Chapter 3
Eight o'clock Saturday morning found the summer swingers outside the Talbot's building. Brian, Paul, Christopher and James huddled over a map of Long Island which had been spread atop the hood of Brian's auto, their attractive wives clustered nearby.
It was an absolutely gorgeous early summer day and the swappers considered the beautiful weather an excellent omen. Brian and Rhonda, like the others, were attired in casual clothes.
And like their hedonistic friends they were eager to get under way.
The titian-tressed lovely was especially excited, the preceding ten months of decorous behavior and too proper parties having kindled a lust within her that she figured might be satisfied by the Labor Day weekend.
This business of abstaining from swapping orgies during the year was comparable to a prison term, Rhonda thought. Or like being exiled to a foreign country. It was no wonder people sometimes went nuts in jail, she often remarked to Brian. When denied that which he finds most pleasurable, a person is apt to go slightly crazy.
And now Rhonda was chafing at the bit, her pussy already purring in anticipation of two magnificent months of unadulterated, no-holds-barred sex.
True, hers was a self-imposed abstinence, one which she compared to a religious fasting or a diabolical diet. It was, in a sense, similiar to self-flagellation. To Rhonda's way of thinking, there was something decidedly masochistic in the deliberate repression of those delicious urges to copulate like mad, to exchange mates for wild and woolly screwing sessions.
Yet she had to agree that not swapping for five-sixths of the year was a worthy, if most difficult self-sacrifice. For by the time July third rolled around she was like a cow in the midst of a herd of horny bulls, more than ready, most willing, and very able to be fucked out of her skull.
A few years back the swappers had agreed not to switch spouses except when ensconced in the summer home they shared, thereby whetting their respective appetites for unholy orgies and making of their vacation a truly memorable experience. In Rhonda Talbot's case this plan worked to perfection-her appetite had been whet, and her copper-colored cunt was getting wetter.
And to add to this summer's fun there was a new couple, the very attractive Kellers. Every so often Rhonda's soft green eyes would wander over to James Keller. She would silently appraise his six foot three inch, two hundred pound body, wonder about his ability in the sack while she pretended interest in the talk of the other females.
She and Brian had known Jim for almost five years but, rules being rules, it was only after he returned from France with his bride that they had invited him to join the small swap group. And Claudine was truly a pretty female, Rhonda had to admit, knowing that Barbara Barnet would waste little time trying to seduce the attractive French girl. "Babs", as she was sometimes called, had a taste for twat.
No doubt about it, Rhonda mused, wishing the men would throw away the map and get the show on the road, abstinence makes the cunt grow fonder.
Not much later, after a last minute check of luggage (most of the clothes and other paraphernalia that would be required during their stay in the Hamptons had been brought up to the summer house two weekends ago), the summer swingers were climbing into the autos and starting out on their vacation.
Two months of happy humping to look forward to. The thought of screwing the summer away was more than enough to start cocks stirring and twats twitching, enough to keep the swappers' engines running as smoothly as those under the hoods of the automobiles.
Waiting for the seasonal switchers, expecting their arrival any day, was the multi-millionaire George Hardington, who found the wild antics of the swappers as loathesome as an important real estate deal that had fallen through and hurt him financially.
At the moment he was in a helicopter, fulfilling a promise made last night to his close friend, Arthur Treeman. Arthur had requested, after his sixth potent screwdriver, an aerial view of George's magnificent estate and surrounding property. Being an obliging sort, and at the time thoroughly soused, Hardington had almost immediately phoned a nearby airport to demand that a helicopter and pilot be placed at his disposal the next morning.
And so here they were, circling Hardington's twenty room mansion and the lush, well cared for gardens which surrounded the house like a display of botanical wonders shielding it from prying eyes.
"You have a beautiful home, George," Arthur was saying, peering down at his friend's palatial residence. "It's lovely ... simple lovely. The more I see of it the more envious I become."
"Nonsense, Arthur," George said. "Your place in California is a masterpiece of construction-an architectural marvel."
"Yes, perhaps. But these older estates have a certain charm that simply cannot be duplicated in a modern house. I wouldn't mind trading homes with you, George. I mean that sincerely."
The rotund, sixty year old Hardington emitted a grunt. "You wouldn't care for my neighbors, Arthur, that's for sure. They're a scurrilous lot-no breeding, no taste, nothing."
