Chapter 1

SOME WISE-ASS ONCE REMARKED THAT IF everybody were to hang their sex problems on a clothes line, side by side, and compare them, they might prefer to keep their own "dirty laundry." If the people in Glencove ever tried that, the line would have to be very flexible, indeed.

Take Pam and Jerry Carter, for instance. They are the newest members of this blissful suburban community. When they moved into their comfortable ranch home, they expected to deal with crabgrass, commuting, and other hazards that go to make up suburbia. But they could hardly foresee the depravity lurking beneath the surface of Glencove, nor suspect how quickly it could spread, once the veneer was scratched.

Let's look in on them on an average day.

Unaware of impending disaster, Pam is basting the roast she has prepared for dinner. With a nod of satisfaction, she returns it to the oven and turns down the temperature, then checks on her children, Jim and Sue, who are playing in the yard. They are only two years apart in age, but Jim, who is six, loves to lord it over Sue, who is a lowly four.

Not being equipped with eyes in the back of her head, (although the children often suspect differently), she neither sees nor hears Jerry sneaking up behind her, but he makes his presence felt by goosing her playfully ...

"Oh, Jerry, you idiot! I didn't hear you come in!"

"I know it," he grinned, putting his arm around her. "I just couldn't resist. You were such a tempting target, bending over like that. In fact, you look pretty good to me, period."

"Well, I hope I don't look too good, because I'm right in the midst of fixing supper. Besides, we're going to that dance tonight, remember?"

"Sure, but I can't wait that long."

"But, the kids, Jerry..."

"Oh, for God's sake! You'd think I was asking for the moon or something!" he exploded angrily. "Forget it then; it's not important, anyway."

Pam, not wanting to make an issue of it, gave in to him. "Oh, come on Jerry. After all, you have to eat the roast, and I guess the kids will be all right."

Immediately, his mood changed, and he was all smiles as he followed her into the bedroom. He sat on the bed to watch her disrobe. Even after eight years of marriage, he still got a charge out of watching his wife reveal her lovely body.

The housedress she wore had a long zipper up the front, and she stepped out of it quickly. The half-slip followed in short order, and she turned around for him to undo the hooks of her bra. He slid it off her shoulders and fondled her full, satiny breasts until she removed his hands so she could step out of her lacy panties. She knew they were living on borrowed time, but he was acting like they had all the time in the world.

Deftly, she turned down the covers and slid in. He was fully prepared for her, she saw, as his hand fumbled at his fly. Hoping to change the course of past performances, she tried to clasp him to her but, as usual, he pulled away.

"Pam, you know how I want it," he scolded.

Sighing, she took her place on top of him, impaled herself on his upright organ, and went to work. Just for once, she had dared to hope that this time might be different. This position made it impossible for her to enjoy herself, and she longed to feel that deep sense of satisfaction that comes only when the man makes love to the woman.

But she forced herself to assume the dominant role, putting as much strength and power behind her movements as possible. She worked herself up and down and around on his penis, while he lay there, nuzzling her nipples with his mouth.

The ritual seemed quite mechanical and meaningless to her as she gazed down at his handsome face. He was stuffing a titty in as far as he could, sucking greedily at it like a child. His long, curly lashes, which looked like they belonged on a girl, hooded his eyes from hereyes that looked so steely and unafraid.

Ever since they had been married, he had shown this tendency to prefer to be dominated. But at least, for a while, he had been willing to take turns. Then, after Jim had come along, he had gotten worse. He was like a child, really ... her child.

"Oh, yes, baby. That's the way I like it," he groaned, rising up to meet her and banging his pelvis into her crotch.

She sensed that his climax was near, and put the last of her ebbing strength into it.

"Mommy!" shouted a demanding voice from the kitchen.

Pam looked up sharply, then started to dismount.

Jerry tried to pull her back before the spell was broken. A few seconds more was all he needed.

But Pam slipped away, drew on a robe and went off to answer the call. It turned out to be the usual calamity: Jim had taken Sue's pail away from her. She settled their squabble and hurried back to the bedroom.

But the damage was done. Her abrupt withdrawal had negated all her efforts to satisfy her husband's craving. One look at Jerry's shriveled stalk told her exactly how he felt.

"Goddamn :t! Are those kids running our lives, or what? Every time we want a little privacy around here, they manage to gum up the works!"

Pam's eves flashed-a danger signal meaning that she was at the end of her rope. "Well, after all, Jerry, they don't do it on purpose, you know. If you didn't pick such odd times to get in the mood for sex, everything would be okay."

"Sure! That's right! I knew you'd figure out a way to put the blame on me. It's never the kids' fault. Oh, no!"

Pam didn't wait to hear any more. She left the room before they really got into it. She called the children in for dinner and sent Sue off to inform Jerry that it was ready.

