Chapter 10
Somewhere beneath the surface of her conscious mind, Maida Vail had a conflict. Better adjusted than most women twice or three times her age, certainly free from most hangups that bedeviled her sex, she still possessed some vestiges of the resentment toward men that was rooted in her middle-class background.
In spite of an objective conviction that Donna would suffer no harm from a gang-bang, in spite of a genuine admiration for her big boss, the fact that Donna was being made a victim in a charade engineered by a man stabbed deep into Maida's essential femininity.
The conflict didn't reach the surface, not now, at least. The dark wish to see the lovely girl in an orgiastic rape set a slow fire going in her loins, as it did with the other three women who now watched the screen, tensely alert to see the shock of fear in Donnas' face and body when the shadowed door opened to spill the lustful quartet into the room.
She was just as happy not to be sitting near Brad. He had come in just as the four surfers were being guided out by Alison, in a mood, Maida sensed, not at all usual for him. Quiet, she observed. Thoughtful. As though something had brought him down.
Bill had said, "Hello, Brad," but there had been nothing special in Bill's voice, nothing to indicate that he had, in some way known only to himself, known that his young guest of honor had taken his daughter's cherry.
Brad had smiled with less than his customary warmth and had asked a question, a perfectly natural question, which had seemed to Maida to be loaded with dynamite.
"Who are those guys?" he'd asked casually, nodding as the four surfers disappeared following Alison's nude back. Maida had sensed that the question would be asked, and knowing that the answer would soon be shown to them all, in lascivious detail and brilliant color, she tensed for Bill's reply.
When it came, it was with the man's magnificent unconcern and disregard for old-fashioned values, giving Brad the news with the same impersonal candor that the screen would provide in a minute.
"Oh," Bill had said, smiling, "those are four fellows that I had Alison round up for the big feature of our little family show. Those guys are going to fuck your wife!"
Working so closely with Brad for more than five weeks, Maida knew something of his self-control, of his restless drive to succeed and the ability he had to roll with the punches. But even so, she was surprised at his recovery from the effect of what would've been a stunning blow to most men.
There was a very short pause before Brad reacted and then he faced Bill calmly, smiling. "Well," he said softly, "this ought to be interesting. Are we going to watch it?"
There was a rustle of movement as the girls moved this way and that, making room for Brad and Bill grasped his new director of public relations warmly by the hand and pulled him down to a comfortable position between himself and Alison.
Almost as soon as she stretched out on the mattress, Donna fell into a tired sleep. She heard a soft stirring of feet on the carpet as the door opened, but was still in a daze when a hard hand closed on her ankle, pulling her over and onto her back.
In quick reflex and a fear made more intense by the shock of surprise, she struggled as four bodies moved against her on the bed and she screamed once, her eyes open and her mouth twisted in outrage as someone ripped the blouse over her head and off.
Her young breasts jumped with the movement and a black boy hardly into adolescence, so Donna thought, clutched her around the ribs and clamped a hot, wide-lipped mouth on one of them, sucking it all in with a force that brought back the pain left from Bill's brutal manhandling.
The nightmare quality of the assault was all the more searing because of the laughing faces, the boyish exuberance of her attackers.
She heard a boyish voice cry, "Hey, man, save one for me!" and a boy of eighteen or so, with merry eyes and a big mop of brown hair, clasped her other boob in a viselike grip, squeezing the nipple out to a point and sucking on it as if he planned to drain her blood from it. At the same time, she felt her tenderized pussy mauled by a hand still chilled from an hour's wait on the terrace and she leaped and screamed again as the cold fingers went right into her, almost crazing her with the sharply painful stimulus of tender lips already aching from too much use.
In her panicked mind, she knew the same blind fear of a mass sexual attack that might make a virgin sick with terror-the absence of a maidenhead does not dull the horrifying shock of utter helplessness.
Oddly, it was the actuality of a man's prick-a boy's, really-that tamed her from the bucking struggle that could've brought real injury. Somehow, with Pebble and Cagney pinning her arms and shoulders and big Twilley capturing her flailing legs, the wild young black boy, guiding his big prick between cuntlips held apart by his thumbs, slammed a hard double-handful of stretching, hot meat into her aching, straining pussy.
Even though it was still slicked by the overload of sperm from the dog, as well as her own hot flow, the dragging and friction against the screaming tissues threw Donna, at least for the first few seconds, into a shuddering burst of plunges and heaves. Together with James' own happy lunges, it made the equivalent of a sudden, hard fuck and Donna, against every ounce of will in her mind and body, felt herself launched into a sky-riding swirl of orgasm, closing her eyes and clenching her teeth in the violence of an unexpected come.
"For God's sake, man!" said Pebble, taut-voiced. "You've made her faint!"
