Chapter 8
Later that evening, most of the guests were still in the patio, but with Joe Toder acting as bartender, the emphasis was now on drinking rather than eating. It looked to Ramey as if everyone was out to get as high as possible as fast as Toder could mix the drinks. He edged over to where Nina Lyman was taking a fresh martini from Toder.
She had changed from her bikini of the afternoon to a two-piece bathing suit. Her abundant tits jiggled an invitation as she turned to greet him.
"Hiya, Doc baby, let's sit down someplace and you can analyze me," she said gaily.
She led him to some lounging chairs, her asscheeks weaving sexily as she walked.
As he sat beside Nina, Ramey saw that the drinks were loosening up the guests and that things were beginning to get wild and horny.
"I'd like nothing better than to continue our analysis of your problems, Nina," Ramey said, "but let's go to my room. Things around here are too unsettleing."
"How do I know you won't unsettle me more?" she asked.
"You'll have to trust me as a doctor," he said.
As if to emphasize Ramey's observation about needing a quiet atmosphere, all sorts of curious sounds became audible. Nearby, there in the patio, a man had pulled a girl into the thick hedge. The girl giggled, then moaned. The man gasped thickly, in the obvious throes of "coming".
So stupid and childish Ramey thought. Why fuck in the bushes when there were perfectly good beds upstairs? There seemed to be only one answer. The beds made everything too conventional; too ordinary. Out on the dark lawn, just beyond range of clear vision, a girl shrieked in surprise. A few moments later, her white naked form appeared with the darker forms of men on either side of her. They were half-leading, half-carrying her off into the darkness. Her shrieks changed to high, wild laughter, as she felt the first cock in her cunt.
Iris Cameron had mentioned possible fun tonight. This seemed to be it.
Nina Lyman reeled slightly. She was a little high but she still had control of her body and her faculties. Ramey didn't want too much liquor in her, so he eased a partially emptied martini glass from her hand and put his arm around her waist as she rose from the chair.
"You know where that stupid husband of mine is?" she chuckled.
"Playing cards?"
"No. Upstairs drunk as a louse. On two martinis. Can you tie that? Two and he's out. A couple of the boys carried him up."
"Maybe he drank on an empty stomach," Ramey said innocently.
"Are you kidding? His stomach hasn't been empty since he drank some rubbing alcohol by mistake ten years ago and they pumped him out."
"The sleep will probably do him good. He probably works hard."
Nina's snort was unladylike. "His toughest job is walking to the bathroom!"
"But he has many business interests. I've heard he's a shrewd businessman."
"He's lucky. Just plain stupid luck."
"His specialty is real estate?"
"Not necessarily. He's got a few pieces of property."
"Some very valuable ones, I understand."
"He could turn them over for a few bucks."
"But he doesn't need the cash."
"Are you kidding? They're pushing him pretty hard."
"His credit must be very good, though."
"Like hell!"
"But if he's got valuable collateral...."
"You seem awfully interested in Steve's business."
Ramey quickly nuzzled her neck. "It's not that. I think I'm jealous. I'm really interested in his wife."
This was enough to cancel out her suspicion. She giggled and followed as he led her around the patio and to a side stairway so as to avoid the activity in the lower rooms of the mansion. They reached his room without being seen.
As he closed the door she turned and put her arms around his neck and offered him her open mouth. He kissed her and found it very pleasant.
"How about a little drink first," she whispered as she teased his ear-lobe with the tip of her tongue.
"Afterward," he said firmly.
She laughed as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and disengaged her arms and held both her hands.
"Close your eyes," he said.
"Why? You got some trick up your sleeve?"
"Not a trick. But you're beautiful. Once I wanted to be an artist but didn't have enough talent. I appreciate beauty though, and I want to see your face in repose. You have classic features."
Ramey had never found a woman, no matter how passionate or how drunk, who did not respond to flattery. Nina Lyman's smile softened. "You're sweet," she said and closed her eyes.