They sat down to an overcooked meal, amid a silence so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Only the bickering of the children broke into the dead quiet, and for once their quarrels served a purpose.

Pam couldn't choke down much dinner, and was whisking plates from under their noses before they were quite finished with them. She attached the greasy dishes more vigorously than usual, while Jim and Sue took turns bathing. Jerry retired behind the newspaper, which he crackled briskly from time to time just to remind her of his presence.

Finally, the children were all tucked snugly away, and Pam took time out to shower, fix a drink, and dress, in that order. She was just applying the finishing touches of her make-up when the gang arrived, simultaneously with the baby-sitter.

The "gang" consisted of Bob and Bev Redding and Bert and Maggie Powers, their closest friends and neighbors. Jerry played the charming host, making drinks all around, while Pam mentally compared the girls measurements and other data so important to a woman's ego.

Bev looked striking tonight, she had to admit, with her long, golden tresses curving smoothly downward from a low side part. She was well-stacked, too. A perfect 36-24-36, if Pam was any judge.

And Maggie was definitely in the running, with her Latin-type beauty dark, flashing eyes, raven black hair-all that was needed to complete the picture was a rose between her teeth. Pam wondered idly if she was a spitfire in bed.

Well, she wasn't exactly a wallflower herself, she thought. And, after the hassle with Jerry, she was bound and determined to have a good time tonight, and the hell with the consequences.

"Come on, everybody; drink up. Let's have another one before we go to the dance," Jerry said. He started to get up, but she beat him to the punch.

"No you don't. I'll be the bartender this time. You made them too weak."

Bob must have sensed her devil-may-care attitude, for he followed closely on her heels. "I'll give her a hand," he excused himself to the room at large.

Pam handed him the ice bucket and tongs, smiling brightly as she uncapped the whiskey. "Not too much ice, now. We don't want to dilute it-"

She gasped as he pulled her close, almost dropping the bottle that was still clutched in her hand. Hei mouth had fallen open from surprise, and he took this opportunity to dart a questing tongue inside, searching for an answer.

When it came, he pulled her in closer and ran his hands along her body as though memorizing its lush contours. Pam was still buoyed up by her "anything goes" frame of mind, so she allowed herself to relax in the haven of his arms. For a split second, she ground her hips against his, causing an immediate rise in Bob's pants.

Then, before he decided to take her on the spot, she broke it off and returned to the business at hand. Bob's eyes widened when she tossed in three parts whiskey to one part mix. It was hard to say which was the most potent, Bob or the drink he was carrying, when they returned to the others.

Pam didn't notice the questioning glance that Bob received from Bev, but Jerry did. For a moment, it puzzled him, until ho remembered how much time had elapsed since they first went into the kitchen. Obviously, Bob and Bev were in cahoots. This might turn out to be an interesting evening after all, if he had read the signals right.

Pam insisted on everybody rising for a musketeer type of salute. "One for all, and all for one," she recited solemnly, before downing her drink in one gulp.

They all piled into Bert's car, which happened to be the last one in the driveway. The sense of camaraderie lingered, and Pam was filled with a spirit of good will as they sped along into the night. She wished that this wonderful closeness could last forever, and that they could just drive on and on.

The blinking neon sign announced that the dance was already in progress. Nobody cared very much at this point if they got there or not, but for convention's sake they went in, looking a trifle flushed and more than a little bit tipsy.

They managed to hold out through two numbers before giving in to their thirst. One by one, they slipped quietly out the door, until they were once again squashed into the compact car.

Bert reached into the glove compartment to bring forth a flask and some paper cups. "Sorry there's no ice, folks, but I guess we'll have to rough it. Bottoms up, everybody!"

"How appropriate," purred Maggie.

Jerry was in the back seat, sandwiched between Maggie and Bev. and he distinctly heard Bev murmur, "Peckers up too," against his ear.

"Amen," he responded, slipping his hand beneath the folds of her dress.

Maggie also put in a bid for his attention, by boldly searching for the opening in his trousers. Under cover of the darkness, she found her target and contented herself by stroking and petting his penis. Flanked by such lovely odds, Jerry was in seventh heaven.

Pam wasn't doing so badly in the front seat, either. The car's dimensions forced her to sit thigh-to-thigh with Bob and Bert, which gave them a first-class opportunity to explore her finer points. Still basking in that rosy, alcoholic warmth, Pam offered no resistance to their expert titillating techniques.

She was frankly enjoying the feel of probing fingers, and when Bob's hand crept up the inside of her thigh and came to rest against her crotch, she slid down in the seat to accommodate him better. She pressed up to meet the force of his hand, willing to get her kicks this way if that was the only course open to her. He pulled aside the crotch-piece of her panties, inserted two fingers, and attempted to relieve her that way. Pam closed her eyes, moaning with desire.