The bearded youth called Cagney snickered as he caught the meaning of the ripples which ran through their captive. "Fainted, my ass!" he exclaimed. "She's got her nuts off! Right, Twilley?"
The big-featured blond boy almost snarled his assent.
"You know it! Jeez, this chick must be really hot! James didn't do much more than touch her and she started to come like a rabbit! Hold her tight, Jimbo. I've got an idea."
Cagney angrily caught at James' shoulder. "I've got an idea, too," he snapped. "I want some of that cunt before you guys wear her out!" His big cock was right over Donnas' mouth, which was beginning to relax. In the viewing room, Bill sat with his arms locked around his bare knees, his face in an enigmatic smile.
Twilley sat up on his knees. "Take it easy, Cagney," he said with a grin. "There's plenty here for all of us. How is she, James? Must be sort of tight, the results you got."
The young black flashed a white-toothed grin. "Like a glove," he said. "A real, slick, red-hot glove!" He moved his lean hips, rolling them so that his buried cock churned in Donnas' guts, raising her to a quick heat as his hairy mound ground on hers and on her hidden clit. "It's a wonder I didn't come as quick as she did!"
"Okay, sport," Twilley said, slapping a hand on James' back. "Hold on to her and roll her over- I want her asshole!"
Cagney began to laugh. "Goddamn!" he cried. "A hot liver sandwich!" He pointed to the exaggerated size of his friend's tool. "You'd better put a lot of spit on that prong of yours, Twill," he advised. "You'll break out the partition!"
Donna, who had been strangely calmed by her fierce orgasm, choked on a new horror. "Oh, don't!" she screamed. "For God's sake, don't! Let me up! I'll do anything you want-honest! But please, please! Don't do that!"
The squeamishness and fear she had felt before, when Brad had only kidded about it-a fear which she felt she had lost as she had contemplated Alison's mild tongue-lashing of that sensitive small hole-made her sick with dread. She went loose in a near-faint as James, gripping her so hard that her tits were smashed against him, rolled onto his back, leaving her ass open, helplessly spread apart as he locked his legs with hers. She could only moan faintly, unable to scream, feeling her muscles go slack and useless as one does in a nightmare. She felt hot breath in that shrinking cleft that separated the white globes of her ass and leaped in a sharp reaction as hairy cheeks rubbed between her thighs and a big tongue licked at her cunt, where James' hard prick was now throbbing, right up to her anus.
She heard a satisfied grunt. "She's as clean as a cat," she heard Twilley's harsh voice utter. "And she's got a load of come-juice all up and down her ass. Somebody left us a wet deck."
She turned her face to avoid the Negro boy's seeking mouth, but he squeezed one of her boobs with a gut-tearing grip, muttering, "Kiss me, Whitey!" and to avoid this immediate agony, she crushed her mouth against his, submitting to the entry of his broad, thick tongue into her mouth.
Again she was calmed. His mouth was syrupy sweet, his breath like a baby's. His cock throbbed in her and she was washed by a new flow of heat all through her belly.
Even the feel of Twilley's stubbled cheeks on the tender flesh of her inner thighs was welcomed. She said to herself, What am I fighting for? It's only a fuck!
She humped gently up and down, trying to get James' cock to swing in and out a little, to get some hard friction where she suddenly, sharply desired it. She felt the flesh around her pussy crawl with interest and the inflamed inner lips, now feeling just as sensitive but far less painful, tried to wrap themselves around the hard base of the Negro's prick.
At her asshole, the licking had become purposeful and the rub of Twilley's tongue seemed so beautiful that she tried consciously to relax her sphincter, hoping that he could get his big tongue in, at least as far as, Alison's had gone. Instead of fear, she began to feel a warm glow of friendship for these roughneck kids. Only please, she said within herself, let them do something! Oh, God! I'm so hot!
She jerked again with brief apprehension as she became aware that the man called Twilley was on his knees behind her. She turned for a look in the mirror and saw his reflection plainly. His cock, looking enormous, stood almost straight up against his belly and he had dropped a large wad of spittle onto its red head.
In spite of her desire, she shrank from this great pole as Twilley pushed it down between her ass cheeks and felt a giant shudder go through her as the head pushed against her asshole with perfect accuracy. In desperation, hoping for some palliative for her fear, she gratefully closed her mouth over James' big lips and thrust her tongue as deep as it would go into his warm and fragrant mouth.
There was suddenly a weird shock of force in what had to be her rectum. It wasn't pain-more like an intense discomfort, like being constipated.
In her strange sense of being suspended between the two men, hung on two prongs of hard meat, almost weightless in spite of the pressures in her, she began to laugh, and since her drooling mouth was locked with James', she contrived to spray saliva all over him.
