 
tarsier monkey. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his collar turned up, 
his tie askew. His sparse white hair was uncombed where he'd run his 
fingers through it for one reason or another.

Sitting at the end of the table was Martin Oliss, V-P for sales. He was 
sharply dressed in the latest style as usual, a natty robin's egg blue 
suit with a slight Edwardian cut to it, and his long, wavy blond hair 
was perfectly in place. He looked imperturbable and slightly amused, 
like a cat with canary feathers caught in its mouth. That was his way, 
constantly cool and a little condescending.

Roger was sometimes piqued by Oliss; that supercilious air rasped his 
nerves after a while, and the ever-present preening of the fashion-
plate image made Roger wonder if Oliss wasn't a near egomaniac. If 
anything personified Martin Oliss in Roger's mind, it was the way the 
man was always smoothing his thin mustache as if it was a waxed objet 
d'art. It was to Roger little more than a milk stain on Oliss's upper 
lip, the blondness being hardly visible. Nevertheless, Oliss was 
invaluable, a long-term employee who grasped what Quarran wanted, and 
did it. He was to the others at Skopos the epitome of dedication and 
hard work. So Carmel took what he considered Oliss's personality quirks 
in stride, saying nothing.

"Hello, Roger," Oliss said, fingering his mustache. "We were wondering 
if you'd missed the plane."

"No," Roger replied. "No, I took an earlier one." He smiled as if 
sharing a common complaint with the others. "Have to see my wife 
sometimes or risk a divorce, you know."

Oliss was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Carmel knew. 
Lonnie had told him that Cylvia had the same problem as she had when 
Martin went out of town.

Quarran made a noise in his throat like coal rattling down a chute. He 
was married to a dread naught of a wife, and while Roger had no way of 
knowing, he suspected that Quarran stayed away from the home and hearth 
as much as possible. There were office rumors about a little sweetheart 
stashed in a high-rise apartment on the other side of town ...

"How's the Min-miniskopos doing, R-roger?" Krocklin stuttered. He was 
referring to the invention which had made Carmel the vice-president. 
"W-we're most anxious about it-t."

Oliss came forward and put his hands on the chair beside his boss. 
"Yes, Roger. Is it about ready?"

Carmel opened his attach� case and brought out a sheaf of papers. He 
spread them on the table. "I can announce that by this time next month, 
we'll have a working prototype."

"Excellent" Korcklin said, beaming.

"You said it would be done by now," Quarran grumbled. He chewed on his 
cigar and glared at Carmel. He was never pleased.

Carmel replied: "I also told you that with the aluminum companies on 
strike, I couldn't guarantee it. All we're waiting for is the extruded 
panels, which have to be made up special. If the president puts a Taft-
Hartley injunction against the strikers and there's the 90-day cooling 
of period, we'll get the paneling and ..." he paused to shrug slightly, 
"and then it's only a matter of putting one ; together. While I was 
down at Kirsten we tested one that was in sections, and it works fine, 
but you know 0 how the government is - they have to see shiny new 
boxes, not a mess of wires."

"Damnit," Quarran snorted, "we don't have the time! We have to have 
your miniskopos ready in time for the Fall Appropriations convention in 
Washington. You know that, Roger."

"That's --" Oliss consulted his mental calendar for a moment. "That's 
fifteen days from now."

"I don't know what you're going to have to do to get that blasted 
invention in presentable shape, Roger, but you're going to have to come 
up with something!" Quarran twisted into something of a smile, and 
looked levelly at Carmel over his glasses. "We can't afford to wait 
another year."

Carmel groaned and sat back in his chair. He was afraid of this. 
Skopos, Incorporated was in the video tape recording business, had been 
almost from the time of the market's inception. Krocklin had named the 
company after the old Greek word which eventually became the English 
word, scope; apt enough title, but Krocklin hadn't been able to meet 
the changing demands of the market as wisely.

When video tape first started, there were any number of companies, each 
with different systems. Unlike audio tape recorders or record players, 
there weren't any standard speeds or tape widths, and as a result, 
Ampex was out with an inch wide tape running at faster speeds than the 
Sony machines with quarter-inch tape. Panasonic and Concord came in 
with half-inch tapes at still another inches-per-second speed, and 
others loaded the market with their attempts. Nothing was 
interchangeable, and if a customer bought one brand, he sometimes found 
that six months later not even the same company was producing the same 
gear.

It was a guessing game as to who would come out on top, the 
developments in the industry outstripping any possibility for inter-
company cooperation and standardization. Krocklin found that although 
his machines and cameras were of excellent quality, the average 
consumer was leery and often bought from the Big Boys out of fear of 
obsolescence - and the still high cost of manufacture had effectively 
stopped mass home consumption which would make the whole venture 
profitable.

Quarran had come in and under his guidance, sales improved a hundred 
percent. Then its chief engineer came up with a revolutionary 
development. A year ago Roger Carmel had approached Quarran with 
nothing more than an idea down on paper. Out of the discussions and 
negotiations, Carmel became vice-president with a hefty increase in 
salary, plus a percentage of the profits. In return he gave Skopos 
exclusive marketing and production rights.

Where current models were weighing sixty to eighty pounds, his 
miniskopos weighed less than twenty - -and it was a tenth of the size 
as well. Instead of bulky and expensive reels of tape, it used 
cartridges, 8-track music cartridges like the automobile stereo 
players. A person would slip in a cartridge, costing less than five 
dollars per hour of recording time, and depending on whether the unit 
was plugged into a camera or a television set, it would record or play. 
It could do both at once, if a person wanted to monitor what was being 
recorded. The whole unit was eight inches high, a foot wide, and a 
little over fifteen inches deep. It could fit on top of a television 
set. Or so it would, when the aluminum casing arrived.

And if that wasn't enough, it could also be used for color as well as 
black-and-white.

That was a year ago. Since then, the concept had been transformed into 
test units. There were bugs, of course; tape had to be specially made 
and the cartridge feeder mechanism designed from scratch. The 
components weren't available, and companies building field-effects and 
integrated circuits had to be talked with and their samples tested. It 
had been one long headache and fight - and the man who ran the whole 
she-bang was Carmel, for he alone understood what it was all about.

Oliss, a born huckster, skillfully let the news of the pending 
miniskopos "leak" out. It had set the industry on its ear; everybody 
was talking about it, everybody wanted to buy it. The home 
entertainment market would have at last a dirt-cheap way of showing 
video tape, of transcribing favorite television shows, of making "home 
movies." The schools and the government would have the perfect teaching 
aid, which could be bought en masse without wrecking budgets.

The Cannel miniskopos was worth a fortune.

But the time hadn't arrived when Carmel could rest on his laurels. That 
final effort to get them over the top and the units into the hands of 
buyers had to be made. Quarran was right; the miniskopos had to be 
ready to be shown to the government in two weeks, for with contracts in 
hand, the high cost of production and tooling could be weathered. Later 
would come the home markets, which were never over-night, but took 
advertising, negotiations, and the slow grinding of public acceptance. 
Later it would be Martin Oliss's turn to work his tail off from the 
marketing end.

"I hate doing it," Carmel said after listening to Quarran reiterate the 
obvious. "I hate doing it, but I suppose we could fashion one out of 
sheet metal. It won't look as well as the stamped paneling, and 
probably won't work as well, either. It sure as hell won't be as 
light."

"I can talk around that. Once those bureaucrats get their mitts onto a 
working prototype, they'll be too blinded to nit-pick." Quarran tapped 
his cigar ash into the large ceramic bowl beside him. "They'll specify 
aluminum and weight requirements, and by that time we'll be able to 
supply them."

"Y-yes, that s-sounds alright to me," Krocklin agreed.

Carmel sighed. "Then sheet metal it is. I'll call the plant and --"

"You go to the plant," Quarran said forcefully.

"But I just got backs!"

"It can't be helped. There's not enough time to make more than one, and 
that one has got to be right. I don't want you to merely hope that the 
men down there will know what the devil you want; I don't want you to 
assume they can read your plans - I want you to be sure that every 
detail is perfect."

Carmel looked at Quarran witheringly. "I suppose you want me to leave 
today?"

"I'm sorry."

Under the circumstances Carmel realized that he would have to go. Not 
that he couldn't argue with Quarran, or even flatly refuse; it was the 
inherent realization that he was needed in Kirsten to supervise the 
fabrication. He glumly considered the inevitable scene with Lonnie. 
There were times when he wished he was still a bachelor.

 Martin Oliss had other thoughts on his mind. Just as gloomy, perhaps, 
because he didn't know what he was going to do, but a great deal more 
dark, because of their subject. In less than two weeks he'd be handed 
the job of selling the finished product - not that it needed any 
selling. He'd just take orders, the way the mini-scope was exciting the 
public. In less than two weeks, any chance that he had to steal the 
mini-scope for his own use would be gone. In less than two weeks ...

 Oliss fingered his mustache, sighing inwardly. What had ever gotten 
him into this two-faced industrial spying anyway? Greed, pure and 
simple. The greed for other women, enhanced by his own wife's 
insatiable lust for strange cock, had introduced him to the swinging 
element in Rapier City. He Had been a devout member of the wife-
swapping club for some time; it was their use of Club Royale and its 
private shows and still more private "rooms" for viewing and fucking 
which had allowed him to become acquainted with Sam Zeigler, Club 
Royale's owner and operator.

That goddamned gangster Zeigler. Oliss conjured up a swear word for the 
cynical member of the state crime syndicate Mafia connected, though not 
controlled - who catered to the greedy vices of otherwise respectable 
members of the community. Greed, always greed. Greed had gotten Cylvia 
Oliss into the dog show there, a more than willing participant on the 
round stage when the Club had rented the whole second floor for one 
mass orgy last Spring.