Gently. He massaged her temples with the balls of his thumbs, smoothing his fingertips across her forehead.
"You're so tense. That isn't good, you know. Makes wrinkles."
"What are you?" she murmured. "A beautician?"
"No. But it's just common sense. You've got to relax to stay beautiful."
"Relax? In this rat race?"
"You want to stay in the race, don't you?"
She wore a two-piece bathing suit that was modest by all modern standards. Her breasts were very high and rounded and the skin that was exposed around her belly' glowed with the health of a woman who had taken care of herself.
Ramey watched her belly rise and fall as she breathed.
"Relax. That's the key word. Rest. Stay calm."
She smiled lazily. "How can you stay calm when you're...."
"Before and after. Calm, relaxed. Rested."
Her knees were partially open and he gently massaged the muscles of her legs. "Tight and stiff," he said. "Relax them."
He ran a finger along her leg and watched her face. The smile deepened. "That tickles."
"Relax-relax."
He slid a finger crudely between her moist cuntlips. "You rat," she said lazily.
"Now you are relaxed. You feel good. You feel very good. You never want to move again. You're drowsy. You want to rest and sleep for a few minutes."
"While you fuck the hell out of me?"
"Rest. Relax ... You're very tired."
He hadn't expected her to be vulnerable. Evidently the liquor had helped.
"You are not going into a deep sleep. You are only resting. Every muscle is loose and you feel wonderful. But you can still hear my voice. You will not go completely to sleep. You can still talk to me."
"Talk to you," she repeated vaguely.
Nina Lyman was already in a light trance. Ramey said, "Your eyes are tired. We will rest them. Imagine a big circle. Now follow it clockwise with your eyes around the perimeter of the circle-follow the circle with your eyes."
He watched her closed lids and saw her eyes obediently circling underneath.
"You will rest but you will not sleep. You can hear me. You can answer. Now I will count to fifty. While I count, I want you to think of something pleasant.
"Something very pleasant. Let your mind find the pleasantest thing imaginable."
His hand continued to work, giving a silent suggestion. Her smile deepened as he began to count.
When he reached fifty, her lips had opened in a sensuous smile. The tip of her tongue moved just inside her mouth.
"You will continue to think a pleasant thought," he said. "You will continued to think of it until you hear my voice again."
He watched her face for a few moments, gauging the depth of her trance. He did not want her too deep. She appeared to be a natural subject and might take the command away from him. This was always a possibility, when the patient's patterns were not known and only the barest indications had to be used as guides.
Ramey wondered if he could start directing her toward the wuestion. The simple, direct query might be successful. She might give him the information without a fight.
On the other hand, if it generated hostility, he might lose her completely. Her smile faded slightly.
The only sure way was absolute control and the only way to know exactly where he stood in this respect was to test.
He decided to put her deeper into trance even at the risk of hitting a trauma area or losing her.
"I will count to ten," he said. "As I count, I will press your fingers and when I reach the count of ten you will be twice as deep in trance as you are now. Twice as deep."
He counted. Then he straightened up, hesitated for a few moments and threw a quick command:
"Open your eyes."
Nina Lyman's eyes opened instantly, but not another muscle moved. He stepped back. It was a perfect trance-perfect control. A feeling of quick satisfaction-almost of triumph-touched him. Not many hypnotists could have achieved such results with a new subject. Success such as this took real skill.
"Sit up," Ramey said.
Nina Lyman sat up and turned and put her feet on the floor. She acted perfectly natural. There was no zombie-like frigidity. Only her face was immobile and her eyes seemed unfocused.
"Stand up." She arose and faced him. She stood in front of him looking at him with unseeing eyes.
A quick feeling of exultation swept him. Perhaps it was a reaction from Mike Moratta's abuse and contempt-something Ramey needed to bolster his ego. At any rate, he looked at Nina Lyman and saw her as a symbol of his power. He was Good. He did have something-a way over people-that set him apart.