Vaguely, as if from a long way off, she heard Bev's voice. "Listen, let's move this party to my house. You can't even move around in here."

Sighing, Bob removed his fingers and pulled Pam's dress down, giving her a final pat for good measure. "It'll keep," he promised. Bert had never gotten past the boob-squeezing stage, hampered as he was by the steering column.

He turned his attention to maneuvering the car out of the lot, nosing the car toward the Reddings' homestead, which was situated directly across the street from Pam and Jerry's. He and Maggie lived only a few doors away from the others, which made things very cozy.

Jerry was in a lather to reach their destination, for his two co-pilots had stopped making with the kissing and petting. They weren't about to lose the fruits of their labor by setting off any premature explosion.

Once inside the house, however, the "hands off" policy was discontinued. Bob, keeping close tabs on Pam, led her over to the bar and invited her to mix her own. She skipped the mix entirely this trip, and poured generous shots into everyone's glasses.

To get the party rolling, Maggie started the stereo and claimed Jerry for a dance. Bert and Bev glided into each other's arms smoothly, stemming from long practice, while Pam and Bob took up where they had left off. Only this time, their movements weren't restricted by lack of space.

Bob relieved her of her glass before steering her in the direction of the bedroom. He liked his partners alive and kicking, and, judging from her behavior in the car, he had a hunch that Pam would be a wildcat in bed.

Ever since she and Jerry had moved into the neighborhood, he had harbored a secret desire to see her in the raw. Covertly, he had studied her as she was bending over, weeding the garden, or just soaking up the sun. She had a passion for wearing little-boy shorts, topped off by a man's shirt, knotted in the middle. The glimpses that had come his way only served to enhance Bob's already vivid imagination.

As soon as she set eyes on the comfortable-looking bed, Pam flopped onto it, her whole body extending to Bob a direct invitation to join her. But Bob's mode of operation didn't work that way. "Oh no, you don't," he said, pulling her to her feet. "I've been waiting a long time to see you bare-assed."

Pam tugged at his belt, impatient at this delay.

"Come on, Bob. You can do all the looking you want to later," she pleaded. But he was already undressing her, so she had no choice but to give in to his wishes. Pouting prettily, she helped him pull the dress up over her head and kicked it out of the way. The dress was lined with its own slip, so she had worn only a half-bra that covered the lower part of her breasts, and a flimsy pair of panties.

Bob gulped when he saw the creamy boobs that were all but spilling out, and immediately turned her around so his shaking fingers could get at the hooks. When he looked at her fully exposed tits in all their glory, he was awestruck. They were so perfectly shaped that they might have been fashioned of foam rubber. Only a few tiny veins, and the resiliency when he hefted each one, made them seem like real flesh.

Pam squirmed against him urgently, telling him with her body that she wanted him, and right now!

Bob had seen enough for the time being-enough to bring a drop of lubricant to the tip of his prick, anyway-so he hooked a finger under the elastic band on her panties and slid them down. As she stepped out of them, he stroked the silky texture of her skin. Her eagerness puzzled him, and he wondered about it briefly. She was acting as though she hadn't had a good lay for years, yet she had a perfectly good husband to supply her needs. Or did she?

Well, that was none of his business, he thought, as he looked at her voluptuous body all spread out and waiting for him. He unbuttoned his shirt, losing a few buttons in the process, and dropped his trousers, peeling his socks off along with the pant legs. When he skinned out of his briefs, Pam raised herself up to take a good look at the dimensions of his erection. Obviously satisfied with what was in store for her, she lay back with a smile on her lips.

Bob lowered himself and slid his throbbing cock into her slick, warm pussy, going slowly in order to savor the pleasure of entry. Pam shivered with sheer delight.

She had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt to have a man's stiff rod rubbing against her clitoris. She just couldn't get the same feeling when she was on top.

She kept her movements down to a minimum at first. After waiting so long for this golden moment, she didn't want it to slip away too fast.

Bob, however, was disappointed in her reaction, which was a far cry from her wild performance in the car. So he decided to liven things up a bit. He pulled out entirely, causing her to splutter, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, there's nothing wrong, sugar. I just decided that you need a little warming up, that's all."

"But ... "

"There, there. You just lie back and let old Bob turn you on," he soothed.

His warm-up began with his kneading her creamy breasts with his fingers, squeezing them gently and rotating them in the palms of his hands. Then he circled the aureoles with his fingertips, using a light, teasing motion, until the nipples stood erect. When he had turned them into twin peaks of arousal, he lowered his head to nip gingerly at each one.

Pam's body began to tingle with desire as he sampled the sweetness of her flesh. It had been too long since anyone had taken such pains to arouse her, and she responded accordingly. By the time his feather-light touch had tip-toed down between her legs, she felt as if she was ready to burst into flame.

