Chapter 4

Ken Holman called Rod on schedule to fill him in on the details of the wild fuck affair that was scheduled for that evening.

"It's being thrown by Rita Vanoff-she's Martin Vanoff's wife, you know the big T.V. and movie producer. He commutes between Hollywood and New York. But little Rita just likes to stay in New York-especially when friend hubby is out on the coast."

"And he's in L.A. tonight?" Rod asked.

"But of course!" Ken replied.

"And she's picking up the whole tab?"

Yes, Rod conceded. The party was beginning to swing. Any minute now.

At the party, he forced down half a martini, refilled his glass to the brim again. He had to get in a party mood. Taking both glasses, he stared back toward Jean. And smiled to see Rita moving about the room, extinguishing still more lamps. Until now only the hanging gold lamps still burned, conferring the dimmest of light, making the room murky, a saffron cast masking everything. Then she was groping her way back to Merritt. With a wry grin Rod saw Marian Carter leaning to kiss Vince Fletcher, saw his hands sliding agitatedly on her trembling ass and legs.

He sat beside Jean, handed her the brandy. "Hope it's all right."

"What can you do to brandy and ice? Mmmm, you brought me lots. Here's to you."

"Here's to us."

"You are an operator, aren't you? Did they teach all that to you?"

"No, I knew it ever since I've been old enough to fuck a woman."

She laughed delightedly. "Oh, Rod, you are cute. That tastes yummy. Almost as yummy as I feel. I guess I've been drinking too much. But I was scared at first. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that. But I'm all right now."

"Have you been here before?"

"No," she said, sipping her drink. "My first visit. Only Daphne's been here before. But I knew about these parties. Rita's asked me other times. But I wasn't ready. This will be the first time I've ever been unfaithful to my husband."

"Yes, Jean?"

"Would-would you think me awfully forward if-if I asked you to kiss me?"

Rod felt his heart swell, flip-flop painfully. What had he been thinking of? That he hadn't made his move before now? In answer, he put his glass down, took the small, fragile body into his arms, held her closely for long, sweet moments. Then he brought his lips down.

And was amazed at the squirming, pushing, little whore she turned into. At the way she drilled her lips into his, the way she darted her tongue to his, clinging and sliding against him as if she hadn't been kissed or held in months.

"Rod, Rod," she sighed. "It's cheap, I know it's cheap, but I can't help it." Again her lips sought his. And as they kissed this time he brought his hand up, caught her tit, felt the hard point of her nipples in his palm. She shuddered convulsively, put her hand over his, held it to her breast. Her tongue went wild.

Daphne Rhodes had dropped the front of her dress, was busily coaxing her titties to Ken's mouth, squeezing them together, bringing both to him at once.

Marian Carter was lying in a half swoon as Fletcher caressed her nyloned legs, every sweep bringing him closer to her cunt.

While Rod, no innovator, he, was merely toying with Jean's sliding legs, the probing kiss going on non-stop in the meanwhile.

But all of this was stopped cold, everyone brought up staring as a shrill, ragged scream rent the drowsy, hissing air.

And they looked up to see Rita Vanoff in the center of the room, fighting with Bob Merritt, he slapping her across the face, trying to struggle her down onto a long, low, walnut cocktail table. Now as she shrilled her protests, he caught the throat of her expensive dress, tore at it savagely, ripped it right down the front.

"What the...?" Rod gasped, thinking Merritt had gone berserk. But immediately he saw Vince advancing on them, begin struggling for Rita's arms also. Almost simultaneously Ken was besides Rod, tapping his shoulder.

"C'mon, Rod," he shot. "This is it. Games now."

Woodenly Rod rose, followed Ken toward the room's center. "Hold her other foot," Ken commanded. "I'll get this one."

Still not knowing what was going on, Rod did as he was told. While above him Rita still screamed and cursed and struggled. As Merritt continued to tear her expensive dress to shreds.

"No, no..." she begged. "Don't, oh please don't fuck me." Her eyes rolled op into her head. "God, wont somebody help me?" Her cries were genuinely authentic, her terror real. But now Rod realized that her struggles weren't. Her wrenchings and twistings involved only token energy.

Now Merritt tore at the beautiful, lace-encrusted slip, threw it aside. Exposing the blonde woman dressed in evil black panties and brassiere.

"This is the gimmick," Ken muttered to Rod. "She digs it this way. She goes into this trance, really thinks she's being raped. Then she digs it the most."

Rod felt goose pimples marshal and march down his back. Never in his life had he heard of an aberration like this. And he held Rita's ankles tighter.

While Bob disdained clips and clasps, savagely wrenched away the exquisite, lacy lingerie, as he clawed at her stockings and garter-belt. Until at last the gorgeous blonde was naked, quivering before him, head hanging down, wracking, pleading sobs still breaking from her throat.

"On the table," Bob spat. "Hold her, you guys."

Brutally the three men threw her down, Ken and Rod pinning her ankles to the corners of the table. "Press down," Ken whispered. "Hurt her. She loves it best then."

While they held her, Ken and Rod on her feet. Vince Fletcher twisting her arms high above her head, Merritt was quickly undressing, Rod became conscious of the fact that Daphne Rhodes had herded the other girls close, that they were all watching gape-mouthed amazement, Jean especially. And yet-her dismay was tinged with revulsion.

There was a murmur, a ragged, terrified scream from Rita as Bob turned.

"Oh no!" Rita smiled anew. "Please don't. You'll hurt me, you'll kill me. Oh, don't, I beg you, don't!"

"Don't stop," Ken mimicked, whispering under his breath.

Then Bob was climbing the table, ignoring Rita's cries and sinking his erect prick in her cunt.

Until finally she wasn't screaming any more. Only hoarse gasps of delight broke from her.