Greed had made Martin Oliss go after and lay Zeigler's ex-chorus girl 
playmate; the only one who had balls enough to try, Zeigler had said 
afterwards.

And greed had made Oliss an enthusiastic partner when Zeigler had 
outlined his plan to take the secret of the mini-scope and let one of 
the syndicate fronts - the outwardly legitimate Vantage Electronics 
Corporation - have it. The promise of a cut which would put Oliss on 
easy street overnight had put dollar signs in his eyes, and his wife 
had thought the scheme perfect.

The trouble had been that the mini-scope was in Kirsten, and Oliss was 
stuck in Rapier City. He'd approached Carmel with under-played, implied 
suggestions that there were greater riches to be made if Carmel "sold 
out" on the sly, but it had failed dismally.

"I bet you've been approached secretly by other companies, eh, Roger?" 
had been met with open, naive shock. Carmel couldn't believe that the 
competition could stoop so low.

"You know, you could have tripled, quadrupled, your profit if you'd 
considered others before or Quarran," had been met with a frown and a 
patriotic spiel about company loyalty.

"I'd sure like to see your drawings, Roger," had been met with a shrug 
and a vague answer that the blueprints were in short sections, 
constantly being revised, and that they wouldn't make sense to anybody 
except Carmel himself.

Oliss had finally come to the conclusion that Carmel was an innocent in 
the affairs of business manipulations, and that when it came to ethics 
and morals, he was as flexible as a glass rod.

Oliss was frustrated, and now the eleventh hour was here. He was going 
to have to do something fast, something desperate and a gamble, but 
then won't all business a gamble? The meek shall inherit the earth - 
not to Martin Oliss! The meek inherited dirt after the good stuff was 
grabbed by the ruthless.

Well, then damn it, start thinking of a way to grab! Oliss's brain 
churned with nefarious plots. He thought about blackmailing Carmel with 
a girl, but he realized nothing short of doping the man would get him 
under the covers with another woman. But what about Mrs. Carmel? Oliss 
suddenly grinned. Sure ... there might be the answer. It might work ... 
he recalled what Cylvia had told him a couple of times as she'd laughed 
over the weepings of Roger's sexually starved wife. "She's too much 
like me, Martin," she'd said. "She's as ripe for plucking as I was ten 
years ago."

And then with only the unadulterated viciousness of a human beast of 
prey, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel 
daughter. She was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera 
had told her father two weeks ago. She'd really got him hot describing 
in minute detail how she had finger-fucked the little teenager in the 
high school shower room, bringing Jennifer to a climax which made her 
scream. And when he'd been hard, his penis jutting out of his bathrobe 
like a muzzle of a rifle, Tamera had let him screw her on the floor of 
the living room, which was a different way than they usually did. Cylvia 
had thought it was hysterical when she'd walked in from the kitchen. 
Thrashing around on the carpet with the TV on beside them, the sound of 
gunfire and horses coming from the old cowboy movie.

Jennifer would have to be dealt with, Oliss figured, or the plan for 
Lonnie Carmel wouldn't work. Jennifer had to be out of the home, 
preferably for the night or the weekend. He'd have to talk it over with 
his wife later on. Maybe Tamera could lend a hand, her and her 
boyfriend. Who knows? Maybe she'd like it!

He groaned inwardly at the exciting image of the two beautiful and 
provocative women in Carmel's life bowing to Oliss's debauched whims, 
crying for more ... more ... He placed his hand beneath the table and 
attempted to push his burgeoning cock down, without too much success. 
It was too provocative a dream! Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-
daughter combination in the swap group - at the Club Royale, on the 
stage, fucking and sucking and sucking and fucking ... He groaned 
inwardly and shifted his thoughts to the immediate. He had to if he 
dared to stand up when the meeting adjourned.

"Excuse me," he said in his silky voice when there was a lull in the 
conversation, "excuse me, but I'd like to accompany Roger on this 
trip."

"Why?" Quarran asked warily, always watching the expenses.

"Well, for one thing because if I've got to promote the miniskopos in a 
couple of weeks, I'd better bone up on what the unit will do. Not just 
any one, or what we hope the production models will do - but the 
actual one we demonstrate. Also, I'm going to have to take pictures of 
it, metal cabinet and all. And I've been thinking that some copy and 
shots about the plant would be very impressive, especially in a little 
throw-away pamphlet. Give the company an image, an identity. After all, 
we're selling the name of Skopos as much as this particular product, 
aren't we?"

"Damned fine thinking, Martin," Quarran said. "You're about due for a 
trip to Kirsten anyway. You haven't been there since we expanded the 
east wing." He nodded. "All right, you go, too."

"Great to have you along, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if 
relieved. He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way. 
The two wives could console one another.

The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, 
Carmel was supposed to be aware of, but which he had no direct interest 
in. He mulled over his own problems; those of the inventions and those 
of his household while he chain-smoked a series of cigarettes and tried 
to look attentive. As usual, the meeting broke up in time for lunch, 
and he went with the three others to the dimly-lit cocktail lounge and 
steak house around the corner of Second. A couple of martinis helped - 
but when he got back to the office, his depression was deepened when 
his secretary told him, "I was very lucky, Mr. Carmel. I was able to 
book you on a flight leaving at three-forty-five."

"This afternoon?" he cried.

"It was either that or tomorrow night. Everything else is taken. I'm 
sorry."

"God almighty," he groaned going in his office. "Agnes, get my wife on 
the phone, will you, please?"

*  *  *

 Lonnie was mopping the kitchen floor when the phone rang. She was in a 
very good humor, had been all day after her tremendous frustrations had 
been taken care of by her loving husband. She hummed softly to herself, 
following a song on the radio. She let her mind wander as to the pagan 
orgy awaiting Roger when he came home that evening. She was going to 
tear his legs off, she was ...

Her thoughts were broken with the ringing, and she turned the radio 
down before answering. When she heard Agnes' voice on the line, asking 
her to hold on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across 
the saddle of her back.

"Hello, honey," Roger said. "I, uh ... that is ...

"Let me guess," she said darkly. "Another trip?"

"It can't be helped. It'll only be two weeks, and believe me, I tried 
to get out of it, but --"

"I'm sure you did," she interrupted sarcastically. "I bet you fought 
tooth and nail."

"I did! Please don't be this way. Oh - and Martin's having to 
accompany me, too. Maybe you and Cylvia can get together while we're 
gone "

A frustrated hiss slipped from between her teeth and tried to hide her 
annoyance he'd heard through the phone. "When are you leaving?"

"I'll be home in an hour, honey. Pack some clothes for me, will you?"

 "When?" she repeated more firmly.

"Ah ... this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact."

"Three --!" Her face blossomed with anger. "Do you know what's in the 
oven, Mr. Carmel? Do you know what I have slaved to the bone preparing 
for you, you bastard, just as a special treat for tonight and which 
Jennifer and I detest? Do you?"

"Now, honey ..."

"Don't honey me," she stormed and slammed down the receiver. Another 
trip! Tears of humiliation and pride welled up in her eyes as she 
thought of his leaving her again.

Damn ... damn ... damn ... she wasn't enough of a woman to hold a man, 
she was unable to satisfy her husband enough in bed to hold him at home 
for one day. Was there any reason why Roger stayed married to her other 
than to screw her now and then when he was around? What did he do the 
other six months? Have other women?"

Oh no! The crazy idea that he was unfaithful to her crept insidiously 
into her brain, once unleashed by her torment of anger and frustration. 
If she could only go with Roger on his trips ... but no, she had to 
stay home with their daughter, Jennifer. All she could do was wait and 
sit until he got back from wherever he went, never knowing what he was 
up to.

She walked to the closet and half-heartedly swung one of the suitcases 
she hadn't put away from that morning onto the bed. She began to put 
fresh clothes out, quickly filling the three-suiter and then put 
additional clothing in the smaller over-night case. Then, locking the 
lids, she wandered into the kitchen, her day ruined, and pondered about 
what the hell she was going to do for the next couple of weeks.

Do what Roger suggested she guessed. See a lot of Martin's wife. It 
certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding 
friend like Cylvia. She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than 
Roger was.

*  *  *

"Oh god, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss moaned. She was 
writhing on their satin-covered double bed, her own fingers slipping 
wetly inside her cunt. Her back was arched, and her legs splayed wide, 
as nude, she masturbated before the lusting leer of her husband, one 
hand fondling her breasts and the other in her vagina.

Cylvia had short blond hair the color of wheat; it hugged her face in 
soft curls. She had high, classical features, with blue, cat-like eyes 
above a wide, bow-shaped mouth and aquiline nose. Her wasp waist was in 
contortions at the moment, and her full, thrusting breasts danced with 
delightful impudence on her tanned chest. She was tanned all over, not 
even with the normal tiger strips around her breasts and hips. Her 
straw-toned hair was natural, as anybody could see if they glimpsed her 
furry growth of pubic hair - and many men had not only glimpsed but 
tongued and fucked their way through the hair.

Now the hair was matted slick with her aroused cuntal secretions. 
"Oohhh, Martin," she panted. "You're going to be gone for so long."

"Just a couple of days if my plan goes well. No more than three."

"Too damned long for me, lover, and you know that no man can fill me 
they way you can. Oh ... oh ... oh, let me suck your beautiful prick 
before you leave. Oooohhhhh, please!"