Power he had never tested.
"Undress," he said.
Nina took off her halter. She slipped out of the panties and stood waiting. Could he handle her by command? He wondered. He knew she would take almost any indirect suggestion he would make. But could he handle her direct?
"Get down on your hands and knees."
She dropped halfway to the floor but then she stopped.
"You are a dog," he said quickly. "You are tired of standing on your hind legs."
Nina Lyman dropped down on her hands and knees. He was not satisfied. She had accepted his suggestion but not his command.
"You are warm," he said. "It is very warm. You are a dog and you are warm."
Her mouth opened in a grin. Her tongue came out and hung loosely. Her breasts shook as she panted.
"You're my dog. I am your master. You love me. You are afraid I'm angry with you."
Nina Lyman jerked her tongue into her mouth and looked at him apprehensively. She crawled to him and pushed her face on his leg and whined. She wriggled her ass and nuzzled the cuff of his trousers.
This was unbelieveable. For a moment he was sure she was faking. She had to be faking. But then he knew she was not.
He squatted down. "Shake hands."
She obeyed and grinned and wriggled her rear.
It was degrading. But Ramey saw only the triumph. And he sought to make it a greater triumph.
"You are not a dog. You are a woman," he said.
The shock of this could easily have brought her out of her trance. He watched closely to see if there was any indication of surprise. There was none. Only the blank-eyed stare.
He considered his technique. To command a person to commit a degrading or humiliating act would be accomplished if the suggestion that the person was also accompanied it. Then it would no longer be humiliating. But to make the opposite suggestion
"You are naked in front of a dozen men," he said. "But I want you to show yourself to them naked. I command it."
Nina Lyman made a quick gesture as though to cover herself with her hands. But upon his command, she drew her hands back and stood motionless.
He touched a part of her body. "You itch just there. I command you to scratch yourself."
In order to do this, Nina Lyman had to assume a crude position. She did not hesitate. She scratched her asshole and a look of pleasure and satisfaction came upon her face.
"You still itch," he said. "I command you to scratch yourself against the bed post."
She complied and he tested his command further. "Men are watching you; they are laughing. But I wish you to continue."
She hesitated. Then she obeyed.
"You may sit on the bed and rest," he said.
She was an automaton-a zombie, her condition proving Ramey's natural skill-his power as a hypnotist.
He looked closely into her eyes and said, "What is your name?"
"Nina Lyman."
"What is your husband's name?"
"Steve Lyman."
"Where did your husband borrow the money that kept him from having to sell his building in Manhattan?"
She hesitated and he was about to turn her mind away from the question when she said, "From Larry Strieker."
He took a deep breath. It had been as simple as that. Now he could relay the information to Mike Moratta, take his ten thousand dollars, and get back to town. He'd had enough of this place.
Or had he? It occurred to him that perhaps he ought to give the situation a little more thought. If Mike Moratta had been willing to pay ten thousand dollars for that information it was certainly worth a lot more than that to him.
He turned his attention to Nina Lyman. "Put your clothes on."
She got off the bed and donned her bikini and waited.
"I will count to ten," he said. "When I reach the count of ten, you will awaken. You will feel rested and vital and you will want a martini. You will want a martini very badly. And you will remember nothing that happened after you came into this room except that you came up to invite me to have a drink with you."
He repeated the last command twice and then began to count. When he reached ten, Nina Lyman's eyes opened. She swayed for a brief moment. Then her own personality took command and she smiled.
"Well," she asked. "How about it? Can you stand my company long enough for a drink or two:"
"No. I'm afraid I've had a few too many already. Can I have a rain check?"
"If I'm still in the mood when you're ready. Right now, I want a martini even if I have to drink alone. I'll see you around."
She left without a backward look and Ramey closed the door after her.
