Chapter 10

"WELL?" CARL SAID, PUTTING DOWN HIS newspaper suddenly surveying his pretty, ready-for-bed wife where she sat in the chair adjoining, catching up on some neglected sewing, of all things. "What do you think?"

"Think, darling?" she smiled puzzledly. "What do I think about what?"

"About the life? About the way things have been going the past six months. Are you sorry we ever got our feet wet? Seems to me there's been precious little time for us to talk lately."

Millicent smiled archly. "You can say that again." Glints of lechery shone in her eyes. "But then there's been precious little need to talk of late, wouldn't you say? We can talk about it when we're old and gray. When there's not much else we can do."

"Be serious, will you? I mean it. Christmas is coming up. Then there'll be that New Year's Eve brawl at the mansion. Time to take stock, I should think. Are we going to continue swinging? Or do we bow out?"

"Well," Millicent hedged. "How do you feel about it? Is this your way of telling me you want to quit?"

"I asked first, Millie. How about it? Regrets? Misgivings?"

She became very pensive. "I suppose, dear. There's always bound to be some of that. After all, when you're brought up in a society that's drummed 'Sex is sinful' into you all your life, how else are you supposed to feel? I have my quiet moments, when I wonder if we're doing the right thing, when I wonder if one of these days the whole thing isn't going to backfire on us. Either physically or spiritually. I worry about getting caught. Then I worry about our marriage being undermined. In some secret way. Quietly, gradually. Without either of us realizing it's happening."

It was Carl's turn to sigh. "Thank you, honey. I'm glad you said that. I've been bothered by the same kind of doubts. During quiet moments at the office. I get to worrying about business, remembering the deals I've augured because I was rundown after a night of balling, because my mind was on other, much more volatile things."

"Are things bad at the plant, darling?" Millicent was instantly concerned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I haven't been thinking. Only about ... Is there trouble, Carl?

"No, not really. At least nothing that wouldn't happen anyway. It might have even been worse. Say I'd been whoring around on the side ... cheating on you. That could've been even more complicated, more draining. I'm going to have to buckle down more next year, mend some fences. But it's nothing that tragic, nothing that can't be fixed."

Millicent's expression became bleak. "Do you still think about that sometimes, Carl? The fact that you actually wanted another woman? That you weren't going to tell me, that you intended to cheat on me?"

"Now and then. It's those times that I'm grateful for the life, for our new friends. If it wasn't for them..." He rose, squeezed into Millicent's chair with her, took her in his arms. "God, what a ghastly mistake that would have been! That's one thing I've learned, baby. I do love you. I'd be nowhere without you; I'd be nothing."

"And I love you, Carl." Her voice became moony. "Oh, God, this is good, isn't it? To just be together? To talk ... Really talk ... to each other. And yet..."

"What, honey?"

"In the long run ... I realize it myself now ... it wouldn't be enough. I can see now why I was so dissatisfied and empty-feeling at times. I needed this other. Along with my marriage to you. I'm honestly beginning to believe that it's impossible for one man and one woman to make it without something extra." She gestured vaguely toward the door. "Out there. No one man, no one woman can be all things to his partner. God, if only everyone realized that. Before it's too late. I actually wonder how many marriages would be saved if more people engaged in switching. I feel so sorry for those squares. I was talking to Jane Crossman the other day, and the topic of swapping came up. You know that poor boob won't believe it's actually going on? She thinks it's something these writers have made up out of whole cloth, product of an over-active imagination."

"I know. I've got some guys at work like that."

"Crazy."

"I think that's what's wrong with marriage today. Even as fantastically intimate and close as husbands and wives are, they never, in their whole lives, are totally honest with each other. They never once tell each other what they really think about sex, about their marriage."

"That is sad," Millicent said in a shattery voice. "When you put it just like that."

"For instance: the fact that I dearly love to suck you. Not for my account, not for the fact that it's going to make our eventual screw better ... though, God knows, it certainly does ... but for you, because it gives you pleasure, I actually love to do it for you. I love the act, the taste, the smell ... the ultimate intimacy of it. Now, how many husbands do you know who'd admit a thing like that to their wives? They'd be afraid to. They'd fear losing face, revealing themselves as some sort of pervert."