Hot damn! Oliss thought as he selected a suit out of the closet. Cylvia 
is a real talent. She can turn a man on and fuck him every which-way! 
He'd called her from the office when he'd learned from his secretary 
about the sudden departure, acting the contrite husband just in case 
anybody heard. Now he had to be quick about it; couldn't miss the plane 
and his chances to land the miniskopos. He'd hurried home, only to find 
no bags packed but his loving mate stretched out with abandoned 
anticipation.

His pants, already sticky from the little drops of seminal emission 
caused by the thinking of his plot while in the board room, now bulged 
once more. He stifled a groan. "No ... no, I've got to tell you about 
what you've got to do."

"Tell me afterwards." She reached up and undid two of his shirt 
buttons, then returned her left hand to the nipples of her breasts.

"No, now."

"I refuse to listen unless you take your clothes off and sit down 
beside me." She oscillated on the coverlet, moaning further as her 
hands sought the warm cavern of her hungry cunt. "C'mon, strip, lover-
man. Strip for your wife."

"All ... all right," he said, his voice quivering. He had to change 
anyway; might as well now as never. Have to keep control of myself, 
though. Too much to set up. He dropped his trousers and threw his shirt 
and tie over his jacket on the chair. When he pulled his underpants 
down, however, his cock leapt out to full erection, trembling with 
lust.

Cylvia stared at it, moistening her lips with her tongue as if she was 
already tasting its pungent male sperm. "Come on," she whispered 
throatily, come on and sit down."

He did, but warned her, "First things first."

Cylvia snaked out her left hand again and closed it around his turgid 
expanse. She robbed it up and down, her tongue still flicking along her 
lips, her eyes hot on the huge, granite shaft and bulbous head and 
the wrinkled sac of his testicles. "Please, Martin," she crooned, "I'm 
hot now and I want to suck you. Let your hot-boxed little wife suck you 
now and then you can tell me all about your plan."

"No," Oliss said firmly. He moved to the foot of the bed, watching her 
undulate her hips and slide her fingers in and out of her trembling, 
pink-rimmed vaginal hole. "Now you know Lonnie Carmel well enough so 
she trusts you. Well, get her drunk tonight or something, and into bed 
with somebody."

"Who?" Cylvia asked petulantly. She stretched out her leg and began to 
stroke his thigh with her toes, waggling her big toe upwards so she 
could reach the fleshy pole of his cock. "Who'll be the man?" She 
watched gleefully as her strokings made her husband shudder. He never 
could stay away for long ...

"I don't care. Pick any one out of the swap group." He stopped, and 
then a wicked leer parted his lips. "No ... no, get Sam Zeigler to be 
the straight man for Lonnie. Call him up after I leave and set it up, 
maybe at his club. After all," he said with a snicker, "he's got a 
vested interest in seeing that this ploy works."

"And he likes innocent, unwilling cunt," Cylvia said, "tons of it. He's 
almost as insatiable as you are, my love, when it comes to fucking."

As she spoke, she moved her buttocks down the bed so that she could 
once more seize his palpitating penis. She stroked it with her fingers 
as before, and before he was able to fend her off, she rose and pressed 
her lithe, tiger body against his, forcing him back in a prone position 
across the with of the bed.

"Damn it, Cylvia, I'm trying to tell you what you've got to do before 
my plane leaves. I --" Oliss paused as his wife trailed her soft, moist 
lips along the side of his neck, into the hollow of his throat, down 
along his bronze chest. She nuzzled the rigid tips of his male nipples, 
rolling her tongue back and forth across one and then the other. 
Finally she let her mouth roam down across the girth of his large, 
well-muscled stomach. Oliss groaned at her expert ministrations, and 
involuntarily thrust his hips up toward her. She scratched his cock 
lightly with her fingernails and over his testicles, reaching under his 
trembling body to probe briefly the puckered ring of his anus ...

"The plan," Oliss continued weakly. "We ... have to talk ... about what 
.... to do with ... Jennifer."

Cylvia smiled wryly as she looked up for a moment with half-lidded 
eyes. "Don't worry about a thing, lover. I'll speak to Tamera when she 
gets home from school. I think she mentioned that Vic was taking her to 
one of those pot parties. And you know what happens at them."

Oliss knew; the teen age pot parties were almost as wild and debauched 
as the adult wife-swapping get-togethers. He still couldn't comprehend 
at what those kids did. Why at their tender age, he barely had learned 
that his cock was to piss out of, much besides how to stick it in a 
girl. Of course, when he had learned ...

Cylvia was on all fours now, her mouth hovering over his erect penis. 
Then her warm lips closed over it, malting it throb with sensitivity. 
He lifted his head, unable to break away from the suckings, and he was 
all the more excited as he watched his wife bury his penis between her 
ovally pursed lips.

"Go-wa, go-wa on-a," she murmured around his cock as she plunged her 
head up and down in an oral simulation of a warm clasping cunt. At the 
same time she twirled her tongue around the moist stickiness of its 
blood-engorged head.

"Uuuuhhh," he panted. "You bitch, you goddamned bitch ... you ... know 
I can't ... go on." He gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain on 
the subject. "C-call me at the El Mecca Motel when ... when you've ... 
got her and ... and her daughter screwing. I ... I've got to plan my 
end of things from that time on ... on ... uhhhhh." Damn it, she'd won 
again, Oliss thought fuzzily, capitulating to the prurient sensations 
of her mouth and fingers. She always won, always got her way sexually, 
and she knew all the tricks in the book and some not written yet. 
"Ahhhhh," he panted. "If I miss my plane ..."

Oliss lay back and shut his eyes and pretended that it was the pretty 
Lonnie Carmel sucking his penis. That it was Lonnie's - or better yet, 
that it was Jennifer's lipstick-lined mouth puckering as she sawed up 
and down. Well, if he had his way it would be one of these days. He'd 
shoot his load of cum deep into the throats of Roger Carmel's wife and 
daughter, first one and then the other of the females ... and they'd 
love it ...

"Suck me, Cylvia," Oliss urged. "Suck, suck, suck my cock!"

The blonde wife slaved above his loins, her body glistening from 
postules of lust sweat. The pressure grew and grew in her husband's 
testicles, and he arched his buttocks and strove hard against her face, 
feeling his curly pubic hair graze her chin and cheeks but not hearing 
the slightest whimper of protest. His final release of semen boiled 
inside him, building like a crazy whirling dervish toward its moment of 
ejaculation. His scrotum tightened ...

And then --

Oliss felt the eruption as the first stream of white-hot fire leapt 
along the passage of his jerking cock. He gasped, his lips pulling back 
across his teeth. His penis pulsed and flooded without warning Cylvia's 
maddingly sucking mouth. The burning seed bloated her cheeks until she 
was forced to concentrate on swallowing rather them milking, and all 
the while she mewled and crooned and tickled his pounding balls with 
the tips of her fingers. With one last earth-shattering groan, Oliss 
emptied the last of his cum, and his penis started to deflate.

Cylvia kept on sucking, and then his cock slipped from between her 
lips, clean of every drop of his orgasm. Her belly felt warm and filled 
and she smiled like a contented feline after feeding itself to 
capacity. She lay with her head on his thigh, nibbling gently on the 
limp, useless penis in front of her. She had the suspicion as her own 
unfulfillment started gnawing at her insides, that if they made the 
plane, it was going to be by the skin of their teeth. She hoped that 
the plane might be delayed somehow. There was still a long and 
delicious interlude ahead of them, and the rising moisture in her 
thighs told her it was about to begin. She smiled silently to herself 
in anticipation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Lonnie Carmel stared morosely into her coffee cup. The silence of the 
house was oppressive to her ears, its emptiness a sacrilege to her 
eyes. It was always thus during the week, in that magical hour or so 
between the end of the housework chores and the entrance of her 
daughter, home from school. But with the knowledge that she was without 
her husband for another fortnight, Lonnie sensed that the house was 
like a tomb; still as death and just as vacant.

She sighed, wondering whether it was worth saving the special steak 
fromage she'd prepared for Roger, or if she should throw it away as 
carelessly as it seemed to her that her errant husband was discarding 
their marriage. A tear welled in one eye; she blinked rapidly and it 
rolled down her cheek and poised uncertainly by her trembling jaw.

Her thoughts were stilled when the front door burst open and Jennifer 
came in. She was a little breathless and her face was a soft crimson. 
"Hi, Mom," she cried out happily. "I ran from the bus stop because of 
the rain. Whoo-ee! Anything to eat?"

"I'll fix dinner soon," Lonnie said woodenly.

"You look sad, Mom," the daughter said, frowning slightly. "What's the 
matter?"

"N-nothing," Lonnie said haltingly. "Nothing at all."

Jennifer, concerned, put her books on the dinette table and sat down 
beside her mother. "Yes there is, I can tell it."

"It's ... it's just that your father had to go on another trip."

"Today?" Jennifer was shocked: her father had just gotten home this 
morning! "You mean he's left again, today?"

"Yes," came the whisper.

Mother and daughter sat in glum-filled sadness. The pall of quiet 
engulfed them; a sound-proof cloak effectively sealing their separate 
thoughts even from being shared between them. After awhile, the 
daughter said: "I think it's a crime. Daddy's never home."

"It seems that way at times," her mother agreed. "But we have to 
remember that he's doing it for us."

"You say that, Mom, but you don't believe it."

Lonnie winced inwardly at the telling remark. It was hard to be coldly 
analytical in a situation as emotion-fraught as this. She had to 
remember, though, that it wasn't good to display her marital troubles 
in front of Jennifer. It only hurt the family needlessly, and certainly 
didn't help solve the problem. She tried to smile, it came out forced 
and shallow. "Well ..." she said, "well, we can't just sit around and 
cry in our soup, can we?"

