Chapter 3
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED HOT AND muggy, and the children pestered Pam to fill up their small pool so they could go "swimming". Knowing that they would require strict supervision, she hurried through the housework and established a beachhead in the back yard. She sipped at her iced lemonade and envied the kids, who splashed each other until they looked like a couple of happy, wet puppies. She inched her chair over by the pool and dangled her feet in the cool water. It helped a little, anyway.
She was on her second lemonade when the girls drove up, and she called out for them to join her. They, too, were wearing the briefest shorts possible and skimpy halters tied at the midriff. They flopped down on whatever happened to be available and let their tongues hang out, as if they were dying of thirst.
"Okay, okay. I get the message," Pam conceded, forced to relinquish her choice position by the pool. "But be sure to keep an eye on those two tigers. I don't dare to leave them alone for a second." She entered the house, letting the screen door slam shut on the catcalls that followed her.
She returned a few minutes later with a tray full of iced drinks and plunked them down on a nearby table. "Here vou go, ladies. But from now on, you're on your own. If you want any more, you can damn well get it yourselves."
They left off with the fanning long enough to help themselves to the tall, cool drinks. Maggie tasted hers first, then spluttered in mock horror. "What are you trying to do to me? Wreck my health or something? This is lemonade! I thought you offered to get us a drink, for Christ's sake."
Pam laughed at the expression on her face. She looked like she had just swallowed poison. "Listen, I didn't offer to get you anything. Beggars can't be choosy, you know." With that, she found a shady place and sat cross-legged in the cool grass.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Maggie made a face at her glass, and set it down beside her.
"You probably will," said Bev, always quick to see the practical side of things.
"Boy, last night was a real blast, wasn't it?" Maggie reminisced.
"Mm-hmm, I'll say," agreed Bev. "That Joan turned out to be quite the little swinger, once she got the hang of things." She hadn't meant to be funny, but Maggie and Pam doubled up with laughter.
"By the way," Pam gasped, still convulsed with laughter, "where is Joan today?"
"Oh, didn't you know? She's one of those career girls," Maggie said. "I think she models clothes or something."
"Well, she sure has the figure for it," Pam said, with a tinge of envy. "I wonder how she stays so slim."
"Oh, those Twiggy types are appealing enough to some fellows, I guess," Bev offered. "But most of them like a real woman, with a little bit of meat on her."
"I don't know about that. Bert seemed to think she was meaty enough last night," Maggie said thoughtful-
"Ah, not to break into your train of thought or anything, but don't you think it would make things more interesting if we could add some new members?" Bev asked.
"Sure, but where to find them? That's the problem. We can't very well advertise in the newspaper," Pam pointed out.
They discussed ways and means for a while, getting no further ahead with the solution. Then Maggie put an end to further discussion by saying, "Well, I guess we'll just have to scout around until we come across a--likely couple. Now, who's in favor of going to the roadhouse to find something decent to drink?"
Bev voiced agreement right away, but Pam was a little reluctant to leave Jim and Sue. "Oh, come on," Maggie pleaded. "What are you doing that a sitter couldn't do as well? Besides, the bar's air-conditioned."
Her argument sounded reasonable enough, so Pam placed an SOS call to her sitter. While they were waiting, Maggie and Bev carted the glasses and tray into the house.
After the sitter arrived, they climbed into Bev's convertible, leaving the top down so they could catch I any stray breeze that came along.
"Jesus!" Maggie complained. "These leather seats I are hot."
"Since when did sitting on something hot bother I you, Maggie?" Bev asked.
Pam smiled at the way these two carried on. If she I hadn't known that they were bosom buddies, it would I have seemed they were the deadliest of enemies.
When they opened the door of the roadhouse, a blast of cold air welcomed them. They made a bee-line to the bar, where they set up camp. The place was all but deserted at this time of the afternoon, but Maggie spotted Steve Rowan, owner and sometime operator.
She waved gaily to him. "Well, we're in luck today, I see. The boss-man himself is here to serve us. We ought to get a rise out of him!"
Actually, he was just there to check over the books, but when he turned around to see the fetching trio perched at the bar, he sent the barmaid on her way. "What is this, ladies' day?" he grinned.
Pam felt a sudden chill come over her, and she shivered involuntarily. At first, she blamed it on the air-conditioning, but some sixth sense told her that this man was dangerous. He was far from handsome, but he possessed an attraction quite apart from any surface looks. He was evil personified, and she felt he should have been forced to wear a pair of horns to warn unsuspecting females. He fascinated and frightened her at the same time.