In this moment of relaxation, feeling the intense pleasure of the prick in her pussy, balance against the now-bearable thrust in her rectum, she felt Twilley's belly meet her buttocks and her bowels seemed absolutely full of his cock. It was an epitomized moment, the transcendent emotion of complete sensuality. If either of her penetrators so much as moved, she knew that she would pour out her come like an explosion, blowing them all apart in an ear-bursting roar.
It was at this point that Pebble, kneeling beside the trio with hard alertness, pushed his cock into her armpit, trying to close her upper arm on the mass of his tool. James, below him, cried, "Get your balls out of my face, man!"
Donna, inspired with her own all-pervading lust, simply turned her head to the side, her mouth open, drooling from her prolonged kissing with the young Negro and took the deep thrust of the throbbing tool between her closing lips.
She felt Twilley's prick withdraw from her rectum and it was truly a gut-twisting delight, a base and earthy pleasure beyond definition. Automatically, she raised her ass to reach for it, her body making its own demands without help from her conscious mind and her cunt screamed its joy to her inner self.
Below her, James' sensations, overextended with the crazy improvisation, sent the fiery, itching message to the spot which triggers orgasm and his balls responded. The spurting of his hot seed throughout her vagina, the bursting expansion of his cock as the jets gathered, fired and receded, added the final madness inside Donna and outside, too, where her clitoris, seeming engorged beyond its capacity, joined in an orgasm which sent her small body to jumping frantically.
She could feel her anal sphincter, always engaged in the passions of her cunt, now with something solid to grip. The sense of completion, of reaching the outer limits of feeling, made her bowels churn and writhe and Twilley, eyes closed and face contorted, rammed into his hot and gripping trap of muscle in fierce concentration. With the clutching of Donnas' colon, its softly sucking motions coaxing him to his climax, he also felt the rub of James' hard cock against his through the thin walls of muscle and membrane.
As the young Negro's throbbing reached its highest intensity and began to die away, Twilley's concentrated senses exploded and his massive jerks, beating a tattoo all through Donnas' belly, sustained her orgasm through a mirage of heat, so that she either came again and again, or simple held to the orgasm that she had started with James' outpouring and throbs.
And Pebble, one fist agonizingly gripping Donnas' dark hair, his other hand braced over her back, could no longer resist the sucking pleasure of the girl's tongue and throat. His semen spewed out in slick, warm torrents, filling her mouth so that she had to swallow or be choked-long, complete swallowing motions that wrapped his prick in pleasure from its hairy base to its shriekingly happy glands.
Alison, shaken more than she would've believed by the complete carnality of the writhing tableau on the big screen, turned her head for a moment, too hot to continue watching a scene in which she would've willingly changed places with the younger woman.
Her eyes were on Brad's face, not too distinct in the theater-gloom of their viewing place. The only light was from the bright screen, but it was enough. His face was locked in a wide grin, his full lips peeled back from white teeth. She saw the hand nearest her gripped in a fist. In the flickers of light as the trio fell into a relaxed jumble of legs and arms and asses, of cock and cunt and glistening come-juice, she saw the bright shine of tears running down Brad's cheeks, while his face remained fixed in that dreadful smile.
Therefore, she did not see the entrance of a new figure, a tall girl in a short, soft robe, open from neck to hem, the cunt showing, seemingly unhaired, as she showed on the screen.
But she did hear the breath sucked in by Bill, who had remained calm and detached through the attack on Donna. In her function as producer and coordinator for many such scenes in the past, she had never known her boss to show any emotion except quiet satisfaction. But now she recognized the newcomer to the setting and her own heart leaped in a sudden apprehension. That door, on the far side of the room in which Donna lay among the spent forms-except for Cagney, who stood by the bed with his erection begging for attention-should've been locked. It was an oversight. And Bill's daughter, the sweet and lissome Ellen, had come through the door.
Ellen took in the fantastic sight before any of the performers, even the unrelated Cagney, knew she was with them.
The shock was, first of all, to her mind. The way in which James and Donna and Twilley lay, with the black boy's wilting cock still lodged between the hairy lips of Donnas' cunt and the big blond man's cock just an inch or so from the crack of the dark girl's ass, told a story that was not hard to grasp.
Her own juvenile pussy, aching and happy and warm from its first fuck, also seemed to register the meaning of the bodies and their positions.
She took in the sweet-faced boy who lay at Donnas' head, his half-hard prick gleaming with Donnas' saliva and traces of his own sperm. And she saw the tense and hairy body of the youth called Cagney, the throbbing hard-on, the unsatisfied lust in his face as he made a step toward her.
The fever that had had its beginning as she first saw Brad, a warmth that embraced her body completely, but concentrated between the smooth lips of her pussy, swept her now like a grass fire in a high wind.