Jennifer remained sullen. Mothers were one thing, and she loved hers 
very much. But Jennifer had always been "Daddy's little girl," and she 
felt drawn to him strongly. When she worked hard in school, it was to 
make Dad proud of her; when she had a problem, it was to Dad that she 
went; when she thought about the man she would marry someday, the image 
came out to look like Dad. It was the natural, common Oedipus complex 
in female garb - nothing serious or especially unhealthy - but a 
source of frustration and anger when Dad was away.

Roger Carmel never dreamed how much his family really loved him. They 
would do anything for him, and might not have recognized how well he'd 
succeeded as a mate and parent. The Olisses did. They were counting on 
it, in fact.

"Tell you what, Jennifer," Lonnie said, a little more sprightly, now 
that she had something to do to keep her mind occupied, "I'll whip up a 
batch of pancakes. Norwegian ones; you always like them."

"Sure. Fine." Jennifer remained unmoved.

"Then we'll go to the movies, if you like."

"I don't feel like going out. Thanks anyway."

Lonnie glanced over at her offspring, wondering how to snap her teenage 
daughter out of the blue funk she was in. She chastised herself again 
for being as maudlin as she'd been when Jennifer had first come home. 
Her moroseness has transmitted itself, and she felt, as a mother, the 
burden of responsibility.

Her considerations were interrupted by the ringing of the door chimes. 
Now who could that be?

"I'll get it," Jennifer said, and rose. She wasn't overly quick about 
it, though she wasn't dragging her feet; merely disinterested and 
sluggish with sadness. She was surprised when she answered the door to 
find the Oliss women standing on the porch. "Why ... Tamera! And Mrs. 
Oliss!"

"Mind if we visit, Jennifer?" Mrs. Oliss said sweetly. "Tam and I are 
without our man, just like you two. We thought we'd at least make it a 
lonesome foursome."

"Of course," Jennifer said, standing back so they could enter. "Come on 
in. Mom was fixing dinner."

"Oh, well if she's busy ..."

"Not at all, Cylvia," Lonnie said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping 
her hands on a towel. "I hadn't really started yet. Coffee?"

"Sounds wonderful. Unless I can plead for a drink instead."

"Of course. Scotch and Ginger? I'll join you."

"Got a Coke, Mrs. Carmel?" Tam said, the picture of adolescent 
respectability. If only Lonnie and Jennifer could have seen inside the 
girl's mind, read her evil and depraved thoughts, they wouldn't have 
been so glad to see her or her mother. But all they saw were the 
facades, and as a result, Lonnie and Jennifer were pleased and relieved 
to have them here. It was easier to share the depression with four 
people than with two, especially when the others were in the same boat.

Jennifer and Tamera went into the teenager's room, and within seconds 
the house reverberated with the sounds of rock music, the latest "top 
ten" singles.

Tamera, like her mother, was naturally blonde, but she'd let her hair 
grow long and combed it in that tangled, careless look as if she'd been 
in a convertible all day, driving with the top down. She had a little 
stubby nose, freckles across its bridge, and her greenish eyes were 
more cat-like and devilish than her mother's. Her pert breasts were 
twin small, firm cylinders, tapering from their swollen moorings to 
cherry-nippled crests. They bobbed invitingly as she jumped onto 
Jennifer's bed, and she purposely sat in such a way that her short 
skirt hiked past her thighs and Jennifer couldn't help but see the 
shadowed white band of molded panties between her legs.

A secret tingle went through Tamera's nerves, making her breasts 
electric and her pubescent vagina secrete little droplets of fluid. Her 
mother had told her what she wanted done, told her and Vic when he had 
driven Tam home from school and dropped in for a drink. Get Jennifer 
Carmel! Get her naked and hungry for her first taste of cock! She 
shivered with forbidden delight and one area of her mind dwelled on 
what was in store for her younger friend if everything went right 
tonight. The other portion of her brain was doing the talking, worming 
Jennifer around to accepting the initial stage of her seduction ...

"I can't stay for long, Jennie," Tamera said, outwardly sad-faced. 
"Vic's invited me to a party."

"Oh?" Jennifer tried to conceal her obvious disappointment. If it 
wasn't her father, it was her friend who was deserting her. "Gee, I'd 
sort of hoped you could stay. I mean, your mom and mine will be talking 
for hours. I'll have nothing to do." She averted her eyes from the 
uncovered loins of Tamera's lithe body and changed a record. "What kind 
of party is it?"

"A real fab one. Most of the foxy guys from the football team," Tamera 
said conspiratorially. "If word leaked out about the drinking and ... 
things, they'd be dismissed from the squad!" She almost made a slip; 
the time wasn't right to tell the innocent virgin girl what the other 
"things" would consist of. "It's going to be outa sight!"

"Wow!" Jennifer breathed with envious excitement.

"Vic's going to pick me up here at nine." She lowered her head, now 
looking contrite. "I'm sorry about it, Jennie. I know how you were 
counting on us keeping each other company tonight."

"Yeah, well I can understand."

"If there was some way you could come along ..."

"Forget it. I'd just be in the way." She picked a cuticle. "You go and 
have a real nice time."

There was a long moment of silence - or as much silence as could be 
had when the record player was screaming out "yah, yah, yah, yah, 
yahhhhhh!" Then a small smile began an Tamera's lips. She said: "Wait a 
minute! Maybe we can get you along!"

"How?"

"That is ... if you really want to go."

"Sure I do. You don't think I want to stay around Dullsville tonight, 
do you?"

"It might get a little ... rough."

Tamera's warning only whetted the natural curiosity and the refusal in 
Jennifer to admit she wasn't "grown-up" enough; she jutted her jaw 
forward and said defiantly, "Don't worry about me none. I won't faint 
or something."

"Well, promise me you'll not panic, no matter what you see." She saw 
nervousness and indecision in Jennifer's eyes, so she hastily added, 
"Not that you have to do any of it." She didn't say what the "it" was -
- better not scare the poor virgin off entirely. Anyway, Tamera knew 
Jennifer well enough to know that the younger teen-ager's imagination 
would fill in some of the gaps, and would only entice her more than if 
she was told everything. "Just don't start making a scene. Act as if 
you're part of it like everyone else, and not a wet blanket." She 
smiled again wickedly. "That is, if you don't care for some of the 
action. What the hell, you might; I sure do."

"Sure I promise, Tam," Jennifer said hurriedly, her throat parched with 
excitement. "What do you take me for, a kid? I won't embarrass you any. 
You'll see. But how'll you fix it so I can go?"

"Well, we'll have to get you a date."

"But I'm not going with anybody. Besides, you said the guys are from 
the football team, and they're all going with girls now.'

"Stan Lugin isn't. He broke off with Marsha Dixon last weekend, up at 
the mountains. Didn't you know?"

"Jeez! 'The Slam?'" Jennifer spoke in awe of the team's star fullback. 
His size and offensive determination had earned him the monicker of 
Stan 'The Slam' Lugin. He was Vic's buddy, and next to Vic, was the 
school's biggest athletic hero. "You think you could get me a date with 
Stan?"

"I can't promise, but I'll call Vic and see if he'll talk to Stan. If 
we do swing it, that's even more reason for you to be a sport. He 
doesn't cotton to sissies."

"For Stan," Jennifer said, stars twirling in her eyes, "I'd do most 
anything"

We'll see," Tamera said under her breath. Then to Jennifer she said: 
"Let's go ask your mother if it's all right first, and then I'll call 
Vic."

Lonnie Carmel was ambivalent to the request. On one hand she saw the 
excitement in her daughter, and wanted to make her happy. But Jennifer 
was so young for such things. And besides, that would leave her home 
all alone, which was the last thing on earth the wanted to be faced 
with tonight. She shook her head. "I ... I don't know, Jennifer."

"Aw, Mom! Please!

"I'm sure Jennifer will be quite safe," Mrs. Oliss offered. "If I had 
any doubts, I'd never allow Tamera to go. But Vic's a good boy, and 
from the little I've met of Stan Lubin, he's been very polite and well 
mannered." She had a very hard time keeping a straight face, saying 
that garbage. Cylvia Oliss had first hand knowledge that Stan Lubin had 
gained his nick-name from his way of fucking girls as much as from ho 
football techniques. The third worst person to entrust a young naive 
virgin with was Stan Lubin in her estimation; Vic and her husband being 
the first and second, and not necessarily in that order.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Mrs. Carmel," Tamera sad. Damned right I 
will. I love watching The Slam' in action.

"Yes, but --"

"Tell you what," Mrs. Oliss said, as if suddenly struck with a thought. 
"Let the girls go out, and we'll go out, too. I think we deserve a 
dinner and a couple of drinks, after the way Martin and Roger deserted 
us."

"Sure, Mom, that sounds swell. You haven't been out for ages."

Lonnie had drunk three scotch and gingers, and her mind wasn't quite as 
sharp as it was normally ... The liquor had relaxed her, made her feel 
as if life was worth living a little. Maybe going out for a dinner 
instead of slaving over the stove wasn't a bad idea; Lord knew she had 
earned a break.

"If I know Martin, he's lounging in the cocktail bar right now, lapping 
up martinis and ogling the girls," Cylvia continued. "Acting like he 
wasn't married, and he's just like all other men when they're away Tom 
home. Huh!" she sniffed, as if outraged at masculine games. "We ought 
to have the same privileges. We ought to have a night out once in a 
while to act as if we were the girls' ages again, without 
responsibilities."