"That's right, Carl. Swapping has saved our marriage. Maybe there'll come the time when we outgrow it, when we can go it alone. But for now ... I'm not about ready to quit. Are you?"

"I'm glad you said that, honey. No, I'm not ready to quit yet, either. I still think it's the greatest."

"And the most wonderful dividend ... beyond the sex factor that most people believe's foremost in swapping ... is this very honest. We really say what we think; we strip away all the pretence, all the prissy veneer a lifetime of hypocrisy's smothered us with. For example..."

She paused. "Yes, Millie?" Carl prompted.

"That domination thing I've got hot on lately. You know, when I want you to bully me, make me mind? I guess that's always been there. Hidden away in the clutter of other sex desires. Only I was never able to let it out for fear that you'd think I was perverted, some kind of a nut or something. like you said, Carl: I was afraid to lose face ... the upper hand in our marriage. And God damn it, anyway, who needs it? What is this me-first thing in marriage? When in hell are husbands and wives going to wake up? Not until it's too late, probably. Then they'll spend the rest of their lives in some sterile, non-communicating way. Up-tight forever. Walking zombies. And they call that a marriage?"

She squirmed in his arms, worked her unbound breasts against him. "Wooh, baby! I'd better get a soap box. Just talking like this has got me all hot. Do you suppose we could ... sneak in an extra? In the bedroom, doll. We'll shower together, get all clean. And then..."A monumental spasm ripped her. "Do you suppose, baby ... Would you? You know ... bully me? Make me do all sorts of dirty things? Oh, I love it so much when you do!"

She squirmed more feverishly. "Christ! My crack's running like Niagara Falls. Just from thinking..." Her hand dove between Carl's legs, closed on his cock. "You too, darling? Oh come on! This'll be a screw to end all screws!"

Perhaps a half-hour later, fresh from the shower, Millicent having playfully splashed Carl's face and chest, his scrotum even, with some of her perfume, they were in their murkily-lit bedroom. The door locked, the bedside radio playing softly by way of camouflage, they kissed and embraced, worked up toward a blistering hump. Until now. abruptly, Millicent pulled away and her pupils dilated strangely, her mouth a pained grimace: "Carl, you promised."

"Do you really want me to? God, I feel like some kind of a brute ... a heel ... when I get that way."

She swirled his fingers in the syrupy drool forming on his peckerhead. "If I like it though, baby? If it all but makes me pop while I stand there? Please, Daddy-man!"

Carl felt his entrails jumble. "All right, baby. You asked for it." His tone changed strangely, became more commanding. "That's enough of that finger bit' now! With your lips, Millie. Go down on it. Clean if off."

Millicent knew her role well by now, and in charade of defiance, she pulled awav, coquettishly flaunted her charming derriere in his face. "No, I won't! What a nasty thing to ask. You can't make me!"

"Oh, can't I?" Carl lapsed further into his mean role. "We'll see about that." Whereupon he leaped up from the bed, and his prick flopping wildly, pursued his naked wife about the bedroom, finally catching her, forcing her face down over his knees.

"Don't you dare," she invited the punishment. "Don't you dare hit me."

Whereupon Carl commenced to spank her plump, inviting bottom. Playfully at first. But then, as sadism mounted in him, as he saw how lasciviously Millicent writhed, how she was so obviously enjoying his spankings, he began to slap harder. Her stifled hisses of pain very quickly became sighs of delight. "Now, you little bitch," he snarled, when her ivory bottom was an angry red tone, when her cunt writhed lubricously against his legs, "are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to mind?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said, lapsing into a simpering affectation. "I'll be good. I'll mind you."

He pushed her away. "All right then. Do as you're told. Come and suck me clean. My legs too. Look how you've got me all messed up. Your juice as well as mine."

At which Millicent shuddered delightedly, slid away, knelt on the floor before him. Still she waited.

"Well?" he snapped, the exquisite sense of power mounting.

"The words, Carl," she winced. "You know how I like it."