His mental effort had tired him and he stretched out on the bed. But he did not close his eyes. He hooked his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
His whole new trend of thought, he realized, had been generated quite suddenly by Mike Moratta's tongue lashing. Ramey had never before been treated that way and he was surprised by his own hostility.
But it was there, nonetheless, and he began sorting out the information he'd gleaned to see if any of it would give him any power over Moratta.
He didn't see how he could make use of the bit he'd gotten from Nina Lyman other than to sell it to Moratta for the agreed ten thousand. He could haggle and perhaps squeeze Moratta for another thousand or so, but that wouldn't be a victory in proportion to the bruise his ego had suffered. There had been a radical change in Moratta's manner and his way of life. He'd gone off the deep end so to speak and Ramey wondered why.
There was something about Moratta's wife. Some painful experience in which the boy had been involved. The boy's outburst in Ramey's room indicated violence. Who had hit whom and kept on hitting and hitting?
Then too, there was that mound back on the estate that looked suspiciously like a grave. The place where the boy planted geraniums.
What significance did all this have?
Ramey took a shower after giving the matter a little more thought, and went downstairs to join the other guests. Things were going full blast. He watched a poker game in which the stakes ran as high as a thousand dollars. He moved on to a crap" game where one of the players rolled a seven and picked up a huge handful of hundred-dollar bills.
Nobody asked him to join in the games. The players were too deeply occupied with their own fortunes.
As he strolled around, Ramey got the idea that these were the kind of people who did everything right up to the hilt. Whatever was worth doing, was worth doing intensely.
He was happy at being ignored; happy also, that except for a girl or two hanging over the shoulders of their men, watching the gambling, the females seemed to have disappeared.
He strolled out into the patio and beyond. A full moon glowed over the trees, throwing ample light, and Ramey moved off in the direction of the strange grave-like mound where he'd discovered the geraniums. Thoughts of that mound haunted him.
Sure only of the general direction, he moved quite some distance and had begun to wonder whether or not he was lost when he heard the quick scream of a woman.
The scream was cut off instantly, as though something had been clapped over the woman's mouth. It came from the left and Ramey turned in that direction. Before long, he heard other sounds-indications of a gathering.
He changed his course, veering to the left and located the gathering sounds of moving foliage.
The activity, whatever it was, went on behind a bank of high bushes that formed a wall. He moved along a bank of trees that hid him with covering shadows and came quietly up to the hedge. He parted two of the bushes and looked through.
The group consisted of four girls. He recognized Dee Redding and the one he'd heard referred to as Delia. He had not seen the others.
Then three other girls joined the group and their arrival was quite spectacular. One was pusshed suddenly through the hedle on the opposite side by the two others. Ramey recognized the girl who had been pushed. It was Iris Cameron.
The other two followed, grim looks on their faces-the girl who had made the acid remark while Ramey and Iris ate dinner in the patio, and one of the girls who had looked daggers at Iris from across the patio.
Iris Cameron stumbled from the force of the shove and went to her knees in front of the waiting four.
"What the hell is this:" she snarled.
A tall brunette girl-one of those already on the scene-appeared to be the leader. She looked at the two who had pushed Iris through the hedge and asked, "Did anybody see you bring her here?"
The small brunette answered, "No. We got her away without any noise."
The other girl smiled grimly. "I told her I'd break her arm if she made a fuss."
"I heard her scream."
"I cut that short. She'll have a sore elbow for a week."
"That's not all that'll be sore," one of the other girls added.
Iris Cameron came warily to her feet. She was dressed in a blouse and a skirt now.
"What is this?" she demanded. "You'll find out, honey."
Iris sneered. "Gang up on me and I'll scream so loud it'll bring cops from miles around."
"Okay," the leader said, "It's up to you. We're just doing you a favor."
"This is a favor."
"Bringing you out here is. Unless you want to take it in front of the men."
"Just what the hell do you mean?"
"We figure you've got something coming, baby, and the men would like nothing better than to see a good brawl. Do you feel like entertaining them?"