"A dinner and a drink would sound nice," Lonnie said, already half 
convinced that she should go out and it would be entirely innocent. 
That nothing would happen. That Roger would approve if he knew what she 
was considering. That made her think of Roger, and the insidiously 
implanted suggestion of Cylvia's made her imagine Roger sitting beside 
Martin at the cocktail bar. Well, she would go, and damn the 
consequences - of which she was, sure there would be none. She and 
Cylvia were both adult and mature - and two unescorted women this day 
and age were not considered bad as they had been in her mother's time.

"I'm convinced," she said giddily. "Jennifer, if you promise to be 
good, and if Vic's friend wants to take you to the pity, then I'll let 
you. And you, Mrs. Oliss, will have the pleasure of escorting Mrs. 
Carmel to a steak dinner and drinks a little later on."

"Excellent!" from Cylvia.

"You're swell, Mother!" from Jennifer.

 "I'll call Vic," from Tamera.

The phone call was pure fraud. A bald-faced con to convince the Carmel 
mother and daughter that this was all spontaneous. In fact, it had been 
carefully laid out before-hand; even 'The Slam' and his girl, Marsha, 
with whom he hadn't broken up with at all, were in on it. They hadn't 
been told why the alteration in Jennifer's virginal status was desired; 
Vic and Tamera had merely told them they had thought it up as the 
evening's entertainment highlight, a new twist to the usual alcohol and 
marijuana and sex kicks. They thought the forced seduction of Little 
Miss Carmel was one grand joke.

The result was that Tamera went through the motions of asking and 
arguing and hearing the I-don't-knows and I'll-have-to-check-and- call-
you-back. The wait of fifteen minutes had been added as a special, 
exquisite form of psychological torture to insure that Jennifer was 
fully ensnared, wanting the date more and more with each passing 
second.

Cylvia got up, and as a long-time and trusted friend of the Carmel 
family, made herself and Lonnie another drink. She liberally laced 
Lonnie's with scotch, and added some vodka for good measure. What she 
had in store for Mrs. Carmel was going to take all the help she could 
get, and having her friend drunk would "grease the runway," to use a 
phrase of her father's.

Then the phone rang, and Tamera answered it. She attentively listened 
to Vic tell her what he was planning to do with his cock to her that 
night, and then she put the receiver down and turned to Jennifer. With 
a solumn tone she said what she had known all along: "Stan says he'll 
take you."

*  *  *

Stan leaned over the back seat of the car and said to Vic: "Any juice 
kicking around?"

Tamera giggled and turned her head. She smiled at Stan. "Can't wait for 
the party, huh?"

"Hell, that's a half hour's drive away yet," Stan complained. "Gotta 
have something to prime my engine before then."

Vic laughed. "Sure. I could use a pull myself. Reach in the glove 
compartment, Tam, and get the bottle."

Tamera did; she unstoppered a refilled Coke bottle and took a stiff 
swallow. She sputtered, and her throat worked, and then she handed the 
bottle to Vic. "Wow! That stuff's good!"

"Yeah," Vic said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to drink. 
The large convertible wove erratically for a moment, throwing 
Jennifer off balance, and against Stan. The rugged football player put 
one arm around her so that she couldn't regain her position, and when 
Tamera took the bottle from Vic and handed it to Stan, he offered it 
first to the young teenager. "Here," he said with a grin, "ladies 
first. Just don't hog it."

Jennifer hesitated.

"What's the matter?" Stan frowned. "You drink, don't you?"

"Sure, I do," Jennifer said stoutly. She was bluffing and hoped that it 
wasn't too obvious. She wondered if she wasn't talking herself into a 
bad future position, for anything over a glass of wine gave her the 
woozies, but Tamera had kept repeating that this was her big chance to 
get in with the "In" crowd around school, and she couldn't afford to be 
childish or stubborn ...

The fifteen-year-old virgin tilted the Coke bottle and a warm, sweet 
liquid filled her mouth. She could taste the tinge of bourbon or whisky 
-- she didn't know which, just that it wasn't vodka or gin or stuff 
like that - and a syrupy flavor like raspberry or strawberry soda. It 
wasn't bad, not bad at all, and she took another drink before handing 
it to Stan. She drank again ...

Stan Lubin and Vic Statler had come to collect the girls promptly at 
nine in Vic's Pontiac Bonneville, and after introductions and a few 
minutes of conversation, they and the girls had left. Stan almost made 
Jennifer giddy from the start. He was too much! He was going to be 
eighteen in the Spring, and looked at least a year older. He had long 
brown hair, combed back and around his collar, was six-foot-two, slim 
waisted, his shoulders and arms bulging with muscles. His face was 
pleasant, average, as ordinary as the clothes he wore: levi's, sweater, 
and loafers.

Stan pulled the girl close to him, hugging her, and for an instant, he 
scared Jennifer. Things were certainly happening fast! They were 
driving from one end of Rapier City, where Jennifer lived, right 
through the town to the hills on the other side. It was up in the 
desolate hills, at the end of an old, dead-end road that the party was 
going to be held. And they'd barely gone two miles before the bottle of 
liquor had been brought out and Stan and she were in the back seat 
cuddling!

Stan let his hand dangle gently over her shoulder, his fingers brushing 
softly against the tip of her breast. He smirked to himself as he 
thought of the way she had guzzled the booze - leave it to an 
inexperienced girl to get drunk before anybody else, not having the 
faintest idea what the liquor can do or when to slow down. He was 
growing more confident by the moment that the lewd and obscene things 
in store for this tender virgin were going to happen - tonight! - 
just as planned. Man, once she reached the stage of helpless submission 
he was going to turn Jennifer every way but inside out, and maybe he'd 
find a way for that, too. She'd know what fucking was all about when he 
finished with her! When he and all the others finished with her!

With a suddeness which bespoke his nickname, Stan crushed his lips on 
Jennifer's unsuspecting mouth, grinding wetly, and the girl moaned and 
struggled for one moment, panicked, feeling his hand on her breast, 
tenderly cupping the soft, resident mound.

"Hey, baby," Stan crooned, "I really like you, you know?" He felt his 
"date" jump slightly as she heard his lying words. He held her tighter, 
pressing his hands once more against the palpitating hardness of her 
nubile breast. She'd never before been this drawn to a boy, never 
believed that a kiss or a caress could be so exciting. She wanted Stan 
to like her, wanted him to take her as his girlfriend. Boy! Wouldn't 
that be a coup! She shivered, and the alcohol seemed to effuse through 
her system. She pressed her thighs tightly together to control a 
peculiar tickle which was worming its way through the sensual valley 
between her legs.

Stan Lubin pressed his attack, massaging her breast. He could feel the 
tiny, bud-like nipples harden under the thinness of her brassiere. 
Jennifer knew that she was going to have to stop him soon before things 
got out of control. She squirmed, trying to move his fingers away 
without him noticing and her short skirt hiked up over her hips. Her 
thighs were naked and she could almost see the white crotch band of her 
panties down between her legs.

She blushed furiously and tried to pull her skirt down. Stan stopped 
her. "Let it be, Jennie baby," he murmured. "You've got nice legs so 
don't hide them. You ain't got nothing between yours that I don't know 
all about!"

That brought a shriek of laughter from Tamera and a furious blushing 
from Jennifer. The young girl felt hot, but not wanting to let Stan 
think she was square, she didn't move her skirt. She leaned against 
Stan and nuzzled his chest affectionately

Yeah, Stan thought, this one may be a virgin, but she'll be one hell of 
a hot box when I really turn her one, just like Vic promised. His cock 
swelled in his pants as he looked down between her thighs. He felt 
himself getting blazing hot, the tension grinding his loins, his 
testicles aching to be released ...

He'd have to take it slow, he knew. Slow and easy and not scare the 
girl. First time's the big one, he realized, having melted many a 
cherry in his day. The heavy car sped through the night, toward the 
rendezvous with Jennifer's destiny, and all that the foursome inside 
acted like was as if this was just another night out, another date, an 
evening to laugh and joke and sip from the Coke bottle ...

The party was in full swing when they arrived. They had to park the 
Pontiac down the hill, the last of a line of other cars which had 
gotten there before them. The house was actually more of a summer 
cabin; it was a small retreat belonging to the parents of one of the 
boys attending, a small place facing the undeveloped Guadalupe Canyon 
and the flatlands beyond. By turning around and staring at the black 
hills behind, the glimmer of distant Rapier City could be seen at their 
crest, their fusion of lights shining above like an Aurora Borealis. 
The bottle of liquor was empty and discarded when they stopped; Tamera 
was mellow and giggly, but Jennifer was half stumbling from the 
unaccustomed potion, and she allowed Stan to help her over the rough 
gravel road to the house.

Music spilled out as they opened the door, hot blow of smoky air and 
laughter hitting the cool air and damp drizzle of the Autumnal night. 
Jennifer laughed for no particular reason, just that she was empathetic 
to the swinging crowd. She allowed Stan to kiss her at the entrance, 
and then again, harder and longer. His hot moist lips seemed to be her 
world at that point, her alcohol fuzzed by not totally aware of too 
many other things at the same time, and she almost fell over from the 
spark of electricity which invaded her stomach.

"All right!" yelled one of the boys from inside. "Break it up, you 
two!"

Blushing again, Jennifer and Stan, followed by Vic and Tamera, entered 
the golden glow of the livingroom. She knew the others from school, and 
they all acted pleased and as if she truly belonged to the select group 
of high school students. There was George Slade and his steady girl, 
Gloria Talbot; Sanders, one of the ends, and Beverly Harland; Greg 
Mothra and Anita Funabass, one of the cheerleaders; Ken King and his 
girl, Fay Raye; and the last couple, Gene Rogers and Dale Butram.

