Chapter 6
"I have to agree with that," snickered Dr. Dearborn, his moustache twitching at the pale-faced, terror-struck lovely sitting like a limp rag doll. Eyes rolling in her head, tossed blonde curls with apple cheeks creating a pulchitrudinous image of vulnerability.
Myra's eyes gleamed, her face twisting into a gloat. Obscene ideas and images rampaged through her libido in a lusty carnival. Had Polly any inkling of her incipient involvement in this melodrama, she would have crawled on hands and knees out of the door and hitchhiked home!
Dr. Dearborn pooched out his thin lips and hooked a finger in his collar. "Getting rather stuffy in here, don't you think?"
"Stuffy ..." smirked Myra, leveling cattish eyes on her guest, " isn't the word for it!"
Polly, glued to the chair, nodded her bobbing head. She'd managed to sling one leg over the other, and cupped her dimpled chin in the palm of her hand, refusing to look at her ex-friend-turned villain parading in front of her. Myra's elegant fingers weighed her breasts, thrusting back her shoulders and arching her back; she ran her hands panther-like over her slender frame while her heels dug into the inch thick carpet, pirouetting in lusty circles.
Maybe they would eat soon; maybe Myra would have the heart to fix dinner. Were they deliberately depriving her of sustenance? She hoped that by ignoring Myra's shameless parade, she would quit showing off and fix dinner. Squirming wormishly in her chair, her face drawn into a tight frown, Polly drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with fireplace smoke. She too, was on fire, but never would she strip naked!
Dr. Dearborn was working at the knot in his tie and stripping it off, worked at the buttons on his shirt. He grinned lecherously at the pie-eyed blonde with the blonde Titian curls frowning in disbelief. Long tapered fingernails dug into the tweed chair arm, hem yanked up to her wad in her lap from the reckless squirming, dimpled knees yawning apart to give a mouthwatering view of her cunt. He squinted, focusing between her creamy thighs to see a wet spot of excitation on the crotchband of her panties.
Dr. Dearborn was almost naked himself now.
"Polly, ready for lesson number two." She gesticulated expansively. "A man's naked body ... stand up, Dr. Dearborn, and let Polly have a look at you!"
"You're terrible!" spat Polly, her elbow loosing its braced hold on the chair arm. The blonde head bobbed down and bobbed up like a cork in choppy waters.
"We're both made of flesh and bone .. . not much different except for shape." Myra turned her haughty gaze at Dr. Dearborn who was stripping out of his pants now. Noting the horror on Polly's crimson face, she smirked. "Don't be shocked, Dr. Dearborn teaches in the nude. Everyone of his sixty-nine students has seen the little blue veins on the underside of his cock- so don't think you're special!" Myra smiled crookedly at her teacher, basking in the glow of his eyes roving appreciatively over the swells and dips of her creamy near-nudity. He considered her one of his prize pupils, but with a teacher of such talent, how could it be otherwise? He became an animal when she raked her fingernails over his thighs, a snake when he bored his swollen penis lustfully into her belly, and a little boy when she licked at his ear. Theirs was a symbiosis of freedom of sensual expression.
Myra's dilated pupils bored into Polly's heavy lidded ones. "It feels wonderful to let yourself go and get all hot and swollen and wet and ready for a man!" To exemplify her point, she planted her high heels wide apart, slithered her elegant fingers over her belly and with one long nailed finger, pulled aside the dampened crotch band of her black bikini panties. Her red hair dipped, falling over her satiny forehead. She stared down between her own legs. "Look, my cunt is all hot and wet... mmmmm... I love to touch myself... I'm not ashamed of making myself orgasm, Polly," she purred.
That lesson hit home! Polly shrieked in horror, buried her face in trembling hands, and shut out the disgusting sight! How could any female parade around showing off her private parts and brazenly stroke herself into excitation? Even for Myra that was lewd! Yet of their own will, her tremulous fingers fell lax, and one blue eye peeked at the swollen moistness of her friend's ragged, seeping cuntal lips. There in burning firelight, her juices dewwed the rose petals of her womanhood.