The words then. "Get up here, you slut," he snapped, yanking her hair. "Come and lick my prick. Get the head all nice and clean. Suck that knob like you mean it." And as she began: "That's it. Wrap that dirty, cocksucking mouth of yours around it. Suck like you meant it. And when you're through, you can lick away all the juice on my legs. Your cunt drip too."

He almost came then and there, the sensations conferred by his wife's mouth coupled as they were with the eagerness with which she complied, with the growing arrogance in his psyche. "Get up here on the bed," he snapped. "Get your ass around here. So I can play with your dirty cunt."

Immediately Millicent leaped to obey.

"Open up," he snapped. "Spread your legs. Let me at that hole of yours. Christ, is it juicy!" He inserted three fingers into her, swabbed away some of the overflow. "Here, dispose of this too, piggy." Dutifully Millicent sucked his fingers clean.

"My prick again. Get more up your dirty throat. I want to feel those tonsils bouncing on it." While she slavishly strained to take more of him in her mouth, he crassly buttered her ass-hole with her still-welling fluids, worked his finger in and out of her.

"Open my legs," he commanded. "Arrange me better on the bed. Now, lick my balls. Every time my prick starts to drop again, you lick it up."

His finger went freely in and out of her, dug deeper, ever deeper. "Yes," she hissed, "oh yes. Tell me! Tell me to do all sorts of filthy things. I love it ... love it!"

"Lick, damn you. Lick my balls.

"Take 'em into your mouth, pig. Do you hear? One at a time. Gentle, damn you. Roll 'em around."

He slapped her fanny viciously when she became too rough. "Easy, damn it! Enough now. Lick my ass-hole now.

"Lick, I said! Screw that tongue in there. Hold my balls while you do it. Good, huh?"

He slapped her again. "I said good, isn't it?"

"Yes," she slobbered. "Good, very good."

"Tastes just like candy, huh?"

"Yes, just like candy."

"More, damn it. More. Deeper."

Then he commanded her to lick away the mess on his thighs.

He commanded her to lick his legs, to run her tongue on his feet, between his toes.

"Stand up now. Hang those ugly tits of yours over me. Feed 'em to me. Both nipples at the same time." Her eyes demented, Millicent hurriedly complied.

"Spread your legs. So I can play with your pussy." And as she swiftlv did so: "How does that feel? Me pulling on you both places at once. Tell me, bitch!"

"It feels wonderful, darling. Your finger is so big and fat; it pinches me, reams me so beautifully. And your hot, curling tongue..."

"But not as good as my cock," he interrupted. "Not as long or as fat as my cock, is it?"

"No, not as good as your cock, not as good at all."

Then, inflamed himself, dissatisfied with his non-participant role: "Up here, now, you. Put that gash in my face. I want to lick it." When she dallied, not wanting him to, wanting this to be all her show, he taloned his fingers in her soupy crotch, pinched hard. "In my face, damn you!"

He forced her to straddle his head. He forced her to open her cunt with her own fingers, pressure her mons veneris so her clit popped forth. He forced her to open her cunt and endure it as he licked her to a grunting, animalistic climax.

Next he ordered her to stand, palms on the mattress, while he crowded behind her, worked his cock in the vale of her buttocks. He ordered her to spread her cheeks with her one hand, to slime up her anus with his copiously-drooling prick with her other. "When you think you're ready," he growled, truly in a bestial frenzy by then, "start easing it in with your own fingers. I'll see to the rest."

When he was finally harbored in that niggardly port, he refused her blubbering pleas that he empty his cannon in her there. Instead he used it as whetstone on which to friction his cutlass before slashing her up the front.

He commanded Millicent to roll onto her back now; he told her just how she must arrange her legs. Then he came into her, shot his torpedo home in a murderous, jarring flurry. Almost immediately, the by-then-sex-deranged female commenced to orgasm repeatedly.

She was up to eight, sobbing and gloating and exhorting obscenely, when Carl flung a wad into her that almost blew out the back end of her hole. They both growled and screamed; they both avowed that it was the best lay they'd had together in a long, long time.

like, say-last Sunday night?