The quartet wended their way through the crowded room, talking and 
joking with the others. Somebody pressed a drink into Jennifer's hands 
and almost unconsciously she found herself sipping it as she talked. 
The cool liquid felt good, dispelling some of the heavy, dense air of 
the room, but adding to the warmth inside her. And it helped her seem 
more at ease, for she was still very nervous and afraid, intent on 
making a good impression on Stan and Vic, and yes, on everybody else. 
She knew that Tamera had gone out on a limb for her, and she didn't 
want anything to hurt either her girlfriend's popularity, much less her 
own entrance into the social whirl that up to now she'd only heard 
about.

Eventually they found some space on one of the long, low, overstuffed 
couches. The room was rustic in decor, with hanging "Kerosene" lanterns 
and a large brick fireplace and exposed beam ceilings. The walls were 
of knotty pine and Currier & Ives prints, and the furniture was the 
heavy masculine version of Early American. She rubbed the craved maple 
arm of the couch to wipe some of the sweat from her palm. The boys left 
them for a moment, and disappeared.

Tamera leaned over and whispered, "You're doing fine, Jennie. I'm 
really proud of you. Just keep it up."

Jennifer's heart was like a trip hammer inside her chest. "I am?" She 
sipped her drink, her throat suddenly parched. "Oh, I hope so."

"Vic and Stan will be right back; relax and enjoy the evening." Tamera 
was interrupted by Ken King, who jovially spiked their drinks from a 
bottle of brandy. It changed the taste - not unpleasantly so - and 
..the effects. Jennifer found the glow was still there, but a strange 
giddiness began to pervade her. She should have had more for dinner 
than she had had, but she'd lost her appetite with all the excitement 
of going out with Stan Lubin, and had barely been able to choke down a 
half can of spaghetti and meat-balls. Now, she had to squint her eyes 
to see any distance, and to focus on Ken as he made conversation. It 
struck her then: Ken King was talking to her! Why, up till now, he'd 
not even nodded to her in the halls! She glanced around at the others 
when Ken moved on; seeing with reasonable clarity the groups of threes 
and fours scattered around the sofas, chairs, and on the floor. Rogers 
and the Butram girl were at the fireplace now, putting together a fire. 
He was laying the logs across the andirons while Butram stood beside 
him and handed the kindling and paper as he needed it.

"Want another stick of wood, Gene?" she asked.

"Naw, just gimme the matches now." He lit the fire, and soon it was 
sending a cheery blaze into the room. They doused the lights, and 
everybody became shadows and figurines in the flickering radiance.

Jennifer became aware then that Vic and Stan had returned, and she 
settled back, warm and snug and heavy with sedation from the powerful 
drinks. Stan curled his arm around her and made her lean back against 
the cushions with him. "More like a bed, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes ... yes, I guess it is," Jennifer said, a slight stutter in her 
voice.

"Here," Stan said, and pressed a cigarette into her hand. She looked at 
it; it was like no other cigarette she'd ever seen! It was hand-rolled 
in a brownish paper. He grinned at her. "Light-up," he urged.

Jennifer had the sinking suspicion what the brownish cigarette was made 
of. Marijuana! She quivered with indecision, for she was afraid of what 
the drug might do to her - she'd heard too many stories and lectures 
from adults - but she was just as afraid of screwing up this good 
fortune she'd been having. She looked over at Tamera for guidance, for 
help. Tamera was already lighting up her cigarette, her eyes shut, 
oblivious to her girlfriend's plight.

What's the matter," Stan growled, "aren't you hep?"

"I-I never smoked one before," Jennifer blurted, and then felt like 
biting her tongue. How uncool could she be? She wished she hadn't drunk 
so much out of the Coke bottle and then the glass in her other hand; 
she wasn't thinking clearly and was awfully warm, and there was a 
weight preying down on her forehead and eyes.

"A little grass never hurt anybody," Tamera said, exhaling. "Don't 
worry so much, Jennie."

"Ah, I knew we shouldn't have brought a kid here," Vic taunted with a 
sneer. Jennifer blanched with the direct punch of his contempt. 
Rebellion and resentment made her place the cigarette between her lips 
with defiance. A child, was she!

"Go on," Stan urged. "Let me light it for you. Once you're a little 
high, you'll feel things you never felt before." He drew out his 
lighter and trembling slightly, Jennifer allowed him to light it for 
her. She drew in heavily, and then coughed.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Vic said disgustedly. "What a waste of good 
grass."

"Let her alone," Tamera said. "She'll learn. Try again, Jennie. Hold 
the smoke in your lungs."

The second puff was easier, and the naive young girl held the sour-
sweet smoke down until she thought she'd burst. She exhaled, looked 
around with a smile of triumph, only to see she was behind the others, 
who were all busily inhaling their joints. She continued to follow 
suit, and by the end of the marijuana cigarette, she began to float.

Jennifer had never felt better in all her born days. She was happy and 
carefree, without a worry in the world. She felt a comradeship with 
everyone in the room, and she laughed and talked and laughed some more. 
Everything seemed so funny all of a sudden.

Stan gave her another smoke, and then reminded her that her drink was 
going stale. "How's it going, baby?" he asked.

"Like I'm on the moon!" Jennifer said breathlessly.

"Christ, there's so much smoke in here that I could get stoned without 
a cigarette," Tamera said. She cuddled in the protective arms of Vic. 
"Kiss me," she demanded of her boyfriend. "Kiss me hard ..."

There was a long pause and then Jennifer heard the unmistakable 
rustling of clothes as Tamera and Vic settled back against the couch in 
a passionate embrace. There were the soft, wet sounds of their kissings 
and moanings, and the teen aged girl tried hard to avert her eyes from 
the petting so close at hand. But as she turned away, she found that 
instead of being horrified by the sensual display so openly being 
performed beside her, she was becoming aroused, and her breasts ached 
slightly with excitement. Jennifer was too close in her friendship with 
Tamera Oliss not to be drawn by the building, writhing apassionata, and 
the knew instinctively that she was approaching her own danger point 
from which there was no return if passed.

She looked around the cabin, and her eyes bulged as she saw the others 
in wild tableaus of sex. She'd been to spin-the-bottle and post-office 
type parties before - but nothing quite as blatant as this! Why ... 
why in the firelight she couldn't be sure, but wasn't Slade moving 
underneath Gloria's blouse, molding his hand to her breasts? And ... 
and Anita! She had her legs splayed wide and Greg Mothra was rubbing 
her clothed genitals, causing her to moan lasciviously in his ear. My 
God!

How far would they go? All the way? Jennifer felt a sudden chill hit 
the pit of her belly. No ... no that was impossible, not with everybody 
here. Maybe alone the couples might, but even that was one of those 
things she found embarrassing to think about. The picture of any of 
them - of Jennifer herself - being naked and displayed unabashed in 
front of everybody was shattering.

It was entirely out of the question, and she lulled her mind to 
security again with a long drink from the glass in her one hand, and a 
long drag on the marijuana cigarette in her other. She leaned against 
Stan, the delicious warmth of the liquor and drugs seeping through her 
veins. She'd never felt as deeply involved before in her life. But as 
she curled up with Stan and his hand once more closed over her breast, 
the touch of her panties and the cushions pressuring up between her 
thighs exciting her more and more each moment. Material bunched against 
her thighs and grazed the sensitive, virginal pink lips of her vagina. 
Tiny throbs of secret pleasure pulsed in the bud of her clitoris and 
she tried to hold them back

But it was to no avail. The heat of the room, the lulling, sensual 
effects of the liquor and marijuana, the lecherous scenes of lust 
before her naive and innocent eyes were all too much to be swept away. 
Necking while watching a distracting motion picture, or outside her 
house with the threat of being caught by her parents was one matter. 
This pagan and completely uninhibited fulfillment of lusts was another, 
and it was working its debauching influence on the virgin teenager.

She couldn't resist the ever-building fire which swelled in her 
breasts, her loins, her vagina. No matter how hard she squeezed her 
thighs together, the flames of her flowering young pussy seethed and 
lashed with constant pressure. She moaned and squirmed, terrified that 
she wouldn't be able to control herself much longer.

Just as Stan knew she wouldn't.

Just as Tamera and Vic knew she wouldn't.

Just as everybody in the cabin knew she wouldn't - and they all waited 
impatiently for the trap to spring shut with a finality which would rip 
Jennifer Carmel from all her final moral moorings. They waited, beasts 
of carnivorous appetite, secretly gloating over what they were dead 
certain would soon be the hapless virgin's uncontrolled plunge into 
their own carnal world of hedonistic delight ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

"I could use another drink, Lonnie," Cylvia Oliss said. She glanced at 
the young wife, smiling cat-like to herself. I don't need one - and by 
the way she's having trouble keeping steady, she doesn't need another, 
either - but she's going to!

"No ... no I better not," Lonnie said. Her head was spinning from the 
unaccustomed heavy dosage of alcohol which had been fed to her. Fed by 
her own hand and the alternate turns at mixing by her best friend. On 
an empty stomach, the liquor went straight to work, and she realized 
belatedly that she was on the verge of being drunk, not just 
euphorically high. She couldn't even remember whether the empty glass 
on the coffee table was the symbol of her fifth or sixth drink; worse, 
she really didn't care. She just knew that she had to slow down ...