"Okay," Ken smiled. "Let her go."

They returned to their separate women.

And Jean was revulsed no more. She watched in wide-eyed fascination as the two on the table savagely fucked, her own breath catching in her throat, welcoming Rod as he renewed playing with her nipples. Her kiss was abstracted and hurried, her eyes avid to see the entire fuck show. Merritt had one nipple in his mouth savagely sinking his prick into her cunthole. The table squeaked under the weight of the screwing couple. Her legs wound around his back as she moaned and writhed under the intense screwing. Once, Merritt's cock slid out intentionally, and Jean's eyes, bulged at the size of it. From a hoarse cry from Rita, he rammed it back into her pussy and began the intense fucking again.

Then it was over. A prolonged cacophony of ragged screams, an uncontrollable trembling of limbs. And at long last a satisfied Rita lay still.

"Stay with me, baby," she told Merritt. Her eyes were wide, amorous. "You were magnificent, darling. Just magnificent." Then she turned, glared at her audience. "Well, what the hell you waiting for? Get upstairs. You're on your own now. Scat!"

"This way," Jean sighed, tearing at Rod frenziedly. "Please hurry. I want to get fucked!"

Moments later only Rita and Bob remained in the living room. Rita purring contentedly to him.

Jean luxuriated in Rod's attentions, twisting on the satin sheets as Rod reverently undressed her. Small, quaking sobs erupted from her throat as he came to her, ran his hands over her warm, creamy body. It seemed she would jump out of her skin when he fastened his mouth to her titties, the sensation making her feel like the pulsing globes were soon to explode.

When her cunt could wait no longer, she brought her hands to his prick and drew him toward her. It was sweet and self effacing, a feeling like Rod hadn't known in a long, long time.

But at last it was different. Shatteringly different. As Jean sucked in her breath, convulsed by a harrowing terror, held it. But still she willed him to enter her cunthole.

And Rod felt an incredible fever consume him, rob him of all mentality. He was transformed. There was only Jean-this most essential and vital manifestation of Jean. And his answer to that offering and self-sacrifice as he rammed his ten inch prick into her moist hole, wet with the yearning juice for his cock. He didn't spare her. He wasn't brutish-but he wasn't gentle either. In and out-in and out-his huge tool worked into her cunt until she was screaming without stop, her words incoherent, words whose shadowy import was love and gratitude and for more of his dong.

He quickly grabbed one of her huge nipples into his mouth and again began to ram his prick into the love-juice filled hole. Their legs entwined and held fast as his other hand massaged her other nipple, the heat and passion of their fuck became so intense that she had two more orgasms in quick succession.

A frantic, insane stream of tremendous jets of sperm Rod was only too happy, even delirious to add to only moments later.

"It was wonderful," Jean said with that same moving wonder and humbleness, when at last they had caught then-breaths. "Simply wonderful. I never dreamed it could be like that."

"I don't understand," Rod murmured. "You acted so... I can't explain it. You were just different. Like it was your first time."

Her voice was distant. "No, Rod, it wasn't my first time. I... "

At that moment there was a hammering at the door. They heard Daphne Rhode's coarse chuckles. "You done in there yet, Jean? You know what Rita said. I get him next. You and Kenneth now. C'mon, hurry up."

And Rod understood why Olga had promised five hundred dollars. The night was, in all actually, only beginning. Still he felt a monumental anger, a fury of rebellion. "No," he whispered. "You don't have to go. Stay here. With me all night."

Her laughter was shattery, forced. "No," she said. "I'm going to try all of these lovely pricks. That's what I came for, that's what I'm going to get."

"You don't mean that," he shot. "You know you don't want to take all of the sperm like you did mine!"

"Don't kid yourself." Her voice was hard, firm now, an ugly resolve and stubbornness coming to the fore. "I know what I came here for." The words were bitter, as though she was extorting vengeance-more on herself than on anyone else-"and I'm not leaving without it."

Then she was slipping from the bed. The door opened; there were female giggles. And Jean was replaced. Now Daphne's hands ran tremblingly over his body.

As she made her overtures, he understood why Kenneth had promoted Daphne. For in a debasing rite, reflecting her hatred for her indifferent husband, she took care of things all by her lonesome, asking absolutely no release for herself. She would defile herself-she'd show him-as her hands jerked Rod's prick until he shot his load.

Marian came next. Heading that he emulate Vince's example. In the end promising that she would-if he would. But Rod was obdurate, and finally she had to capitulate.

Rita was more dominating. And in her maniac strength, in her evil cajolings and threatenings, she finally extorted more sadism from him. She made him tie her wrists to the bedposts with her stockings. Then she made him cover himself with a fur rug as if he were an animal. He crouched and then sprung on her, his cock immediately embedded in her cunt while he fucked her with an abandon he was surprised at. As they both came in each other she cried, "yes," she gasped, "that's it. Wowee... you devil, you."

Some time later, seemingly an eternity, Jean came back. A foul-mouthed, totally polluted Jean. A Jean who insisted he fuck her again. Who passed out in his arms before the event was barely begun.

It was an hour before dawn when Rita came into the bedroom, found them thus, and woke them. Rod tried to help Jean, but Rita interfered. "You take care of yourself, stud," she snarled. "You guys clear out while the clearing out's good. I'll see to this poor chick."

Rod was reluctant to leave, but finally went and joined the rest of Olga's boys in the car. He wondered if they were as completely drained and tired as he was. If they were, they certainly didn't show it. Instead, they laughed and joked about the evening's events and especially kidded Rod.

"Now that your getting a taste of being a real pro stud, how do you feel at the end of an honest night of screwing?" Vince Fletcher kidded.

But the teasing fell on deaf ears-Rod had fallen asleep like a man who's been slugged.