"What'll it be?" he asked, casually running an eye over the tempting bait of bare legs and semi-exposed boobs.
"Just pour anything over the rocks," Maggie ordered, "and dump in as much as the law allows."
He mixed the drinks expertly, plopping in plenty of ice and adding a small amount of mix. "Aren't you having one?" Bev asked him politely.
"Well, I don't usually drink when I'm tending bar, but I'll make an exception in your case." He selected one of the many bottles lining the shelves, and tried to make his question sound as offhand as possible. "Aren't you two going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Oh, that's right. I forgot that you two hadn't met," Maggie apologized. "Pam, this sexy-looking hunk of muscle is Steve Rowan. Steve, this gorgeous doll you've been ogling is Pam Carter. Mrs. Pam Carter, I might add."
Pam wondered why Maggie found it necessary to be so formal all of a sudden. Quite possibly, she had made a play for him herself and struck out. For a woman like Maggie, a thing like that could produce a long-lasting trauma.
A slow trickle of customers had come in by now, mostly truck drivers, who were destined to be late finishing their runs today. One of them fed the juke box, causing Bev to wriggle around on the bar stool, keeping time to the music with her round, plump fanny.
This signal prompted the truck driver to ask for a dance, and his success set up a chain reaction with his fellow drivers. Soon, all three of the girls were making like Ginger Rogers, each with a burly he-man of her own.
Pam's eyes kept wandering back to Steve, who was watching the whole scene with a slightly sardonic air. Her partner's hands were wandering, and she was busy just putting them back where they belonged.
Bev and Maggie were having a real ball, and neither of them suffered from false modesty. The dance platform was purposely kept dim, and they were taking full advantage of it. If Bev didn't put a halt to things soon, Pam thought, she would be able to chalk up another conquest and equal Bob's score.
By the time Pam managed to fight her way back to the bar, Steve was gone. She was surprised at the sinking feeling that came over her-she hadn't realized how much of an impact he'd made. For want of something better to do, she stirred the swizzle stick around in her stale drink. When she happened to glance at the clock, she was shocked to see that three hours had flown by.
She managed to pry Bev and Maggie away from their admirers only by threatening to call off the forthcoming party. A vivid picture of Jerry and the kids munching on dry peanut butter sandwiches gave her the courage to stand firm. They bade a fond farewell to the truck drivers, wearing an expression of martyrdom on their tragic faces.
They perked up a bit during the ride home, though, and Pam found herself bringing Steve's name into the conversation. It was as if she was compelled to speak of him. "What do you think about approaching Steve and his wife for membership in our club? He is married, isn't he?"
"And how!" Maggie exclaimed. "His wife is a real doll, but kind of on the snooty side. I think he'd jump at the chance, though, don't you, Bev?"
"Well, from what I've heard, the man's a regular jumping bean. And, he sure took a imagine to you, Pam. It gave me the shivers, the way he was eyeing you up and down-as if he owned you, body and soul."
Pam pooh-poohed the idea. "Honestly, Bev, you should be on the stage, the way you dramatize everything." But she had felt it, too.
By the time the car turned into Pam's driveway, they had a tentative plan worked out. They would casually invite Steve and his wife to one of their parties. Then, Bob could go to work on Steve's wife, Allison. They chose Bob because, as Bev put it, "If he can't thaw her out, she must be colder than Alaska."
Pam decided to have toasted bacon and tomato sandwiches for supper. They were about the quickest thing she had in the house, and she was pressed for time. Some of the excitement had gone out her anticipation of the impending soiree, for Steve wouldn't be there. She told herself that she was acting like a nymphomaniac, wondering about every new man she met, and the package he carried in his trousers. But she'd been a virgin when she married Jerry, so there had been no chance for comparison. Up until the present, of course. It was like a drug running through her veins; the more cock she got, the more she wanted. And she wanted Steve badly. If he was capable of getting her all worked up just by looking at her, she could imagine how exciting the real thing would be!
Her nerves were all on edge with wanting, but she managed to pop in more toast and slice the tomatoes without cutting herself. The effects of the drinks were wearing off by now, so she decided to skip supper and drink her calories. Sometimes life seemed to consist of one long compromise.
She and Jerry had reached the point in their relationship where they merely shared the same house, so she didn't feel obliged to keep him company while he ate. Silly as it seemed to bother dressing for a party of this sort, she couldn't very well greet her guests in the nude, so she chose a comfortable shift dress and a pair of thonged sandals. She thought it would save them all a lot of trouble if they'd change their club into a nudist colony.