Iris looked around through narrowed eyes. "So you are ganging up on me."
"That isn't necessary, sweetie. I can take you any day of the week."
"In a fair fight."
"That's right."
Iris sneered. "You're out of your mind."
The others had moved back into a circle. Without further word, the tall, brunette leader took three steps toward Iris who immediately kicked off her high-heeled shoes.
The two females adversaries now began circling each other, looking for an advantage. As Ramey stared, spellbound, the brunette moved in swiftly and aimed a punch at Iris's head.
Iris ducked the blow but did not completely avoid it. It slid across her cheek and she snarled, "You bitch!" and swung wildly.
The brunette dodged the clumsy blow and drove her fist into Iris's waist. Iris doubled over, emitting a rancous sound that brought harsh laughs from two of the girls and caused the others to grin.
Iris went to her knees, gasping for breath that had been knocked out of her. She tried automatically to rise, but her knees were weak.
The girl who had punched her in the stomach stepped back contemptuously and waited. But one of the onlookers was not so sportsmanlike.
The little brunette rushed in behind the kneeling Iris and jerked her skirt down around her ankles.
Iris staggered to her feet. The waistband of the skirt tangled and she lost her balance and waved her arms wildly as she strove to regain it.
The brunette's sportsmanship ended at this point. She moved in on the teetering Iris and hit her in the waist again.
She said, "Every punch is for some man you've sneaked away from one of us."
Iris was on her knees again. The second punch had brought on nausea and she was gagging. "You cheap, lousy, cock-suckers!" she croaked. "You can't get away with this."
"Yell any time you want to, sweetie. A few of the men are drunk. Maybe they'll think up some ideas of their own, just for kicks."
Iris gamely struggled to her feet, but only to find that the playful little brunette, getting even for the man she lost to Iris, had moved in and treated Iris's panties the same way she treated the skirt.
Naked now, from the navel down, Iris found the panties an even greater hazard. She tried to take a step and they threw her.
The tall brunette had thrown another punch just at that instant, and in dodging and reeling at the same time, Iris went over on her back, kicking desperately to get out of the imprisoning panties.
Another of the watchers moved in now, trying to kick Iris while she was helpless. Iris got rid of the restricting panties and lashed a kick back from the ground. The girl circled her and Iris revolved on her ass, keeping her legs toward the girl.
"You said this was going to be a fair fight!" she snarled.
The girl stepped back and Iris rolled over, preparatory to getting up. This was a mistake. Another of the onlookers, a thin, model-type blonde, lunged forward with hate in her eyes; a hatred that no doubt reflected the loss of a man she valued to the gorgeous Iris Cameron.
Wearing slacks and thus unimpeded by a skirt, she landed astride Iris and dropped her weight into the small of the unfortunate girl's back. Iris went down-sprawled out-with a grunt of pain.
The thin blonde seized her flailing wrists and pulled them backward. Iris's body arched upward until only the tips of her breasts touched the grass.
"You lousy bitch!" she moaned. "Cut that out. Let me go. When I get up I'll cripple you!"
The girl released her arms and seized her by the hair. She grinned up at the others. "Shall I rube her nose in the dirt?"
"Make her eat the grass," a voice said contemptuously.
"Maybe we can do more damage at this end," she said.
"Let her up," the brunette leader said. "She's had enough to get the idea."
The small girl and the thin blonde, however, were in the grip of more sadistic emotions. "Not 'til I give her something to remember me by."
Iris, foreseeing what the girl may have had in mind, went into a frenzy of resistance. "No, damn you! Leave me alone. Get off me!"
"Say uncle!" the girl taunted.
"Like hell I will."
The girl's grin was filled with hate. She applied a vulgar form of painful punishment, shoving her fist against Iris's cuntlips.
Iris squalled in rage. She pounded the grass with her fists. "When I get up I'll beat the-"
The girl twisted.
Iris's face went white.
"Say uncle," the girl demanded.