"What about going out for dinner now?" she asked. 87 

Cylvia Oliss stood up, smoothing her short dress. She shrugged as the 
picked up her glass - and Lonnie's as well. "I'm not hungry yet, I'm 
afraid. I ready feel like having another short one - I'll make a weak 
one for your." She walked into the kitchen and again poured both vodka 
and scotch into Lonnie's glass, then a good dollop of ginger ale; the 
sparkling mix only made the liquor be absorbed faster. She looked at 
the scotch bottle and smirked. It had been a fresh bottle when the 
evening had started. Here it was nearly ten o'clock and there was less 
than an inch left in the bottom. She was feeling good, not tipsy or 
anything even close to drunk because she'd made sure that Lonnie Carmel 
had gotten the bulk of the bottle.

"I certainly hate it when Martin's away," she sighed, sitting down 
beside Lonnie. She was so close that her thigh rubbed against her 
friend's leg ... the move was not accidental.

"I know what you mean," Lonnie moaned.

"Without ... without Roger I feel positively barren."

"No sex?" the Oliss woman said lewdly, slyly grinning.

 "No! ..." The sudden question, with its salacious overtones, surprised 
Lonnie. How bold! What did her friend think she did, anyway? Fool 
around while her husband was away? "Why, why Cylvia!" she gasped, "I'm 
faithful to Roger!"

Cylvia chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that, though God knows you 
could have all the men you wanted." She appraised the young housewife 
with calculating eyes, openly admiring her lush figure. "Your breasts 
are much larger than mine, and your hips ... well, I don't mind telling 
you I'm envious of you."

"Thank ... you," Lonnie said, shaken by the overt praise, and a little 
unsure how to accept it. It must be the liquor talking in Cylvia, she 
thought. We've both had quite a lot. She blinked as she found herself 
frankly studying her friend, not as a friend or even as a person, but 
as a woman - a sexual object which could attract and please. She 
wondered what Cylvia would look like in the nude, what it would be like 
to be a man and kiss her, caress her breasts (which were as sensual a 
pair as she'd seen, and certainly a match in their own right for her 
fuller ones) until the nipples stood out hard, to make love to her ...

In shock, she smiled embarrassingly as Cylvia caught her gaze, and 
drank nervously from her full drink. Cylvia leaned over her to get a 
cigarette from the canister on the table, and her breast swung heavily 
against Lonnie's arm. The heady musk of her perfume filled her 
nostrils, and with deliberate provocation Cylvia straightened and 
searched for a match in her purse with a sensuous motion of the hips 
and legs. Her skirt rose a little higher ...

"No, I think that you could find lots of males, and nicely endowed 
ones, too; with lots of money, good looks and long hard cocks."

"Cylvia-!" came a horrified choke at her sudden use of the lewd word.

Don't be shy. It's just hen-talk between us girls." Cylvia winked at 
Lonnie. "Haven't you ever wanted to say a few dirty words? Let your 
hair don and use them the way a man does?"

Lonnie hesitated, embarrassed but at the same time fuddled by the vodka 
and scotch enough so that it all seemed sort of innocently daring. A 
private game between the two of them which couldn't hurt.

Say a dirty word," Cylvia wheedled. "Say something like cock."

"C-cock," Lonnie found herself repeating. She blushed madly.

Something else. Go on."

Screw ..." Lonnie shivered at the use of the vulgarisms. It was 
exciting and perverted, and tinged with excitement. She felt a small 
surge of pleasure in her abdomen, and a little lower in her vagina. She 
giggled slightly, and averted her eyes. "Screw," she said louder.

"Screw," Cylvia said disparagingly. "What kind of dirty word is that? 
Screw! What does Roger do when he wants to empty his cock and balls 
into your cunt, Lonnie? Tell me the real word for what he does to you."

"He ... fucks me," she stammered.

"Where?" The question came out with a gasp, as if the words were 
exciting the Oliss wife ... which they were, but her reaction only 
helped feed the rising thrill in Lonnie Carmel's loins. Cylvia licked 
her lips, her pink tongue circling them and leaving them glistening. 
"Where does Roger fuck you?"

"In ... in ..." she wasn't sure if she could say it! But then she felt 
like such an innocent, such a prude in front of her friend. Cylvia was 
enjoying it, and in honesty, she had to admit she was as well ... and 
she trusted her friend, trusted her as only one true confident can 
trust another. It wasn't as if she was on stage, addressing an 
audience. She could be free with Cylvia ... and more important, with 
Martin and Roger gone and only the two of them together now, she wanted 
to be free with her. She was drawn closer to her friend by the 
circumstances, and the bond tightened another notch as she said 
haltingly: "Roger ... fucks me ... in the ... cunt! In my cunt!"

 "Sure he does," Cylvia said. "Just like Martin fucks me in my cunt." 
She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs and to Lonnie's 
amazement, began to rub her thighs and belly with the palms of her 
hands. She stroked all around her genital area, moaning slightly as if 
in heat. "Ohhhhh, Lonnie, sometimes when Martin's not around, I nearly 
go out of my mind wanting a cock in me. My cunt gets so hot, that I 
think it'll burn a hole in my panties." She grinned lewdly at the 
lovely wife. "Sometimes," she whispered as if it was a guilty secret, 
"I even walk around without my panties. Without anything, just so the 
cool air will calm the fire in my pussy down."

"You ... do?" Lonnie gulped her drink, the brazen confessions forging 
new and evil images on her brain. Cylvia ... pantiless, going about the 
house naked between her legs ... but why not?

Who's to know; Who's to see? It ... even sounded like fun! Lonnie's 
heart began to pound faster, and she blamed the alcohol for her broken 
barriers of propriety, and for the way Cylvia was confiding the most 
inner secrets about her private life and marital relations ...

"And ... I-do other things!" Cylvia said. She inched still closer, as 
if afraid the walls had ears. She put one arm around Lonnie's shoulder. 
"I have to ... or I'd go mad."

Lonnie asked before she realized what she was saying, "What kind of 
things?"

Cylvia tried to blush - a harder task than she had had to do so far. 
"I'll ... show you." She picked up her purse, a wide, straw basket with 
leather straps. "Martin once bought these books in Europe," she said, 
bringing out a set of pamphlets. They were about the size of a Reader's 
Digest, only about twelve pages in thickness. There were different 
colored paper covers on them, but all were entitled: Climax 
Illustrated, with different volume numbers on them. "We would sit in 
bed and look at the pictures and get hotter than hell. We'd be naked, 
you see, and I'd look at his cock get excited and grow straight up in 
the air. Then we'd make love; screw, to use your word. He'd fuck my 
toenails off, in my language."

Lonnie took one of the booklets, and said as she opened the cover, "But 
I don't understand." She was confused, dizzy from the liquor, upset by 
not having her husband here, tortured by the increasing tingles of 
prurience which was emanating stronger and stronger from her loins and 
breasts, and mentally distraught from the deepening lewdness of the 
conversation. She didn't understand anything - and when she opened the 
booklet and caught the first picture, she really didn't understand!

"Why! Why ... this is obscene!" Her eyes bulged slightly at the 
salacious color picture. It was of two women, sitting on the couch, 
both beautiful young Scandinavians; they were in a state of undress, 
one having only a garter belt and stockings on, and the other in her 
panties and high boots. The one in the boots was kissing the hardened 
ruby-tipped nipple on the other's left breast. Lonnie and Cylvia sat in 
silence for a moment, as Lonnie took a deep swallow of her drink 
feeling some composure returning to her stomach.

"Turn the page, Lonnie. It gets better!"

"No ..." But her mind couldn't control her fingers. The page turned, 
and she reeled under the pornographic display of both girls stretched 
out on the couch now, the panties around one ankle of the girl; they 
were facing one another, but in such a way that their mouths were 
kissing each other's vaginas, their fingers spreading their soft 
strands of pubic hair. The pink vagina slits were visible, and on the 
opposing page were close-ups of each tonguing the soft flesh and rich 
thighs of the other.

Lonnie was unable to tear herself away from the pictures. She'd heard 
of lesbianism, occasionally even wondered what it felt like to have the 
softer, more tender touch of a woman on her skin - but she'd never 
seen it before, had it so detailed before her eyes!

She turned to her friend, and found that Cylvia was now slouched in her 
seat, her legs wide apart. Her skirt was even higher than before! "They 
make me excited," Cylvia panted, her eyes glued to the pictures. "So 
damned hot! There's others, with men and dogs, and even one with a 
negro with a cock the size of a telephone pole ... but there's 
something about this set, with the girls, that tears me apart when I 
look at them "

"You can't mean it!" Lonnie gaped.

"I do," Cylvia said, nodding. "I'm being honest, and as my friend, you 
can be honest with me. Don't they excite you? Don't they make you want 
to spread your legs for the first thing that comes in sight?"

 "But - but these are perverted! They're doing un-unnatural acts!"

"They're merely enjoying themselves, Lonnie. Without men around, what 
else is there? Besides fingering yourself, I mean. That's what I do 
when I'm alone and look at the pictures. I take all my clothes off and 
lie on the bed and look at the girls making love and I play with my own 
cunt until I cum."

"Cylvia," Lonnie moaned. She was so awfully mixed up. She knew she 
shouldn't have had that last drink, for her vision was becoming 
distorted with her mental reflection of what she'd done that morning - 
what she'd done to herself on previous days when the build-up of 
passion had been too great. She'd lain on her bed, naked, and done the 
exact same things to her pussy which Cylvia was admitting having done 
to herself! She felt she should stop this perverted talking before it 
got any worse ... but the drinks and Cylvia's salacious confessions and 
the pictures before her were a melange too strong to counter-act. She 
felt wicked churnings in her body, the prickles of arousal stirring in 
her blood and marrow.

