Chapter 6
The silence in the Cochran apartment was painful and unrelenting for two awkward weeks.
Julia knew Vivien was studying her husband and her daughter whenever they were together in the same room. This rarely occurred, but when it did, there was no sign of anything except high tension between the two-no evidence of guilt or of intimacy.
Each time she looked at her mother, all Julia could see was the way she and Sherman Wilson had made love. It was impossible to look at her mother's lips and not visualize them clamped in a suck-vise around the man's horny cock flesh, frenzied for his cum flood to go racing down her throat.
Whenever she looked at her father she remembered how passionate he had been with her in her bedroom and bath that day-and then how totally he had severed all communications since. Her guilt piled on top of more guilt inside her at the first of his shunning. Then the guilt turned to a barely controlled rage.
"Flake out, Daddy," she muttered to herself whenever she saw him. What they had done together was against all she had been taught, but he had forced it, hadn't he? And anyway, it was between them, and who had been hurt? No one. Even if they never touched each other again, it could have been a fun memory, very personal and private-even a little beautiful. But Bart Cochran apparently had turned it into a dirty thing and somehow wanted it to be the trigger for a new separation from his daughter.
In spite of her determination to forget the whole crazy caper, Julia found herself remembering almost constantly as she made her rounds through the honeymooners' cottages. As she removed wildly tumbled sheets from king-size beds and saw the signs of sex play in one lodge after another, she began to feel a new mood toward the resort's newly wed guests.
What happened in these honeymoon bedrooms would probably decide whether the marriage was a beginning of two lives together, or a bust before it ever got started-like the bust of the marriage of her own father and mother. Julia was certain now that their separation had come because of some sexual rift between them, probably very early in their married life. Possibly even on their honeymoon.
She was mulling these thoughts as she stopped her housekeeping cart at the porch of Maple Lodge and hurried up the steps to the door. The couple in Maple for this week were always out when she arrived for cleaning, but Julia knocked anyway. There was no answer, and she hurriedly inserted, her key into the lock to get on with the last stop of her morning rounds.
"Oh, excuse me!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the female crumpled on the fuck rug in front of the fireplace.
"It's all right. You can come in," the voice called out as Julia turned to leave. "Everyone can come in!"
The sound of borderline hysteria in the tone stopped Julia's retreat and she turned to face the woman on the floor. "I can come back after lunch," she suggested.
Dark hair shook violently and a red-eyed bride stood from the rug and stared at Julia. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Julia." She was conscious of an intense scanning of her figure as the woman the cottage cleaning assignment card indicated was a Mrs. George Fields stepped close and stared into her face.
"I'm Camille. You don't look the chambermaid type." Her voice was tremulous again. Julia thought privately that the speaker looked very much the bride type. She was extremely pretty with cameo-ivory skin and a sleekly proportioned figure, most of which was visible through a light-blue negligee. Julia guessed their ages were the same.
"Thank you," Julia replied. "I don't plan to be for very long. I go on a new job next week as lifeguard at the pool. I'm going into motel management for a career," she added, turning from Camille's scrutiny and walking into the bedroom. She began removing the bed sheets.
"Can you imagine two beds on a honeymoon?" queried the tense woman at the bedroom door.
Julia paused a moment, then rolled the sheets into a bundle and tossed them toward the door. "I'm sorry you're not happy," she said as she stepped into the johnny to collect towels and bath mat for replacing.
As she went to and fro to her cart for fresh linen and clean wastebasket liners, a replacement ash tray for one that was broken, Julia felt the eyes following her. All the time she worked, she felt Camille on the verge of speaking, but not until she was almost finished with the clean-up was the silence broken.
"I need help, Julia," Camille said, moving to stand directly before the blonde. "George and me ... we're married five days now and ... and..." fresh tears showed. "We can't get our love life even started."
Her hands reached to grip Julia's. "Please! You can help us."
Julia's eyes widened in surprise at the girl's directness. "But I'm not married," she protested. "What do I know?"
"A lot more than either one of us! I'm sure..." Camille's lower lip was trembling with uncertainty now. "George and I ... we're both so innocent. We're from very strict families who never ever let us be alone till we were married."
"Not even when you were engaged?" Julia showed the disbelief she felt. Her thoughts spun back to the madness in another honeymooner's lodge three weeks before. That time it was a man who trapped her for his little show, but it was his wife who forced Julia with the blackmail of accusing her of stealing. She wondered if this Camille could be setting her up for a repeat with a new twist.