Polly gulped, her burning eyes traveling up to the Cheshire cat smile on Myra's face. Pleasure was etched on every line of her face. Like a cat spread contentedly in front of the fire, Myra purred deep in her throat, her claws lengthening to give herself greater pleasure as she dipped her fingers into the seeping hole of her cunt. The blonde wife sitting in abject horror, felt a quickening of her breath, a congestion growing heavy in the pit of her stomach. Hadn't she satisfied herself in the same disgusting manner-minus an audience?
She struggled to pry her eyes loose of the sensual feast, but it was as if her neck were screwed on like a bottle cap, rusted in place. Something held her fast. She had to watch-the salacious display of animal carnality cut through morals, tradition and everything dear. Myra's finger sluiced into her slurping cunt, the noises filling the room shamefully. Polly struggled out of the chair ... but she was glued to that seat, paralyzed by curiosity and alcohol.
Polly's mouth hurt it was so dry! The tip of her warm tongue ran over the chapped line of her lips. She was inebriated beyond redemption, defenses lost to drink, her body hot and her mind churning with perverse images. An unwanted trickle of arousal rose in her wetly throbbing pussy, as she tried to toss aside sexual arousal. 'Wb. . . please stop this!" she yelped.
Myra contentedly fingered her pussy, head tossing wildly from side to side. Polly's blue saucered eyes lifted to see Dr. Dearborn stepping out of his pants and lying them over the back of the sofa. His legs were long and well formed, muscular and strong.
The older man caught her gaze and lifted his eyes to rest on Myra's gyrating body. His mouth salivated with desire for the delectable Pollyanna of purity. His penis was stony, crying for release from the red cotton trap of his jockey shorts; in moments it would be drubbing into Myra's tender, velvety parts. Their riotous plan had worked: Polly couldn't be roused from that chair if a bomb exploded on the roof!
He guffawed lecherously and tore off his shirt, gleefully watching Myra play teacher. His loins churned with excitement at the thrill of exposing his body to two young beautiful women. Tonight would be one hell of an evening! The blue eyed, blonde haired lovely would be groveling under his cock, subjugated, taught a lesson she'd never forget. Vaguely, his mind conjured up the profile of her husband. Ted, that was his name. Skinny, impotent ... or muscular, domineering?
With a contented sigh, Dr. Dearborn stretched out on the sofa before the fire, his cock losing its wrinkles in a rubbery erection that pointed straight at the ceiling. Idly, he wondered if he could shoot his cum that high, and vowed to try it some time. Not tonight, though. His legs were spread wide and shivering with anticipation. Myra withdrew her finger from the seeping hole of her vagina with a sucking noise and slid easily down on the sofa in delight, kneeling with her red hair grazing the soft bowl of Dr. Dearborn's belly, her mouth a scant tongue's lick away from the tip of his mushroom headed cock.
"Watch this, Polly! Myra's going for lesson number three. She's going to suck my cock! Watch and learn!"
With a groan of anticipation, Myra took his fleshy stalk between her warm palms and began to rub it lightly, arousing the doctor to a state of clenched teeth lust. It was all he could do to keep from groaning and shooting his cum to spurt over his belly, but he'd become very practiced in sex from teaching reluctant, frigid women to appreciate the joys of mouth on penis, mouth on vulva, and he was no short shooter!
Timing was of utmost importance to keep Polly mesmerized and curious ... and in that chair!
Grinning cattishly, Myra turned her face toward Polly as she sat on the floor, legs spread wide to show off the curling black hairs of her cunt poking out around the moistened band of her panties.
"You've never tasted a man's cock before, have you? Want a lick?" she offered. "Oh, the feeling when it gushes down your throat!"
"You talk so filthy!" moaned Polly, covering her face with her hands.
"Poor Ted," sighed Myra. "That's the problem with your marriage. You told me so yourself. But you'll learn, Polly, believe me, you'll learn!"
"Oh, Gawd!" Polly's wail was anguished. How could Myra talk this way, so filthy, so obscene, so proudly animalishly about sex. The wild sensations rampaging through her body were raping her of mental clarity. Now her own body terrified her. The brandy, the filthy language, suggestive and lewd, and the heavy congestion from Ted's neglect swamped her body with goose-bumped thoughts of carnality.