Then she helped the children pack their toothbrushes, and waved good-bye. They were tickled pink to be spending the night with Grandma, who claimed they weren't a speck of trouble. She must feed them tranquilizers by the dozen, Pam thought sourly.
The house seemed unbearably still, and Pam chain smoked while she padded back and forth, trampling a path across the carpet. She couldn't put a name to the vague, discontented feeling she had, but it was very real. When she heard Bev's voice cautioning Bob to watch out for that first step, she felt as if the rescue squad had arrived in the nick of time. She peeked out a window and saw that Maggie and Bert were right behind them.
She threw the door open wide and tried to hug them all at once in her relief. God! She'd be out walking the streets next, if she didn't calm down. "Come on in and make yourselves at home. Jerry's gone to park the kids; he'll be back in a few minutes."
Maggie looked at the two cigarettes burning in the ashtray and said shyly, "Aren't you the little welcome wagon hostess, though. You act like somebody who's afraid to be alone with her thoughts. I wonder why?"
Before Pam could think up a suitable reply, Bev cut Maggie down. "Honestly, Maggie, you can be a real bitch at times. If it comes to that, I'll bet you have a skeleton or two hidden in your closet that you wouldn't want the world to see."
For a moment, Maggie was speechless, evidently deciding whether or not to probe further into Pam's affairs. But Bev's subtle bit of blackmail had found its target, so she let the matter drop.
Joan and Bill arrived then. Pam showed them where to stash their things, and they entered the living room in time to hear Bert bemoaning his fate. "So she just up and takes the afternoon off. If this keeps on, we'll have to hire a maid. Or, better yet, a cook. Cold cuts and soup! What kind of a meal is that?"
Maggie was anxious to change the subject, so she made a big fuss over Jerry, who chose that moment to return. "Here's our proud papa at last! We were beginning to think the worst had happened. What is that fate worse than death that everybody's always talking about, anyway?"
"I'm afraid that it's a little late in the day for you, luv," Jerry grinned.
"Christ, yes. Maggie lost her cherry before she was six years old," Bert said.
"Tattletale!"
Pam was on the way for refills when she heard Bob saying, "That Allison is something else again. I have a hunch that if you gave her an inch, she'd take a mile. I'd sure like to bang her once and find out."
Bev's voice drifted out to the kitchen. "Well, you might get your chance, lover boy. Put your money where your mouth is; that's my motto."
"Quit talking in riddles, Bev."
"It just so happens that we were talking about that very thing today, and we've decided that we're going to ask the Rowans to join up. What's more, we're going to sic you on the virgin queen. How do you like that?"
Pam held her breath, standing perfectly still in order to catch the reply. "If you're referring to the same thing I am, I like it fine. Furthermore, I'm willing to match the mad money you've got hidden away, just to prove my point," he boasted. "Done!"
And that was that. The die was cast without any prompting from Pam. For some reason, she didn't want the others to know how drawn she was to Steve. It shamed her, somehow. It was all right to go to bed with a man because she wanted to, but not because she felt she just had to. Maggie was the only one was suspected how she felt.
Satisfied with the way things were going, she drew a very unusual deck of cards out of a hidden recess in the cupboard. Jerry had put them there a long time ago, so the children wouldn't find them, and they had never been used. But tonight, they were to set the theme for fun and games.
She returned to the living room, where Jerry took charge of the cards, shuffling the pack and fanning them out in his hands. The backs of the cards were identical, but the faces displayed fifty-two different ways of making love. They were definitely pornographic, and had been smuggled in from God-knows-where, to be sold under the counter.
Using an ordinary pack of playing cards, from the desk in the living room, Pam turned over one card in front of each person in the room. Whoever got the first ace was to draw a card from Jerry's deck and choose a partner. The couple would then be expected to assume the position shown on their card, and to make love in the manner indicated by the picture. This time, there was to be no pretense or coyness. They would all perform in turn, and in the same room.
Pam drew the first ace herself, causing the others to shout charges of foul. Unperturbed by their complaints, she went over and beckoned to Bill, the only man in the group that she hadn't made love with before. Her card showed a woman kneeling on all fours, with a man mounting her from behind. Bill's face flushed a little when he saw what was expected of him, but he no longer looked to his wife for her reaction.