"You don't believe me." Camille's tone was flat and resigned. "I don't blame you. I'm sorry I brought up my personal problems." She turned from blocking Julia's exit and it was the sight of the slump-shouldered defeat in the girl that decided it.
"Tell me about it," Julia suggested, suddenly feeling years older than the obviously bewildered Camille. She followed the girl toward the great stone fireplace and they sat facing each other, Camille on the redwood lounge chair and Julia on the love seat.
"We're from the Midwest, and our parents are both dropouts from a terribly strict sect, the Mennish. Have you heard of them?"
Julia shook her head. "I don't believe so."
"They leave it to the Lord to do almost everything, including teach their kids anything about sex. Sex is taboo till marriage. No kind of sex education. We're never allowed out with the opposite sex alone."
"How awful!" breathed Julia.
"Worse!" Camille burst out. "We're here, supposedly man and wife and able to do anything now." The teardrop slithered across the delicate curve of her cheek. "Neither of us has the courage to make the first move. We need someone to show us the way. like you!"
Julia sat quietly for a minute before she replied. She was sure by the total innocence in the girl's expression that this was no cute stunt invented by a bored bride. Camille was obviously desperate. So,-likely, was her George.
"Doesn't he even get bothered around you?" Julia asked incredulously. The figure across from her was a cuddly, desirable female and even Julia felt the sexuality of her body.
"Ummm. He gets bothered, all right. His ... his thing sticks up a mile most of the time when we're near each other. Shoving against his pants, pushing against his pajamas. But the one thing my mother told me is that the wife never makes moves for affection. It's the husband's right only."
"And you believe that?"
"No, but I'm afraid George might, and if I make the first move, it could spoil our whole lives."
"George sounds sick!" exploded Julia.
For a moment sparks of anger danced in Camille's eyes and her lips flew open as she started to speak. Then she caught herself and a tiny smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. "He is ... but only a little. I know he's sick out of his mind for wanting and he's like me ... afraid he might spoil everything by doing it wrong."
"So where do I come in?"
"Maybe you can be the trigger to make him explode," Camille replied and by the matter-of-fact way she said it, Julia knew a plan had been on the girl's mind even before she walked into Maple Lodge on her cleaning rounds.
"Trigger?"
"Yes." Camille's face showed more confidence now. "You know, your cart squeaks."
Julia struggled to make sense of that comment. "So?"
"That's how I decided to take a chance on speaking to you. You see, George has just had to have some way to relieve himself." She sighed. "At least I know about boys masturbating. So he'd go into the bathroom a couple of times a night when he thought I was asleep and I'd listen at the door. Do all men groan like that when it happens to them?"
It was hard for Julia to keep from laughing outright at the naivete of the girl, knowing that her own sex know-how was what three kooky males had done to her. She found herself nodding knowledgeably in answer to Camille's question about male orgasm sounds, and even as she did, she felt herself drawn further and further into George and Camille's love dilemma-and another dilemma of her own. Somehow it seemed to her that a marriage's life-or-death drama hung on her getting involved. She wondered if, years ago, her own mother and father might have been caught up in this kind of a sexual stand-off.
"The third morning we were here," she heard Camille saying, "things changed. I was pretending to be asleep when George slipped out of bed-only this time he went to the living room instead of the bathroom. Just then I heard your squeaky cart coming down the path."
Julia flushed. "I keep asking the custodian to oil the wheels, but he said it's not a bad idea to wake the guests up by nine anyway."
"Well, you sure woke George up!" The words spurted from Camille's lips. "I tiptoed to the living room entry-and about died. My husband was standing right at the window, behind the drape, pulling like a madman at his swollen penis while he stared at you."
This time Julia's flush became a crimson blush. "I ... I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be." Camille was strangely earnest.
"Would you believe that's the first time I ever have seen my man, or any man, all aroused and ready? I wanted to scream and rush in and beg him to put it in me, but I didn't dare. Not with my training."
"Did he ... I mean did George...? " Julia was instantly sorry her curiosity had started the question and Camille's smile seemed somehow challenging as she nodded.
"Yes, he did. He shot this gorgeous waterfall all over the place. Come here." She led Julia to the window drape and pointed to the signs of streaking. "All the time it was shooting out of him, he kept gasping, 'Camille! Camille!' "
Impulsively, Julia reached to clasp the hand of the girl at her side. "What can I do to help?"