Myra's living room had transformed into an inferno of steaming obscenities echoing with grunts and moans of lewdness. Polly cringed in the chair, glued in a strangely masochistic way. Her warm body sheened with perspiration, her forehead beaded, the ripe cleavage between her milky breasts sticky. Conflicting emotions rioted in her body. Somehow she couldn't believe this dinner party was real. She pinched herself to make certain she wasn't dreaming, but that act of self-flagellation did nothing to dispel the obscene hallucinations enacted not five feet away!
Perversity in its rawest, stickiest form was unraveling before her saucered eyes as she watched the rigid pole of Dr. Dearborn's cock jutting up from his hairy loins, holding her attention magically. If bile of disgust choked her before, she was suffocating on it now! A gurgle of nausea threatened her as she saw Myra press her lovely face closer to Dr. Dearborn's steaming groin. The meaty erection stabbed at the red headed glistening lips ... and then Myra leaned forward with a groan, pooched out her cherry lips and blew hot breath over the seeping tip, bringing a whimper of delight from her professor of lust. A second later that whimper magnified to a low groan as Myra's practiced pink tongue darted out to swipe off the pearl of pre-cum dangling precariously at the tip of his swollen cock head.
"Mmmm ..." she smacked her lips loudly, squirming on her knees, groveling in his groin, adoring the taste of Dr. Dearborn's pungent tasting cock.
And Myra wasn't feigning delight. A ripple of nausea was hard to choke down as Polly watched the thick hardness dripping with erotic juices too succulent to stay within the tensile, rubbery line of Myra's sucking lips. A bit of creamy spittle rivered to the base of his cock, glistening in the flickering firelight. Myra wriggled her naked hips as she ovaled her beestung lips over the head of his pulsating cock.
The horror of watching a woman pervertedly sucking a man's peniss sent earthquaking tremors of revulsion quaking through Polly's drunken brain. The porthole of her still functioning brain screamed for her to pry loose of that chair and throw herself behind the wheel of her car no matter what the circumstances! Drunk or not ... she couldn't stay here and play voyeur. She struggled to will her body to move, but her nerves were short-circuited, frazzled, her mind a steaming swamp of sensation and her physical body melted to rubber. The brandy and the heat of the blazing fireplace had pickled her brain and begun a sexual fermentation deep in the heart of her womb... not to be controlled, and not to be desired by the shamefaced Polly Atkins.
Her fingertips shredded the chair arms agonizingly as oogle-eyed, she recalled the earlier pain of imagining Dr. Dearborn and Myra groveling nakedly together. Now those fears had materialized into a real life drama happening a hand's reach away! The lustful slurp of Myra's working lips slipping hotly over Dr. Dearborn's hot erection mingled with deep groans and moans of a man seeing a glimpse of nirvana. She blinked. Was it possible that she had willed this crazy obscene melodrama through precognition? She gulped at the thought of the powers of the will, and wished her body could muster the will to peel itself loose of the chair.
Fingers of guilt and self-loathing choked at her throat, making her settle the guilt on the real guilty party! If Ted hadn't treated her like a worthless slut, wanting to put his mouth on her down there between her legs, she wouldn't be sitting here watching Myra make a slut of herself! Those charring thoughts screeched to a halt from the heated sensation of the chair's tweed cushion sticking to her sheened upper thighs, sticking electrically to her seeping cuntal hole up above the rim of her silk stockings. The erotic sensation made her jerk and she pressed her legs together to halt the pricklish arousal that began to gallop through her loins.
Polly's sweating hands flew to her mouth. "Stop... please . ,. help me go home!" she whimpered. Even if Ted wasn't talking to her and refusing her the joy of making love, she was a married woman who owed her husband the respect and loyalty of honoring their marriage vows. She clenched her eyes shut, squeezing out salty tears, wondering why she couldn't shake loose the pricklish thrills of excitation pulsating in the heart of her womb as a result of watching the worse than naked college friend sucking, nibbling, tantalizing over her teacher's blood engorged penis. It was horrifying, disgusting ... and yet she couldn't budge from her voyeur's seat.
"Ohhh ... mmm." Myra mewled around the stabbing stalk of male meat. She sucked in vacuuming rhythms, expertly, driving her lips over the full heated length of his hotly throbbing penis, trapping it deep within her throat, slamming it hard against her tonsils. Myra's eyes began to water, her cheeks reddened from the effort; yet she took it all. Polly could see through blurred vision her friend's wetly ovalled lips working on the thickly veined shaft, watched with glazed eyeballs as the wet lips of her mouth puckered outward and then rolled back in as she sawed up and down, up and down.