Arthur, a delicately constructed man of fifty-six with pale blue eyes and a rapidly receding hairline, looked puzzled. "Surely, you're not referring to the Waincotts, George. Why, I think they're a lovely couple. You yourself told me that-"
"The Waincotts are good people," George interrupted. "But every year they spend three months in Europe, and for two of those months they rent their house to a group of fast-living, pleasure-seeking people who haven't the slightest respect for decorum. It's disgusting, Arthur. Every summer these uncouth hedonists ensconce themselves in the Waincotts' place and destroy-"
"Destroy? You mean they actually break the furniture. Oh, my goodness, that is dreadful."
"No, Arthur," George groaned, somewhat irritated. "I don't mean the physical destruction of property. I was referring to the wanton destruction of morals, the total disregard of all that clean-living individuals hold dear. These sinners don't care about decency and honesty. They are totally lacking in moral fiber."
Arthur Treeman shook his head slowly side to side. He was sitting directly behind Hardington, who had settled his five foot eleven inch, two hundred pound body into the seat next to the pilot. Unlike his friend, Arthur was extraordinarily sensitive, a man whose angular face seemed always sad, as if he knew for a fact that at any moment he would be confronted with an unsolvable problem.
He and Hardington had been friends for close to twenty years, almost all of which had been spent refining their homosexual relationship. Although each had managed to accumulate a great deal of money, Arthur and George had little in common except their wealth and their enjoyment of homosexuality.
Their relationship was a simple one. George was the master, Arthur, the servant. George did the giving and the talking, Arthur listened and received graciously. Both were content and felt comfortable when in each other's presence.
The loud, occasionally boisterous George Hardington and the quiet, unassuming Arthur Treeman-happy homosexuals, who, when out strolling on the beach, would always appreciate the flash of a well-molded thigh. Provided that limb belonged to a muscular male.
"Is there nothing you can do about this annual invasion?" Arthur asked his friend after a while. "Surely, these people are a menace to society. And if they break laws, then-"
"They don't break any laws, Arthur," Hardington again interrupted, nudging the helicopter pilot and pointing in the direction he wanted to go. "Their sense of right and wrong is nil, they live by their own code of ethics, they defy the teachings of the church. But for that they cannot be put in jail."
"Unfortunately," Arthur said.
"Yes, unfortunately is right, my friend. But I've made up my mind not to tolerate another summer of their bestial behavior. I refuse to sit still and do nothing while these ill-bred idolaters wallow in wanton sex and turn this idyllic community into a hotbed of perversion. The groupers, the married swappers, the spoiled rotten teenagers-it's too much. And I intend to put an end to it."
"Did you say 'swappers', George?" Arthur asked.
'That's exactly what I said, Arthur. I've seen them, too. They think nothing of cavorting in the nude and making love outdoors."
"I wonder if these people act like that at home."
"Who knows, Arthur?" George answered, shrugging his large shoulders.
"But, and very apparently so it seems to me, it's obvious they think that when they arrive here all thoughts of propriety are to be quickly forgotten. Dispense with decency and on with the sex-that's their motto."
"Dreadful ... simply dreadful. I think now that I would not like to change houses with you, George."
Hardington emitted a throaty chuckle. "Well, my friend, believe me when I say that this will be the last summer of such shenanigans."
"Have you tried getting the regular residents to sign a petition demanding the ouster of these summer revelers?" Arthur asked, peering out the helicopter window and viewing the long stretch of almost white sand they were flying over.
"No one wants to start trouble," George sighed. "In some ways my neighbors are like many other people-they don't like to involve themselves in sticky situations. And since that's the case, I will have to take matters into my own hands."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Nothing at the moment, Arthur. But you can be damn sure I'll think of something. And soon, too. I'll have these animals packing and heading back to wherever they come from just as soon as possible. Bitches in heat and lusting studs-that's all they are. Well, let them pollute their own environment."
"You can count on me to help, George. If there is anything you think I can do to-"
"Look! Down there, Arthur. See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. See them groveling like animals in the sand?"
"The married swappers?"
"No, I don't think so. They look to be teenagers from up here. But look at them, will you. Bah! The sins of the fathers are-"
"She's sucking his prick!" Arthur gasped. "It's only a little past eight in the morning and they're both naked. She's eating his cock ... on the beach ... under the rising sun."
