Chapter 8
George Hardington couldn't believe what was happening. It was so crazy, so unreal, that he figured he must be imagining the whole thing. An excess of alcohol and little sleep last night were to blame for this horrible nightmare, he reasoned.
How else to explain the fact that four beautiful women had brazenly barged into his house, then pushed and shoved and prodded him upstairs to his bedroom while he uttered profanities and yelled for his friend, Arthur Treeman, who had chosen this Tuesday morning to visit the supermarket?
How utterly preposterous was the situation, Hardington thought, squirming on his bed and trying to slap away the hands of the four females who were attempting to denude him. He was going to be raped! Right here in his own bedroom he was about to be sexually molested by four of the sickening swappers who were living next door. It was grotesque, to say the least.
"Get his socks off now," said a hard-breathing Rhonda Talbot to Barbara Barnet, who had just yanked off Hardington's loafers.
"Yeah, will do," was the beautiful blonde's reply.
"Stop, I say!" Hardington shouted. "Stop this madness at once. Do you hear me?"
"Come on now, Georgie," Judy Allen grinned, "stop being so childish and start acting your age."
"The police, I'll phone the police. They'll come and throw the lot of you in jail. Now, unhand me, dammit!"
Ignoring the millionaire's muttered profanities and blistering warnings of revenge, the grinning, giggling quartet of females went about the business of undressing him.
Barbara peeled off his socks as Claudine worked his trousers down his fat, hairy legs.
Rhonda and Judy were kneeling on the bed, one on either side of George. Working together, they removed his sport shirt and then his undershirt, then pushed him back down onto the bed and moved to lower his boxer shorts.
Confused by this sudden, unexplainable attack, overwhelmed by the audacity of the four females, George was able to do little more than kick his feet and flail the air with his hands. He knew the sex-happy people who rented the Waincott's house for the summer were an unwholesom, scurrilous lot, eight hedonists capable of the most dastardly deed.
But never had he dreamed that the female members of the uncouth group would, with such contemptible boldness, storm the sanctuary of his estate and defiantly denude him. Would they stop at nothing in their unholy search for new and better thrills, he wondered?
"Hold his legs together," Rhonda said to Judy. "That's it. Now Claudine-yeah, that's the way."
"Wait a minute," Barbara said, moving quickly around the bed and then climbing onto it. "This should keep him quiet."
The luscious blonde promptly positioned herself over the still struggling Hardington, then settled her bottom on his chest. She squirmed forward a little, leaning back and shoving her sheathed crotch under his double chin.
"Ugh! Pigs, you're all filthy animals,"
George groaned.
"Okay girls," Barbara chuckled, "now you can get his undershorts off."
Rhonda, Judy, and Claudine all grabbed hold of George's shorts and began tugging the garment down. Working quickly, they brought the sheer shorts to his knees, then to his calves, then peeled them off his fat feet.
"Whoopee!" Judy yelled, tossing the millionaire's undershorts over her shoulder. "World, meet Mr. Hardington."
"Insane," George grumbled. "You're all, arghh!" The remainder of Hardington's sentence was choked off, the words breaking in his throat when Barbara clamped a hand over his mouth.
"He's a wee one, isn't he?" Rhonda said, nodding in the direction of George's small penis.
"James Keller he's not," was Judy's reply. "But it's better than no prick at all, I guess."
"Well, what do we do now?" Barbara asked, looking back over her shoulder at her comrades, her right hand still pressed over George's mouth.
Rhonda grinned. "We could play evens and odds."
"Evens and odds?" Claudine asked. "What is that, Rhonda?"
"It's a way of deciding who fucks Mr. Hardington first."
"Let's all play with him at the same time," Judy suggested. "That sounds like a better idea to me.
Rhonda nodded. "Yeah, you're absolutely right. We'll get undressed and then put Mr. Hardington through his paces."
The girls' attire for this friendly sexual attack consisted of halters and fanny-hugging hot pants. Rhonda was all in yellow, Judy in blue, Barbara and Claudine in identical black and white checkered hot pants outfits.
And now the sexy attire was being removed, Rhonda and Judy and Claudine peeling off their breast-holding halters and tugging down their tight-fitting pants.
"I'm going to get off you now," Barbara informed the no longer struggling George. "If you try to escape, I'll sit on your fat face. Understand, Mr. Hardington?"
George had never once made love to a woman. Never had he pushed his stubby cock into the velvety warmth of a mushy cunt, his sex life revolving around the pleasure received from other males.
He had long ago ceased wondering about his predilection for prick instead of pussy, had given up trying to analyze the reasons which lay behind his preferring males to females.
George didn't hate the so-called weaker sex-some of his best friends were women-nor did he consider the liberation movement to have been the brain child of power-hungry females who had more than a passing interest in lesbianism.
It was simply that he preferred the company of men over women, this preference first sparked, he realized, when as a college freshman he was seduced by a very muscular assistant football coach. That memorable encounter, the first of many, had gently yet firmly started him on the road to homosexuality.
And so George had moved comfortably from one male partner to the next, enjoying their company and their cocks and giving little thought to what it might be like to stick his stiff tool into a female's soggy vagina.
His life had been comparatively happy, he thought. He had met numerous people from many different walks of life and his various real estate ventures had proven, with not one exception, to be very rewarding financially.
George cherished his long-standing friendship with Arthur Treeman, a little man with a big heart and understanding nature. And without regret would he have gone to his grave, say, perhaps, ten or fifteen years from now, if he could continue living as he was at present.