Dr. Dearborn's slender hips tensed and jerked spasmodically out of control, heaving up into the masochistically kneeling woman's lovely face, the hard stalk of flesh disappearing with each swallow so that all just but a fraction of the hairy base was lost in the warm cavern of her saliva splattered mouth. As she sucked, and suck she did, Myra's free hand wriggled between the man's thighs, tickling, caressing the bloated sac of sperm-laden testicles. Myra's gorgeous face was twisted in lust, mirroring her voracious desire to milk all of his fiery hot semen and gulp it down her hungry gullet.
The room smelled of firewood smoke and steaming genitals, hanging in the air like sensual fog ready to break into a thunderstorm of lust over Polly's sweat sheened forehead. She smelled sex, her eyes saw sex, her tongue could taste the piquancy of Dr. Dearborn's secretions, and her hands sweated with the need to feel naked flesh. A sob tore from her throat, her dimpled chin trembling dangerously. She wanted to be with Ted, wanted to have him stretched out on the sofa while she manipulated-oh, how could she think such filthy thoughts! Her marriage was not a pig pen of lust like Myra's sex life! No, no, hers was precious, intimate, loving and real! She had never imagined a woman could act so sluttishly, that two human beings could treat each other so animalishly! Now she was being taught a lesson she would rather not have learned. To her terror, she realized her buzzing ears were the creation of her own moans of desire ringing through her skull and finding physical expression as she ran her hot tongue over her dry lips and sang the nuses song of beguilement!
"Disgust was fading to desire, running from white hot to passionate pink! Pricklish stirrings of response for another woman's experience, ate at Polly's hatred and horror. Both were flesh and blood as Myra had stated, and that physical connection created a mental bridge from libido to libido. Myra's pleasure in slaving over Dr. Dearborn's genitals, became her pleasure. The cock drubbing into Myra's tensile lips became the cock drubbing into her laxly parted lips. She ran her tongue around her lips licking up the imaginary shreds of secretions seeping from Dr. Dearborn's cock tip.
Polly had become one with Myra's lust, she admitted in a blazened heat of disgrace. As she'd feared that afternoon when she screamed out her relief and dribbled cuntal juices onto Ted's bedroom pillow, she was a slut at heart-no better than Myra. Now Polly lowered her heavy head in defeat, her eyes stinging with tears. She felt her body losing defense to the taunting, flaunted throbs rising in her empty belly and cock-starved pussy. These feelings were accusatively similar to the rumblings in her starved body when she had begged Ted to take her. Now she realized in a damning burst of understanding that the feelings she experienced now watching Myra slave over Dr. Dearborn's genitals, was not unlike the thrill of lying spread eagled under her husband's pounding penis. Where then, she demanded of reason, lie the element of love in the act of lovemaking?
Love and lust battled and clashed. Polly lifted her watering blue eyes to settle on Dr. Dearborn who was placing his hands against Myra's temples and forcing her to stop sucking his cock. He was forcibly pulling her mouth free. "Stop a minute!" he grunted in a wheezing voice. "You're getting me too hot! It's not time to cum yet!"
Fires of desire danced joyously in Myra's dilated pupils. "I want to taste your cum... we have to finish the lesson for her!"
Eyes sparkling, Dr. Dearborn stared longingly at the drunken, bobbing head and fixed eyes of the starving dinner guest. With a grunting effort, he stood up from the sofa and slowly started pumping his erection with a hot fist. "We forget we have a guest, Myra," he rasped throatily, licking his lips.
Polly's hands fled to her throat. "No!" she yelped, catching his insinuation. Her buttocks clenched together, and she drew her stockinged legs up in defense against the ominous direction of his flinty eyed gaze. The tortured guest's blue eyes fled from one unsolicitious face to the other, the brandy in her brain distorting their faces lecherously.
The naked couple seemed to be closing in on her, choking her, grasping at her with long nailed claws of a bird of prey. They'd wanted to teach her a lesson-the lesson of the devil! Her own lax self-defense was trapping her, she couldn't pry herself loose from the chair, hadn't the strength to will her body to follow the trail of moral dictates. She fought off attacking hands, but no one had touched her.