Camille waited a long moment before she spoke, then, taking a deep breath, she looked Julia directly in the eye. "Do you mind risking your reputation with my George?"
Julia shook her head. "We probably won't see each other again anyway."
"Then come over for a drink tonight and help me. I mean," and this time her look seemed to go straight through Julia, "I mean, on purpose, get George like he was, and then seduce him right in front of me."
Julia gasped. It was out in the open, and what Camille meant by "trigger" was plain. Julia's thoughts spilled crazily-what mad world had she walked into when she came home from St. Mary's? All her standards for personal morality had been challenged, but every other time she had been forced-with Kurt, with Mr. Wilson, and even with her father. But this! This would be a decision she herself would have to make. This luscious girl, who should be able to handle herself with any man, was begging her for help-help that might save her marriage.
"You don't really mean seduce," she protested.
"Do you know what that means?"
Camille nodded eagerly. "All the way." Both her hands gripped Julia's now, and her eyes were dark circles of need. "I want you to take George out of control and when he starts getting to ... you know, where he can't help himself ... I'll take over."
"But why?" Julia asked. This girl just wasn't for real!
There was a cat-like quality in Camille's eyes. "I know what I'm doing. See, he's going to go nuts when he's all aroused by you and right when he's where he can't stop, well ... you know ... can't you invent some way to force him to go wild for me?"
All Julia could do was to stare open-mouthed. "Please!" begged Camille. "I know it will be hard, but it will really make things start for us."
At nine that night Julia tapped uncertainly at the front door of Maple Lodge and for a panicky second she half-turned on her heel to dash for safety. Just then the door swung open and a handsome, sober-faced man looked out at
"You must be Julia Cochran," he said. "Come in. Camille told me you might come by." He was very serious and his eyes never wandered below her neck as he spoke. When they did, Mr. George Fields was in for a sight, Julia told herself as she walked with him toward the nearly darkened fireplace sitting area. Only a low glow of the embers of burnt logs gave any light.
"You look so nice, Julia," enthused Camille, rising from her chair and coming to greet her.
Apparently puzzled, George tried to maneuver Julia to the chair his wife had been using, but Julia dropped to the intimate love seat and Camille returned to her own former seat, leaving George forced to be next to Julia on the small couch.
"What will you have, Julia?" George asked, standing nervously at her side and trying manfully to play the debonair man-for-all-seasons. It was when she turned to look up at her host that Julia saw the first sign of restless eyes moving to her flesh-snug bodice. She had chosen the costume carefully-a micro-mini, hot-pants ensemble of skin-tight gold lame. In the half-light she knew she appeared nearly nude. The cutouts of her peek-a-boo bra permitted her animated nipples to poke visibly against the cloth. For one last brief, fearful second, as she saw the glitter in George's eyes, Julia wondered if she was there to give help or because she wanted to help herself. Had she really slipped so far?
"I'd like whatever you're having," she answered, looking over at Camille's glass and catching the rl's quick wink. "You look good enough to eat," he said to George's wife.
"I found it in the dress shop at the main lodge," Camille replied, standing to model the hostess gown. She twirled to display the fullness of the skirt and the gown spun open at the side from ankle to hip, leaving no doubt that she was nude beneath the crimson satin.
When George returned from the kitchen alcove, the manner in which he slid awkwardly to the love seat next to Julia told her the campaign was successfully under way. Even in the poor light, the tenting against his trousers was impossible for George to conceal.
An hour later the host was making little or no effort to conceal the arousal. It was plain that he was accustomed to one drink maximum, and that the nearness of Julia and the difference in his bride had driven him beyond his level of personal control. Just enough beyond to ready him for Julia's move to inject a new note in a conversation that had till then been entirely small talk.
"Do you like the new styles, George?" she asked. "like Camille has on, and like this?" She stood quickly and turned slowly to force him to look at every angle.
"Sure do!" His syllables were only slightly slurred together, but it clued Julia that it was time to attack.
"I do, too," added Camille. "I'd love to see hot-pants everywhere, evening wear as well as day wear. Any place."
"A little informal for restaurant or nightclubbing," George interjected.
Camille giggled. "Whoever goes to night clubs back in Williston?" She looked mischievously at Julia. "Drinking and dancing, among other things, are no-no's back home, so we've got lots to learn at The Buccaneer. Please, George, let me see how you look trying to dance with Julia." She reached to the dial at the side of her table and soft music came gently from the concealed FM speakers.