"Like hell I-owww-oh uncle-uncle-uncle."
"That's better," the girl looked up at the tall brunette. "Shall I let her up now?"
The brunette responded coldly. "I told you to do it before."
"I'll kill you," Iris moaned.
A touch of fear ran over the blonde's face. "You try it and we'll start in again where I left off."
The performance had sickened some of the other girls. They hadn't come to Iris's defense, but their senses, however course and callous, had been offended.
"Speak for yourself," one of them said.
"Wait a minute. I did this job for you. You're not going to let her beat the hell out of me are you?"
"You haven't forgotten Puerto Rico, have you, dearie?"
Ramey, completely spellbound by the performance, kept it from the personalized part of his mind and fell back on the abstract. First, he observed that there was little difference between the hostilities of the men and the women in this group. They both settled their differences in the same way. With violence. Also, he noted that Iris wasn't the only one guilty of man-stealing. There were evidently other grudges to be settled among them.
All in all, he thought, it may have been a gay and glamorous way of life, but it had its drawbacks.
The blonde still sat on Iris's back, grinding her into the grass. She was frightened now. "If I let her up, she'll break me to pieces!"
"Then sit on her ass all night," someone suggested.
"Push a sleeping tablet down her throat and wait 'til she goes to sleep," another taunted.
"Get up and run like hell," a third voice suggested.
Ramey got the idea that perhaps they were all a little afraid of Iris and uneasy at what they'd done. Like children, he thought, who had surrendered to their hostile emotions and were now afraid of the consequences.
The blonde realized that she would get no help-that she was being left on her own. Reconciled to the fact, she. stopped appealing and brought her own ingenuity into play.
She pointed to Iris's brassiere. "Hand it to me," she said.
Intrigued, one of the girls picked up the bra and circled around, out of range of Iris's clawing hands, and held the garment out to the blonde.
The latter anchored it firmly in her teeth. Then, getting up quickly, thus leaving Iris off-guard, she turned and grasped Iris firmly by the ankles.
triumphantly, she straightened up and Iris began struggling anew.
"Stay as you are," the blonde ordered. "Turn over and I'll jump on you."
Iris continued to fight but the blonde was in command, and began dragging the girl toward a nearby tree. There, as the others watched, she pulled Iris's legs around its trunk so that she was still on her face but with the tree trunk between her legs.
The bra, dangling from the blonde's teeth, now came into play as she used it for a cord to bind Iris's ankles together.
"Clever," one of the girls said. "Real clever. By the time she gets out of that, you can be back in the house and locked in your room."
"That's the general idea," the blonde said grimly. She was admitting openly that discretion was the better part of valor and she didn't care who knew it.
She straightened up, wiped perspiration off her face, and said. "I'll be seeing you."
With that, she turned and headed back toward the house.
Instantly, Iris began turning and twisting, trying to reach the binding around her ankles. A steady stream of profanity flowed from her beautiful lips.
The brunette leader watched for a moment. Then she turned and started back toward the house also.
"Wait a minute," Iris pleaded. "You're not going to leave me here."
The others had started to follow the brunette. They all stopped as the brunette said. "You can get yourself loose by wriggling your ass around. While you're doing it, why don't you make a resolution to think twice before trying to take another girl's man away from her.'"
"But I'm trapped," Iris wailed. "What if-?"
She stopped, but one of the more antagonistic girls took a step in her direction. "What if what, honey?" she asked gloatingly.
"What if some character find me this way, before I get loose. I can't reach the brassiere." Fear of what might come had sapped the defiance from Iris. She could face the immediate and the real, but not the imaginings of what some drunk's cock might do to her if he found her helpless.
The girl laughed. "I'm glad it's your problem and not mine."
They left and Ramey watched Iris curse and twist and try to reach the cleverly imposed binding on her ankles.
He debated as to what to do. He'd looked upon himself as an observer, not involved in what went on in this mad place. These people had their own problems and fought their own battles.