He teased her mossy crevice with his fingers for a while, then gently drew her labia apart to reveal the quivering, expectant nub that housed her most sensitive nerve ends. This accomplished, he placed the head of his throbbing rod at the very bottom of the slit and lightly rubbed up and down against her.

This friction drove her wild with wanting, and she clutched his hard buttocks with all her strength. "That's enough, Bob! I can't take any more of that! Please, put it in."

Now she was the wildcat he remembered from the car, and he was ready and willing to fill her needs. He reared back, and his divining rod found her watering hole without any guidance.

Pam welcomed his steel-hard shaft with glad acceptance and wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting only to keep him there. She knew that she was acting like a bitch in heat, but she really didn't much care. She wanted all she could get, and nothing else mattered. Everything else-including Jerry and the children-were blotted out of her thoughts, as though they had never existed.

"Man, you sure put a lot into it," Bob whispered, pleased with her frenzied response.

"So do you" she panted.

He placed his palms underneath her buttocks, tilting her pelvis upward and allowing his tool to probe even deeper. Because he wasn't quite so starved for sex as she, he could pace himself, biding his time until she was ready to come. Soon, though, he sensed that her orgasm was near, so he upped the tempo of his strokes.

Pam rode with him, all the way. Placing both feet on the bed for leverage, she bounded up and down so violently that the springs almost gave way under them.

Then, with one final crashing thrust, the juices within them erupted and joined together and they clutched each other desperately, as the spasms of release shook their straining bodies.

While all this was going on, Jerry's thoughts were not exactly connected with home and fireside, either. Not with the lovely Maggie in front of him, doing an exotic strip tease.

At the moment, she was down to a see-through bra, so paper-thin it resembled the skin on an onion. Her panties were little more than an overgrown G-string.

She was at her best when performing for an audience, and this one was giving her a standing ovation. Bev, of course, wasn't quite so appreciative as the men, but even she had to admire the pagan beauty of the dance.

Maggie used no vulgar gestures or lewd contortions to fascinate her audience. With a style all her own, she simply swayed and rippled in time to the music. As she undulated her hips, she had a mysterious expression on her face, as though experiencing all kinds of delightful sensations, as though giving herself up to some unseen deity, offering her body to him for all eternity.

The provocative dance proved too much for Jerry, and he reached out to encircle her hips with his hands. In full view of Bert and Bev, he rid her of the flimsy undergarments. This snapped her out of the mystic trance she was in, and she smiled serenely at him, as though not at all surprised to find him there.

She offered no resistance when he guided her into the bedroom, leaving the others to find their own amusement.

Bert and Bev looked at one another when the door closed practically in their faces. Bert shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "Well, I don't mind him making off with my wife, but where in hell does that leave us? The selfish bastard just took the last bed in the house!"

Bev offered a solution, pointing toward the small sofa. "How tall are you?" she asked, casting a doubtful eye at him.

"Oh, I'm an easy six feet. And, unless I miss my guess, that couch is no more than five feet long."

"Well then, I guess we'll have to make love French style," Bev said impishly. "Do you mind?"

"Hell, no!" came the emphatic reply.

Maggie, going the topless waitress trade one better, inquired, "What'll it be, sir? The specialty of the house, or will you take pot luck?"

Jerry fell in with her little game, much relieved to be given a choice. "Oh, I think I'll have the blue plate special."

"Well, the customer is always right, but I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more explicit with your order."

"Let's see. I believe it's number five on the menu. Peacock breast with baked banana."

Just as a short order cook understands the jargon thrown to him by the waitress, Maggie knew what Jerry meant. She began by peeling off his jacket, as per his first request.

As she worked on his shirt and tie, humming a little tune, Jerry stood perfectly still, letting her do everything for him. In his mind, he was a little boy again, and his mother was undressing him for his bath. For once, a woman was giving him the kind of attention he so desperately needed, and he enjoyed the feel of her hands tending to him.

When she'd bared his chest, Maggie took him by the hand and led him over to the bed. One push and he toppled back to await delivery of his second request, baked banana.

Her hand crept along his thigh, reaching to feel his penis and find out if it was ready for her. Her first touch told her that he had an enormous hard-on. She wasted no time in stripping off the rest of his clothes.

Quickly, she straddled him and impaled herself on his sizzling banana, gobbling it up with one gulp of her hungry cunt-mouth. She slid up and down with ease, while, to appease him for having devoured his goodie, she offered him a strawberry-tipped dangling tit. He was more than satisfied with the exchange.

Meanwhile, Bev and Bert were having their troubles on the couch, which was about the size of two chairs pushed together. To make matters worse, it was Danish modern, and hard as a rock.

They were obliged to take turns, each one kneeling on the floor to go down on the other. It was highly unsatisfactory, but they were comforted by the thought that tomorrow night they would have their turns with the newcomers.