Moving like a sleepwalker, Ellen moved her arms and shoulders and let the light robe fall to the floor. The delicate touch of the soft fabric on her nipples made her shiver and she rolled quietly onto the bed, her hand and mouth reaching for the softening prick that had been so lately sucked warmly and snugly into Donnas' throat. At the same time, she smiled brightly at Cagney, turning her hips on the side, her ass open to him and waited, holding Pebble's tool in her young mouth, while the grunting Cagney, his face taut, pried her childish cuntlips apart, his hard cock beginning to push into her, inch by inch.
There was a rustle of movement in the viewing room and all heads turned to Brad, who had stood up. He looked at the screen, where Donna, having rolled over to face the new action, smiled in welcome and encouragement at the stranger who had come in so quietly.
Donnas' face was soft and relaxed and Alison realized, with a mixture of surprise and admiration, that she had never seen Brad's wife look so completely free from strain. It was as if years had been wiped away from a face still quite young; Donna looked as much a child as Ellen, except for her dark bush of pubic hair, now wet and matted from the pouring semen of her two erstwhile lovers.
Brad broke the silence. "I'm going to get a drink. Can I bring something for any of you folks?" His voice was steady, normal, as though he'd been watching a movie and was going for popcorn.
Verna, rising to hands and knees, called softly, "Wait, Brad. I'll go with you!" In the subdued light, Maida could see all details in the cleft between the woman's buttocks, the red hairs around the engorged cuntlips now dark with the flow from the hot vagina, the wet shine of the fluids spread on Verna's ass cheeks and thighs.
With a cooing of laughter, she stroked into the warm valley, her fingers sliding in the overflow, touching the smoothness of the labia, feeling the heat and humidity that seemed to surround the pulsing area.
"Fuck him standing up, baby," she whispered. "The tiles on the bar floor will be mighty cold!"
There was enough sound from the screen to cover ordinary conversation-all the boys had little comments to make, admiring comments on tightness and slickness and youth-and the girls were laughing, with Donna helping Ellen into a comfortable position. Nevertheless, Alison kept her voice to a whisper as she moved closer to Bill.
"Well, chief," she murmured, "you were dead right about that kid from the sticks. She's hot-a tremendous capacity for sex. It almost makes me envious, or makes me wish I were that age again." Her throat ached with the effort to keep her voice normal. The sight of Donna engaged with the three surfers, especially Twilley, with his big cock buried in that sweet and tiny asshole, had lit a fire in her which hadn't been dampened by a finger-induced orgasm. She shivered.
Bill nodded, his face smooth and interested as he saw his daughter's young body happily thrusting against Cagney and heard her moaning squeals of delight.
"It was too obvious, Alison," he said quietly. "Easy to see."
The big girl leaned nearer. "It's great for her. I know that, you know it and she'll realize it as soon as she's had time to think. But I can't help worrying just a little about Brad. Isn't that stupid of me? But it seems to me that this has to be rough on him. Very rough."
Bill laughed. "You surprise me, Alison. You, of all women, to turn maternal." The tall girl looked distressed and he patted her on her smooth back. "Don't worry, dear. It's just as well for me to remember that you're a woman. And human." He paused, eying the screen. "And you're completely right-this has been rough on Brad. I wanted it to be."
The girl waited, silent, her eyes on him and he went on.
"I wanted to find out for sure what kind of a man Brad is. I wanted him to find out, too. Now we both know. And I don't think that he'll ever be sorry!" Bill's voice was positive.
Alison digested this. "And what kind of man is he?" she asked. "I mean, what do you know now that you didn't know before? What has all of this proved?"
"That he's a realist," Bill said quickly and firmly. "He's made the very last step in a process of decision. He has always wanted to succeed. Most men want to succeed, up to a certain point-going without pie for lunch so they can save for an investment, giving up playtime for study, showing a certain callousness to other people. But not all people." He paused.
He noted that Alice was staring at them and turned back to Alison, not lowering his voice. "In some area of their relationships, those average men have a weakness. Or maybe it isn't a weakness; maybe it's normal. It's a very rare man who really wants to succeed, more than he wants anything else in this world. Brad's that kind of man."
"So Brad doesn't have any weaknesses?" Alison ventured.
Bill smiled. "Of course he has. Every man has. I have. But if they stand between him and success, he overcomes them. Above all fairy-tale unreason, above meaningless words that make some men indecisive-words like 'principles' and 'loyalty' and 'ideals', you know what I mean. You'd be surprised how many men let such words whip them into a gliding sort of submission."
He sighed. "Well, I sound preachy, but you asked me what kind of man Brad is. And I know your interest in me and the firm. And in Brad. So I want you to know."
"So he's a realist," Alison murmured. "As compared to what? An idealist?"
Bill nodded. "Exactly," he answered. It's the idealists who use their forces, waste them, really, bucking reality. They wind up unhappy-and as failures. Brad won't be that way. He's my kind of man."