That had been his reason for not interfering during the fight-for not stopping the abuse the girls had inflicted on Iris. Or at least that was what he'd told himself. Iris had no doubt earned her punishment. Then let her take it.
But did that still hold now? Did she deserve what might happen if one of the male animals in this strange weekend jungle found her tied and helpless.
He decided that she didn't and stepped out into view.
"Are you in trouble?"
His words sounded stupid and asinine in his own ears but he could think of no others.
Her lips twisted in rage and frustration as she looked up at him. "What do you think?" she snapped.
For a moment, she did not see Ramey as a threat. Then it dawned on her that this was the situation she'd feared when the others left. Kneeling there, trapped, with her ankles bound while a man stood by contemplating her naked tits and exposed cunt.
The fear cleaned her face of anger and stilled her voice. She watched in silence as Ramey approached the tree.
"Leave me alone," she whimpered. "You don't want to stay that way, do you?"
"I'll get loose myself. Just beat it! Go on about your business."
He ignored her demands and knelt beside the tree. Resentment at her unnecessary hostility angered him. But only mildly; only enough to make him take a mild satisfaction.
"You are in a pretty helpless position, aren't you?" he said cheerfully.
"Damn you! Leave me alone." Her tits and ass cringed from him even though he hadn't laid a finger on her.
"That's a pretty ingenious way to anchor a person."
"Go away! Please."
"What are you afraid of:"
"You know what I'm afraid of." He stopped working with the knot in the bra to consider the question that had been presented. He considered it aloud. "That's very strange. You give your cunt away without any fear at all. But when you're in a position to have some pussy taken away from you, then you become fearful. I wonder why."
"Good God!" she raged. "How would you like to lie on the ground naked with your legs tied around a tree and wait for some horny degenerate to pass by."
"I wouldn't like it." Ramey said. "But then again, what makes you think I'm a degenerate?"
"All men are."
"Can you give first-hand evidence on that point?" He'd gone back to loosening the knot. It gave. He pulled it away.
"There you are. All clear."
She got to her feet and turned on him warily. "I suppose you expect some kind of a reward."
The frustrations generated by the attitudes of these ridiculous people struck Ramey suddenly.
"What's wrong with you? Is your whole life based on hatred and hostility? Can't you give a man credit for the least spark of decency? What kind of people have you lived with all your life?"
She stared at him, naked, there in the moonlight. Then, without warning, the nude, gorgeous girl sobbed and put her arms around him. She began to kiss him passionately, saying, "You're good, Dr. Ramey, you're so much better than the rest of them here."
As her curved, tilted breasts pressed into him, she began to rub her thighs and bush-hair against him gently. Ramey became aroused in spite of himself. Iris Cameron was a classically beautiful girl. He drew her down on the soft turf beside him. He began to kiss her firm breasts, flicking the ruby, hardening nipples with his tongue. Iris gratefully began to run her hands up and down his thighs. When she opened his zipper, Ramey wriggled out of his pants and tossed his shirt and shorts after them. Then, naked as Iris, he turned to her tits again. As he mouthed each crimson nipple, Iris began to moan.
She hungrily seized his huge pulsating prick and brought him within the warmth of her splended hot, moist cuntlips. She hoped he would feel her gratitude as her cunt began to thrill his stiff dick rhythmically with thrilling little ways all her own. Iris moaned again with pleasure as tremblings and shudders of sensation shot through her twat. She felt her peak ecstasy rush over her like an avalanche and she screamed joyously, "You're great Ralph, great! Shoot all your scum into me, now, now!" Her legs wound spasmodically around his torso as he grunted with the thrill of supreme pleasure that flashed through his straining prick as his hot sperm jetted into her vagina.
They lay there nude, entwined in mindless sensation on the turf for long moments as the stars looked down on their gleaming bodies....
After a little while, she played with his cock. Before she had worked it into full erection, he had shoved it into her cunt and was fucking her once again.