"Don't .. . please don't touch me," she wailed pathetically, shaking her blonde head.
Dr. Dearborn smirked. "Nobody's going to hurt you," his tone was pacifying, convincing. The suave man took one step closer to where Polly sat cringing into the tweed chair and he reached out to touch her fevered arm. "You must be hungry, Polly ... you've had one too many brandies and you're not thinking straight."
"Get your hands off me!" she shrilled, pulling back her arm as if she'd been bitten by a rattlesnake. A sinking sensation weighed the pit of her belly, and she shivered, shooting a pathetically pleading glance in Myra's direction. Tell him to get away from me! He's your lover, not mine!"
"Quite the contrary, darling," retorted Myra with a crooked grin glistening of Dr. Dearborn's secretions. "I've invited him to dinner for you. You're the feast.. but I promise you'll leave this house another woman."
"You're the feast of the red haired friend turned vixen had said. Polly's eyes rolled in her skull, her brain burning like yesterday's newspapers, the full impact of Myra's plotting scheme hitting her between the eyes with a force that pinned her to the back of the chair.
"Help me to my car, Myra .. . please ... I want Ted back ... I don't want another man, please understand that!"
With a bored grunt, Myra rose to her feet, slipped into a fur coat snatched from the closet and tossed Polly's at her. "Okay, you win, Polly." She looped her arm through Polly's trembling one. "Say goodnight to Dr. Dearborn and let's go."
The two women staggered out the door, their high heels clicking on the crisp cement leading to Polly's parked Rabbit. Deftly, Myra opened the car door on the driver's side and her drunken dinner guest slipped behind the wheel.
"Thank you, Myra," she sniffled, "I hope you and Dr. Dearborn have a good time tonight," she choked with disgust. The key slipped into the ignition and Polly's trembling foot stomped down on the accelerator.
Click . . . , Nothing happened.
Click...
She stomped harder on the accelerator, holding it down to the floor boards and pumping it in wild desperation. It refused to turn over.
Myra pooched out her lips, drawn into a knowing grin. "I guess you'll have to spend the night, Polly. Come on, I'm freezing!"
"No ... it-it'll start... j-just watch!" Repeating the process did not change her fate.
One pair of high heels clicked gingerly on the sidewalk, the other dragged lagubriously. The heat in the living room felt as if it had been screwed up another ten degrees; the hot wall of air struck the women with suffocating force as they peeled off their coats and Polly fell into the chair defeated.
"You might feel better," suggested the unctuous doctor, "if you stretched out on the sofa." Despite her urgent, tight-voiced refusals, he helped her out of the chair, slipping a strong arm around her waist, and eased her down on the sofa. That extra few feet distance from the fireplace felt like ice on a fevered brow, and she sighed languidly, almost pleasantly with relief.
"Is there anything we can get you?" Dr. Dearborn winked surreptitiously at his accomplice.
"No... no, I'm fine. A few minutes rest and I'll call a cab." Polly was beginning to believe she'd imagined the earlier carnal escapades. Ticklish invisible fingers played at the seeping hole of her womanhood and, as she lay staring up at the ceiling making slowly vertiginous swirls her mind fled back to the earlier sensual feast. She licked her lips, thankful the two naked rompers had come to their social senses. One laxly Dr. Dearborn's devouring eyes leveled gleefully on the dinner guest's tapering thighs and stockinged legs. The movement of laying on the sofa had pulled her dress high over her thighs. Polly could feel the cool draft wafting over the dampened band of her panties and popping open one saucered eye, caught Dr. Dearborn staring nakedly down at her. The tube of his half-erect penis jutted from the nest of his loins. Hastily, she clenched her eyes shut, squeezing back a sob, turning her head to shut out the view of his penis poking directly toward her mouth.
"Feeling okay, hon?" It was Myra, leaning over her, running a cool hand over her brow. Polly drew a deep breath, smelling the woman's sex, nearly tasting it. Black wisps of pubic curls peeked out around the elastic legband of her panties. The milky orb of her oozing breast flesh dangled dangerously over the rim of her black lace brassiere, succulent and ripe. Polly had never felt so defenseless, physically, and God help her, emotionally! Their taunting, their insistence on parading around naked ... oh, to be home in her own bed with Ted curled up to her side!