"That's old-fashioned stuff," groaned George when Julia, grabbing Camille's cue, pushed to her feet and turned to wait for her reluctant host to stand.
"It's what most of the guests like in their bedrooms," Julia answered, grabbing his hand. "Come on, show Camille how you look with me."
George seemed to be in agony as he rose to his feet and moved hesitantly to take Julia in his arms. He had fiddled his hard-on out of his jockeys to give the shaft less painful pressure along the inseam of his pants, and now, as he stood, Julia could see the thick bone shoving eagerly against the fabric leg. When she stepped into his arms, Julia deliberately pressed her front close to his and heard the barely concealed gasp as her breasts mashed his chest.
Evidently desperate to conceal the trembling which seized his whole frame, George drew her close and moved one step, then another, to the muted music. Julia couldn't suppress an inner quiver as she felt the pressure of his throbbing cock against her middle thigh. No wonder Camille was desperate, if she had seen this monster bared even once and yet never had it.
The situation called for direct shock and pure shamelessness for a wild few minutes, and then, Julia knew, she must run-run madly. She failed to conceal an open shudder.
"See," mocked the brittle-voiced bridegroom, "she's even cold in that outfit."
"But you're not," Julia whispered in his ear. "You're hot!"
"You're both beautiful," said Camille. As George turned Julia, she caught sight of crossed fingers as Camille sat watching. It was the turning point. Whatever George thought of her didn't matter, if she could really set him on fire for his bride.
"I like the old way of dancing," she murmured, molding herself even more tightly to George and now slipping her leg between his thighs as he tried to lead her.
"It makes you feel like you're really one person ... like one body, you know," she went on. She could hear a deep, strangled sound in George's throat as she boldly ground his protruding length between their thighs at each step. Unseen to him, Julia's hand slipped to her side zipper and found the safety. She forced her other hand quickly between their bodies and before he could react, she grasped his fly zipper and was pulling it downward. Her zipper and his.
"Ohmigosh!" he exclaimed. It was obvious that George Fields of Williston, Iowa, felt that this couldn't happen to him. Right before his wife's eyes a total stranger had exposed his animal nature. She was naked except for the wild brassiere. Naked and moving straight back to his arms again.
"Nun ... no!" he croaked when suddenly he found a shred of voice. He tried to push against Julia, and her strength was incredible as she held him.
Now she rubbed her naked tummy against his manhood, grinding a hot rhythm and doing it right in front of Camille. She knew violent needs were surging through the man and for all the later explaining it was going to take, the evidence of his lust was standing out all over him.
Her hand shot quickly into the momentary gapping at their bodies and she shoved the firebrand cock viciously past her pubic mound and trapped it between her thighs. For a second she remembered the wildness in Kurt that day when he did this very thing to her as she lay on the floor of his office.
"Got to! I've got to!" she cried, and her pretended need for the man became sudden savage reality as she twisted to look for some sign from the watching bride. An entranced smile was on Camille's lips and when she caught Julia's panicked look, she nodded an excited, "GO AHEAD!"
"Please, no!" choked a now obviously helpless George, as Julia ground her thighs together against his trapped cock.
"Let me taste!" she panted, dropping abruptly to her knees before him and grabbing the jutting erection with both hands. Fleetingly her thoughts were back at Sherman Wilson's apartment, and she was watching her mother take Wilson's organ this way.
"So big, Camille! He must make you happy ten times a day!" She looked tauntingly up George's front and directly into his hypnotized eyes. "How often, George?"
George was past answering. He gawked as she leaned forward and planted a moist, full-mouthed kiss directly at the tip of his prick. "Ummm, Camille, hurry!" Julia called.
The obviously dazed and cock-crazed bride slipped to Julia's side.
"Have you tasted this lollypop?" panted Julia, grabbing one of Camille's hands and guiding it to join hers in gripping the pulsing shaft. She didn't need an answer. She leaned again to demonstrate. "like nothing you'll ever find anywhere else," she panted. "Let's make it a two-way trip! Follow the leader and get him ready first."
Both girls concentrated their assault on opposite sides of George's flesh. While Julia licked juicily along the lower half of the shaft, nuzzling boldly into loaded testicles, Camille brushed light kisses across the dark, thick cone of the cock crown.
"Now!" cried Julia as the effect of then-two-way attack drove George helplessly to his knees on the thick fuck rug. He was staring in a near-hypnotic trance when Julia glanced at his face. Then she saw the line of his stare was over her shoulder and she twisted to look. In shifting positions, Camille had rid herself of her full-length hostess satin and now she was an inflaming nude voluptuary.