"Ohhh, God, Lonnie, I'm excited," Cylvia mewled. "I ... I don't think I 
can stand it!"

Mrs. Lonnie Carmel's heretofore naive view of her best friend and 
trusted confident took another shattering blow. For Cylvia raised her 
dress yet higher, so that now it was bunched around her waist - and 
that she wasn't wearing any panties! Cylvia Oliss was naked from the 
waist down, and was brazenly spreading her logs still wider, exposing 
her moist, blonde-haired cunt to Lonnie's wild-eyed vision.

Lonnie was speechless. Never had she been a part of such abandonment of 
modesty. She'd seen other girls in the nude, of course; had taken 
showers and been at slumber parties and changed into bathing suits with 
no thought that their - and her - private parts were in display. But 
there had been good taste then, and not a flaunting of genitals with 
overtones of sex so apparent. Here, now, her best friend was shameless 
and openly admitting her unfulfilled needs, her most decadent of 
practices. Lonnie was always ashamed of having to use her own hands to 
relieve the hunger of her sex drive - and never had the thought 
occurred to her to use any stimulus, such as pictures or stories, 
either alone or with Roger! And whenever she did conjure up images 
during the billowing heat waves of her arousal, it was always of Roger 
....

"God, all I can think of is my cunt being kissed," Cylvia groaned. She 
parted her thighs and rotated her bare thighs on the couch, her one 
hand moving up and down, encircling the lovely curls and swollen red 
valley of her vaginal lips, while her other hand was still around 
Lonnie's shoulder, preventing her friend from leaving the couch. "Just 
like those girls are doing to each other ... see, Lonnie? Their kisses, 
their tongues, their finger-fucking each other. Ooohhhhh ..."

Lonnie tried to avert her eyes from the licentious sight of Cylvia 
undulating her loins and agitating her throbbing cunt, but her gaze 
only returned to the lusty pictures and the twin females of perversion. 
She swallowed hard, her throat dry, her stomach a thousand butterflies. 
She looked back at her friend and was drawn once more to Cylvia's soft 
pubic triangle, for there was a strange attraction for the woman's hair 
and flesh which made Lonnie cringe and want to pull away and yet lean 
closer at the same time.

"Ahhhh," Cylvia moaned uncontrollably. "Ahhh, it feed so good ..."

The Oliss woman revolved her fingers in the lust-moistened furrow of 
her pussy now, her legs bent slightly to allow her hand full access as 
she hungrily managed her cuntal slit. The flesh grew redder with 
excitement, and she breathed harder and harder, her breasts rising and 
falling rapidly. She leaned her head against Lonnie's rigid shoulder 
and clenched her teeth. "Uuhhhh," she sighed through her mouth.

"Stop it," Lonnie pleaded. "Please ... please stop it."

"Why? I'm only doing what I enjoy. We're friends, Lonnie. We understand 
one another, and we both know we masturbate."

Her moist, glistening vagina was splayed wide for Lonnie's view, and 
the shocked young wife could smell its perfumed female secretions. As 
much as she wanted Cylvia to stop, she was too close in spirit and 
desires to the Oliss woman to be anything but a sympathetic and 
empathetic comrade. Tears of frustration and indecision clouded her 
lids - and there was her own deep wetness building between her inner 
thighs. With a terrified Jolt, Lonnie realized that her own hips were 
unconsciously starting to grind with helpless excitement, and that her 
breasts and vagina were actually hurting in response to Cylvia's 
immoral teasing of her own loins.

Cylvia Oliss wasn't quite as thoroughly out of rational control as she 
was making her hapless woman companion believed. She loved what she was 
doing - had always reveled in displaying her full, curvaceous body in 
lewd and debauched ways in front of others - but in spite of the 
ebullient sensations running rampant through her, one sane portion of 
her brain kept a close watch on the reactions of her friend, and with 
the sureness born of experience and cunning, she dropped her hand from 
Lonnie's shoulder and cupped one of the large, round globes of Roger 
Carmel's wife. Lonnie shuddered at the alien feel and bit her lower lip 
hard, and for a moment tried to pull away. But the aching wretchedness 
inside her spread like wild-fire at the soft touch, draining her of the 
will to resist. She dropped the booklet on the table with a groan; it 
stayed open to the evil photo of the two Scandinavian girls frozen in 
their passionate soixante-neuf position. Cylvia waited until Lonnie had 
capitulated to the fingers, then she moved her arm and edged up inside 
Lonnie's thin sweater until once more the hardening flesh and budding 
nipple of the woman's breast was teased. And all the while she 
continued to fondle her clitoris and vagina with abandonment.

Cylvia Oliss mewled again as she slid the bra up over the quivering 
mounds of Lonnie Carmel's breasts, and could hardly restrain herself 
from ripping off the sweater then and there so she could drink in the 
loveliness of her friend's full twin mounds. She knew instinctively 
that they'd be beautiful - almost as magnificent to touch and kiss and 
view as a man's erected penis. She loved men, was a hedonist when it 
came to their bodies and genitals, but there were times when the creamy 
skin and velvety sweetness of another woman was a pleasant variation. 
Especially of a woman like Lonnie Carmel, who had to be awakened to the 
full, until now hidden depths of her sexuality. It made it all the more 
exciting this way.

Lonnie shuddered and almost wept with the tensions which tore through 
her soul. Cylvia's hand was massaging her breasts - first one, and 
then the other - into concrete hardness, and she could feel her breath 
coming in short, labored gasps as she twisted against the cushions and 
attempted to regain her control and put out the fire that was engulfing 
her loins unmercifully. Her eyes glazed as she looked at the passion-
inciting pictures spread in front of her and then at the lascivious 
manipulations of her friend's cunt beside her. She heard the lewd and 
lust-enticing entreaties which Cylvia was now murmuring in her ear - 
words which she hadn't heard since high school and that were now 
suddenly exciting as they'd not been then. The trembling, scared 
housewife pressed her thighs together, pushing her fists into the base 
of her stomach in one last determined effort to overcome the passions 
seething inside the cauldron of her body. In her sex and alcohol 
drugged mind, she knew that she would soon not have any strength to 
fight off the lust that was tugging at the very core of her quivering 
being. And she was deathly terrified of the consequences ...

Yes; what would be the consequences? What would she do if she was 
driven to the point where she had to have release? And why was her 
friend, her very best friend doing this to her? Why was she being 
driven out of her mind by the twin devils of Cylvia's unrestrained 
actions and her inner inabilities to control the heathen arousals?

And then Cylvia let her fingers slowly worm their way down the rippling 
flesh of Lonnie's stomach and over her skirt to her bare legs. The 
women stroked the upper leg, and tickled the soft flesh of her inner 
thighs and Lonnie felt her muscles responding with tiny, excited 
spasms. She desperately tried to wrench herself from the binding forces 
of her nature, and then as more tantalizing sensations crawled through 
her belly and swelled her breasts, she found it almost impossible just 
to sit still.

"No ..." she breathed heavily. "You mustn't, Cylvia ... you mustn't." 
But Cylvia was all but insensate form the delirium of her whipping 
masturbations and the goading of the lovely woman beside her. She 
wouldn't have stopped for anything, especially for the ever-weakening 
pleas of the wife she planned to degradate in every way imaginable. 
This .was only the first course ... the main meal was yet to be eaten; 
the thought alone made Cylvia tighten her fingers around Lonnie's 
unconsciously parting legs.

"Please, Cylvia ..." Lonnie was now desperately fighting herself as 
much as the other woman. "It isn't right. We're two women. It isn't 
natural."

"Pleasure is the only thing natural," Cylvia replied thickly. 
"Everything else are artificial restraints. Or don't you like what I'm 
doing? Tell me you are sick, repulsed, can't bear to see me ever again. 
Go on, if you're able. Tell me."

Lonnie couldn't say a word, her voice caught in her throat.

"I thought so. You like it as much as I do, and your cunt's so hot 
right now that you can't stand it." She grazed the soft material of 
Lonnie's nylon panties and ran a finger along the secretion band, 
feeling the soft down and rounded protuberance of the woman's vaginal 
lips. She slid her finger up and down the silken cloth, much in the 
same manner as she was fingering her own salacious, carnivorous pussy. 
"You like me rubbing your wet cunt. I can tell it. I can feel the 
stains in your panties from your hot juices, and the way your sweet 
pussy lips are twitching. Just the same way they twitch when you 
finger fuck yourself when Roger's not around."

Lonnie's face grew crimson red. It's true, she thought in utter 
mortification. Too damned true. Miserably she trembled with the ecstasy 
from Cylvia's rubbings realizing what this admission meant. All her 
body would be putty in her friend's perverse hands, to be manipulated 
by the lewd whims of the woman. She shivered violently and tears ran 
down unhampered, falling on her wrinkled sweater, but the sensations 
pervaded deeper and deeper, and now she was writhing on the cushions, 
her body becoming more abandoned and out of control, and slowly she 
turned her face toward the head of Cylvia, who was still leaning on her 
near shoulder. She opened her mouth so that she could breathe better, 
and tasted the satin skin of her friend's cheek, and sweet desire 
rippled through her. The sane revulsion of being made love to by 
another woman became the emotional turmoil of unrequited lust, and 
nothing else. A thrilling desire to be released from the burning embers 
of sexual stimulation, to be brought to the crest of completion and 
know surcease from to torture wracking her genitals and inner womb 
flooded her tormented body.

Cylvia Oliss smiled triumphantly to herself and kissed Lonnie's small, 
curvaceous ear tenderly. She sensed that from now on she could do 
anything she wanted to, and she vowed that for the rest of the time 
until they went to Club Royale she'd make