They closed in on her. One hand held a damp washcloth to her forehead, other hands worked at the buttons of her blue wool bodiced dress. Some one plumped up a pillow beneath her head. Then her shoes were gone. The doctor took his place at his patient's side.
"You're going to catch a cold if you don't get out of these sweaty clothes! Really," he said with real concern, "do you always sweat this much, Mrs. Atkins?"
"I, I. .." she felt someone pulling her knees apart, and then a hand, a warm palm was running up under her wool dress, Polly spasmed with a deep throated wretchedness as she felt his lascivious fingers creep along the tender, stocking covered flesh of her inner thighs. She bolted. His practiced fingers were pulling aside the thin band of her panties. Trapped by his touch, Polly moaned out humiliation and shame, then groaned in despair and mortification that seared her married soul as the doctor began to prod and stroke along her mounds' passion-soaked band, following the telltale swollen folds of her pussy.
"God, you're wet!" he croaked.
Polly's limbs began a dance of their own. She clenched her teeth in an attempt to stem her hips thrashing gyrations. "Ohhh ... no.. . please... ."she mewled.
"Amazing," snickered Myra. "that's all it took! One little stroke and she's groveling already! And I was beginning to think my lessons weren't effective!"
Polly Atkins's entire being became a swirling maze of sensual torment and inebriation, seeping her strength as she felt the doctor's hand plunge into her steaming genitals, taunting, while his grinning accomplice worked at the buttons of her dress. Her head was pulled free of the soft cushions and a coolness shivered over her shoulders as the dress was peeled off her creamy shoulders. Now Myra's warm hand deftly slipped under her back and toyed with the fastener of her brassiere until it popped open, exposing the milky, quivering mounds of her breasts. She heard the doctor suck in his breath sharply as she leered hungrily at the trembling nakedness. A surging heat suffused her cunt and spread to her throbbing breasts as her dress was lifted from her thighs.
Dr. Dearborn hooked his fingers in the elastic waist-band of her nylon panties and reaching up under her garter belt, hauled them down over her shuddering hips and thighs, leaving her without the tiniest vestige of protection against his probing fingers and feasting eyes. The moustached sex educator shadowed over her, triumphantly running his hand over her throbbing breasts, her naked belly, her stocking covered thighs, up and down her goose-bumped nudity with toying caresses. He sucked in his breath as he watched his deft fingers move over the creaminess of the married woman's firm, cringing flesh. He'd never seen a woman as pulchitrudinously pure as this blonde haired, blue eyed lovely. Her skin was flawless and firm as a sixteen year-old's and, after treating the sexual ills of forty-two year old frigid bitches, this was a welcoming sight! His sperm heavy balls ached between his thighs and the sight of her nudity made him long to thrust his cock deep into her hot little pussy... but not until later.
The lecherous doctor held himself in check, torturing himself for a delicious moment in anticipation of the final skewering of his rock hard cock up between the full pink lips of her twitching cuntal hole. And they were throbbing, ragged, swollen, ready and wet! But she hadn't lost her defenses yet, not entirely. The physical symptoms were there glistening before his flinty eyes, but she hadn't been mentally trained yet to loosen inhibition and desire vocally. Until such moment when she could mouth her needs, his lessons were lost. She needed to need him more than he needed her. That would be the ultimate lesson. She needed to lose repulsion at the sight of his blue veined cock and lose all control of herself, forgetting who and what she was and needing to be fucked until her legs wobbled.
Even Myra, arrogant wet-pussied Myra, needed some lessons in that area. She was beginning to feel a power in her female sensuality that was openly detrimental and threatening to his male dominance. He was the teacher, after all! Might be a good idea to teach them a lesson together, he grinned salaciously to himself, the wheels of sex cranking overtime. He would force Myra into a defensive corner until she had to fight her way free... admitting to his mastery over her.
The salacious thought of playing scriptwriter in the melodrama of college friends turned enemies, churned and burned in his cunning brain. To bring them to their knees . .. together... ah, yes!
Shooting Myra a crooked smile, he snickered up at her. "You've hardly been gracious, Myra. Why don't you make up to little Polly and give her pussy a few good licks!"
Polly's head shot up off the pillow and a blanche-faced Myra blinked incredulously at the stern-faced doctor. The women stared at each other for a brief moment, then quickly averted their gaze to rest on the doctor's intent stare.