"Show me!" Camille demanded of Julia. Her own appearance was only slightly less trance-like than her husband's and Julia knew she should at this moment leave the two and let the inevitable happen. Her job was done. She had brought them together.
It was the appeal in Camille's eyes and the magnificent magnet scant inches from her lips that made leaving impossible. "like this!" Julia panted, leaning forward. "We each suck two times and go round and round till he shoots one of us with his honey!" She waggled the perpendicular bone devilishly. "Whoever gets his cum in her mouth, the other gets him between her legs."
An inarticulate groan sounded from their prisoner, who obviously now had no interest in escaping. The two took turns at the double siphoning and each time it was Julia's turn, she used her tongue in fierce attack along the broad underside of the prick cap. She had to win his ejaculation in fellatio, or her whole scheme would collapse!
"Ohhh ... noooo!" George groaned when his climax nearly took him on Camille's second sucking.
Too close! Julia snatched the horny muscle from the enchanted girl's fingers and paused just before her third assault. It needed one last push-a touch of sin to make the man fire his load into her.
"See what I'm doing to your husband, Camille. Come close this time and watch!" Julia circled the girl's naked waist and dragged her forcibly against her body. Then, pressing her cheek against the side of the startled bride's face, she cried happily. "See this beautiful prick? It's going to cram its way into your pretty love nest in just a few minutes and make you both crazy-happy!"
Pausing dramatically, she brushed the tip of the frenzied male organ across Camille's lips and over to the curve of her own chin. "I'm going to take your man's honey right down my throat, and don't you dare try to stop me!"
Her ruby lips ovaled to their widest, and Julia took the inflamed cap and several inches of the rigid shaft. An instant later George moaned as he wilted back against the rug and let his ejaculation charge freely into her mouth.
For long, totally silent seconds after the volcano of his love-lava charged, George lay completely motionless. Only his unrelenting erection quivered in undiminished readiness. "My God! My God, what have I done?" he groaned suddenly, turning to look into his bride's face. Camille bent across his chest and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You did what you had to do, George," she murmured.
"But, baby, it's you! I need you!" he moaned, writhing in shame.
"Show me," she whispered, curling at his side and reaching for the pole still jutting fiercely at the air.
It was a seethingly beautiful symphony of delectable female flesh blended with the hard urgency of male muscle power. As Julia watched, intrigued, George's hardest muscle drove deeply into Camille's love cleft. The instant he pierced her, the two were locked in totally unhinged orgasm. There seemed no stopping the mutual climax. The pulsations slowed and in two pistoning thrusts from her man, Camille was screaming in new joy. To remain would be an intrusion, and Julia groped in the half-light for her gold lame.
Alone in her bed half-an-hour later, she relived what she had done. A guilty needling came and went from her thoughts. She had helped a girl and a boy in deep trouble in the first days of their marriage, and the things she had done, Camille had begged her to do.
Julia knew only a threat had kept her from claiming all of that man's meat for herself. With only the barest imagination she could have turned George's lust to fix on her.
Her guilt feelings intensified. She was converting from a girl who knew right from wrong to a man-hungry nympho! She knew something had to give. There must be some way to know peace and fulfillment without the extremes this last month had thrust at her.
She took some consolation in the fact that within the week she was to be transferred from chambermaid status and moved to lifeguard-a far safer place for anyone in her state of mind, she was sure.
Down the hall, Julia's mother stirred restlessly on her bed. She had been wakeful, wondering where her daughter was, when she heard the apartment door open, then close softly, announcing Julia's return. She listened intently to the distant sounds of her getting ready for bed, and then it was quiet. For a month Vivien had quietly bided her time for the inevitable confrontation with her daughter. If Julia showed contempt for her father, it was also the clear feeling Vivien had whenever her daughter's eyes met hers. It was a total puzzle. Ever since she had seen Julia dash from Sherman's apartment, overwhelmed with the surrender of her honor, the mother had expected to see some sign of remorse or shame in her. But there had been none. On the contrary, as the days had moved along there had been a growing arrogance in Julia, a snappishness whenever she was spoken to.
"She's covering up," Vivien told herself, remembering the way it was the first time she went to bed with a man who wasn't her husband. But it wasn't the answer, and she knew it. There should have been a backlash in one so sensitive as Julia ... unless she was changing radically. Bewildered, Vivien drifted slowly to a restless sleep.