He followed Pam's trim figure to the couch and watched her undress, with parted lips and an expectant light in his eyes. She stood there boldly naked for his inspection, with legs spread wide apart and hands on her hips. When his pants began to puff up in front of him, she nodded briefly. "Your turn to get undressed," she instructed.
He stripped, never taking his eyes off her tantalizing stance for a second. Then she was kneeling on the sofa and sticking her hindquarters impudently up in the air. When she waggled her meaty ass back and forth, it had the effect of waving a red flag in front of a bull. He charged at her with all his might.
Shots of "Ole!" and "Bravo!" came from the onlookers as they watched the torrid spectacle. Bill's fingers clutched at the dangling tits desperately, as though seeking support for his bestial thrusts. The comments from the hecklers only inflamed him all the more, and his fury was such that Pam was subjected to a brutal pounding.
As they neared the end, Pam was paying him back with interest. She jerked and butted against him ruthlessly, rearing up and almost knocking him off balance. But he was able to get a better hold on her and despite the bucking-stay on through the photo finish.
Such uninhibited coupling had the audience squirming restlessly in their seats, trying to keep their erotically-aroused emotions under wraps until their turns came. Any hesitation they might have felt about making love in front of their better halves melted away in the heat of the moment.
Bert drew the next ace. His porno card showed a man seated on a couch and a girl sword-swallower working him over. Maggie must have had ESP, for her remarks about Bert's going for Joan's boyish charms were proven correct when he took her for his teammate.
Without fanfare, he plopped down on the couch, waiting impatiently for the delights to come. But Joan was becoming a real trouper, and she was determined to give her audience its money's worth. Taking her cue from starlets the world over, she started at the bottom and worked her way up.
First, she rid herself of her dress by splitting it open right down the front and peeling it away as easily as the skin of a grape. Of course, it had a concealed opening, but the effect was the same as if she'd ripped it apart. Because of her small tits, she had no need for a bra; her pert little boobies stood up by themselves, without any support. A sheer, mini-type bikini panty was all she had left, and she twirled around gracefully, posing and strutting as though she were on a model's runway.
Bob's comment brought a smile to her face. "Now that's what I call a fashion show!"
When the appreciative whistles had died down, Joan took them completely by surprise. Looking every inch the poised fashion model, she walked over behind the sofa and went down until her pointy little breasts seemed to be hugging Bert's face like a pair of ear-muffs.
He didn't know what to make of this sudden strategy, either. He tried to turn his head in her direction, but she held it firm. Working deftly, she unfastened the buttons of his shirt and pulled the T-shirt over his head. Then she opened the front of his trousers, so his penis was accessible to her, but still hidden from view.
Her hands crept around his waist, tracing a slow, insidious pattern of desire. Clever fingers kneaded and massaged his flesh, dipping down a little lower each time. She worked all around the area of his lap, while the pressure of her breasts pounded out a rhythmic beat in his ears. He rested his head against the cushioned pillow and let the slow stirring of desire swell up within him.
When his penis stood up as if by magic and tried to seek an opening, Jerry breathed, "Look at that stand-up job. And she never laid a finger on it."
Joan stopped then and moved around in front of Bert. Quickly, before the mood was lost, she knelt down and lowered her head. He closed his eyes and waited for the delightful ecstasy of her lips closing around his rod.
The room was still as the men drank in the sight of Joan's trim, dimpled butt. Her cheeks bobbed around enticingly as she worked over Bert's erection. Their minds were full of envy as they watched Bert twitching and moaning wildly. His fingers clenched into fists, and his eyes were opened but glassy, seeing nothing. They looked wilder as his tension grew, and flecks of foam appeared on his lips. His body jerked and twitched spasmodically, and Joan was hard put to keep him on the couch. Then a long shudder gripped his body, and she backed off and grasped his tool with both hands as he spouted copiously before collapsing like a deflated balloon.
Jerry didn't even wait for the next round of cards to be dealt. He broke the rules by leaping off his chair and making a grab for Joan, but no one seemed to mind. He stretched out full length on the floor and pulled the surprised girl on top of him, ripping her transparent panties off in the process.
All hell broke loose after that. Jerry's unscheduled performance turned the meeting into a free-for-all. Everybody was keyed up to the boiling point, and they reached out blindly for instruction cards and partners. It mattered little to them whether the indicated outlet for their raging passion was genital, anal or oral.
Pam and Jerry's peaceful ranch home was turning into a house of cards. The question was, when would it fall down?