"There is nothing poetic about the situation, Arthur," Hardington snapped, irked by his friend's rather enthusiastic response to what was taking place just below them. "Jack, get this thing closer to the ground. Maybe we can scare them off."
"Yes, sir," the helicopter pilot shot back, unable to stop the smile now spreading quickly over his tanned face.
Skillfully but with great haste he turned the copter around and then maneuvered it down to the naked teenagers. More often than not his flights were routine affairs, so Jack was eager to view up close the scintillating scene being played out on the sand. It wasn't every day he got the chance to watch a pretty girl blowing a boy.
'The filthy brats!" George barked. "Look at them. They don't even know we're here. Can't they hear the noise of-sure they can, but they've chosen to simply ignore our presence. Oh, those lousy hopped-up, pill-popping brats!"
'They're preoccupied," Arthur said.
Jack burst into laughter.
"I'll preoccupy them," Hardington growled, running a pudgy hand over his bald pate. "Jack, get down closer to them. Land this thing on her shoulders if you have to."
"But Mr. Hard-"
"Do as I say, Jack. Or I'll tell the airport people that you're an incompetent employee."
The helicopter pilot shrugged, then ever so slowly began to put the bird down. "The draft from the propeller should chase them away," he remarked, at the same time silently noting that the teenagers had not yet even looked up.
"They're not budging, George," Arthur said, his eyes riveted to the kneeling girl who was avidly sucking her companion's cock. "I'm sure they know we're up here. I mean the awful noise and ... look, see how the draft from the propeller is churning up the sand all around them."
"Spite," George snapped. "That's what it is. By not moving they're telling us to go to hell. The brats know we won't come close enough to hurt them."
"I don't dare drop any closer, Mr.
Hardington," Jack said. "I mean we're hovering over them now and-"
"All right, all right. Get us back up and let's return to the airport. I'll find another way to handle this."
"We could land and then chase them," Arthur suggested.
"And they'd probably jump us," Hardington said. "I wouldn't be surprised if there were a dozen kids hiding behind that sand dune over there. They're probably hoping we do land. Then they can jump from cover and beat us up. These rotten kids will do anything for kicks. I wouldn't put anything past them."
Jack made the necessary adjustments and the copter began to climb back into the cloudless, early morning sky. Moments later the clumsy bird was in full flight, humming its way back to its nest at the small airport.
"Look, they're waving at us," Arthur exclaimed. "The kids are saying good-bye."
"The stinking misfits," George muttered.
Hardington's faithful chauffeur, Winston, was waiting for his employer at the airport. George and Arthur climbed out of the helicopter and into George's '70 Lincoln Continental. Winston quickly took his position behind the wheel and within moments the trio was heading for Hardington's estate.
"Now you see what I have to put up with every summer, Arthur," George said, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. "It's like an insidious disease, a sickness that will continue to spread and spread unless something is done immediately."
"But I think the cancer might be incurable," Arthur said.
"Only if remedial action is not taken at once. Drastic steps are required and I intend to take them."
Arthur nodded in agreement, then after a long silence said, "I certainly do not condone what those teenagers were doing back there on the beach, and yet I ... I . ... "
"Stop fumbling around, Arthur. That really is a most nasty habit you've got. If you have something to say, say it. Don't beat around the bush, man."
"Well, truth is that I ... well, watching that young lady suck her boyfriend's cock made me excited. I was wondering if when we got back to your house you would ... er. ... "
George permitted himself a rare smile. "So, you've got a yen for my big prick, eh, Arthur, old friend. You want my permission to suck it, right?"
"Yes, George. I need something in my mouth. I know we fucked last night but-"
"No apologies, Arthur," George said, placing his fat hand on the thin man's bony knee and patting it gently. "You know you're always welcome to feast on my prick." He took Arthur's hand and placed it in his lap, allowing the cock-hungry homo to feel the beginning of his erection. "How's that feel to you, Arthur? like something you'd enjoy chewing on for a little while?"
"Yes. Yes, indeed," was Arthur's soft reply. Almost timidly he squeezed the bulge in George's large lap.
"And then maybe you'd like it up your ass?"
"Yes, George. That would be heavenly ... simply heavenly."