But now, alas, his world seemed to be falling apart. His cock was about to be introduced to not one but four cunts.
"All right, girls," Rhonda said, taking charge of the situation. "Who wants what part of Mr. Hardington?"
Judy giggled. "I'll take the face," she said, as she cupped her cute cunt with both hands. She, like the other three females, was now bare-assed naked.
"And how about you, Barbara?" the gorgeous redhead asked, turning to the beautiful blonde. "What part of Mr. Hardington's anatomy do you favor?"
"I'll work over his torso," was Barbara's answer. "For starters, anyway."
"Good enough. And your choice, Claudine?"
Claudine considered her answer for a few long seconds. Of the four, the lissome French beauty had been the least enthusiastic about the sexual molestation of the millionaire. And now, as her eyes roamed over the man's fat frame, she couldn't remember the last time she had viewed such an unappetizing specimen of male.
On the other hand, since she was here. ...
"I'll take the bottom half," she decided. "The legs and calves and feet."
"Well," Rhonda shrugged, "everybody is passing up Georgie's little old pecker. So, I guess it's up to me to see if I can't stiffen his meat. I'll go down on him while-"
"No!" Hardington suddenly shouted. "This is too much. This has gone just far enough. I won't allow this horrible travesty of, of-"
"Of what, Mr. Hardington?" Judy asked, a broad grin on her face.
"I don't know how to describe what you're doing," George growled. "It's vile and loathsome, despicable beyond belief."
Rhonda chuckled. "And it's also goin' to be fun, Georgie. The time has come for you to learn all about the female form. You're about to take a graduate course in heterosexual relations, my good man."
"Preposterous!" Hardington snapped, making a move to leave the bed. "I will not allow-"
"Girls, to the attack!" Rhonda shouted, her voice charged with emotion. (The beautiful, titian-tressed general leading her soldiers into battle, the battle of the body.)
It was funny to all but George Hardington, who found himself being rudely pushed back onto the bed. Within seconds, the four females were swarming over him, their lips and tongues and teeth feasting feverishly on his unwilling flesh.
He tried to struggle, to escape, but to no avail. Their combined strength was simply too much for a man who frowned on physical fitness programs and who, when he exercised at all, strengthened only his stubby pecker.
The women had verbally partitioned his body, choosing territory, as it were, and now, like birds of prey, they swooped down for the kill.
A squirming Judy Allen snuggled against George's heavy body and proceeded to attack his face with nibbling lips and swirling tongue, her head tilting this way and that as she bathed his fat face with kisses.
Barbara Barnet, who was perched on the bed on Hardington's right, swooped down to lave his chest and worrying his nipples with a jabbing, tickling tongue.
The lovely Claudine was seeing to it that every square inch of George's legs was coated with warm saliva. Beginning at his heavy thighs, she proceeded to run her tongue in tantalizing circles over the smooth flesh, moving gradually toward his knees and then his thick calves.
And redheaded Rhonda was feasting on Hardington's flaccid penis, hoping to stiffen that organ through a dexterous oral massage. Right from the start she sucked with abandon, vacuuming George's limp pecker into her mouth with an enthusiasm usually reserved for the-likes of Jim Keller.
Merrily did she munch, her tongue twirling around the wet noodle that was Hardington's penis. She sucked quickly, with determination, as if the fact that the man was a homosexual had triggered within her a fervent desire to establish conclusively the beneficial aspects of a good blow job.
Helpless, managing only the mildest of protests, George endured the almost fanatical feasting of the four females. He thought of his friend, Arthur, wondered if perhaps upon the man's return the two of them could fight off these blood-thirsty vultures.
Minutes passed, long minutes during which Hardington's softly-voiced pleas for mercy mingled with the gargled grunts and mini moans being emitted by the quartet of hungry hedonists. These harlots would be dealt with, George promised himself.
He had yet to unearth a satisfactory solution to the problem of those summer swingers who every year give vent to their passions without caring if they offend others. But now he had something to hang his hat on, some concrete proof that those who revel in la dolce vita were a menace to society.
These women had broken the law; they had barged into his home, with malice, and then undressed him. They had disturbed his peace, they were trespassers. They were, yes, it was true, rapists!
And George made a silent vow to have the four gluttonous women locked in jail before the day was over. He would have them, and their equally obnoxious husbands, placed under arrest. No doubt the men had put their wives up to this atrocious violation, he thought, wondering just how smart-alecky those swinging husbands would be when they and their spouses were stewing behind bars.
But then, miracle of miracles, George Hardington began to respond to the females' ferocious ministrations. His transformation from unwilling and disgusted victim to grateful recipient was a slow, .steady thing, taking just about as long as it took his cock to harden in Rhonda's saliva-drenched mouth.
And harden it did, that once sorry-looking member now a small but thick length of meat filling the redhead's oral cavity. Pleased by her success, Rhonda sucked all the harder, seemingly possessed by the fear that if she stopped her wild blow job, Hardington's cock would return quickly to its limp state.
But George was aroused now. He could neither believe nor understand his curious turnabout. Nor could he fathom the feelings of intense pleasure coursing through his warming body. And he could not deny the fact that his body had come alive; he was tingling all over, wallowing in the delicious sensations now tumbling from the top of his head to the soles of his fat feet.
"Oh, oh my," he gasped, unable to still his squirming hips.
"See, you're a lover after all," Judy Allen grinned, looking down into Hardington's flushed face.
No sooner had the words left her mouth than she was dropping her head and mashing her soft lips over George's thick ones, driving her tongue into his mouth and pressing her succulent nakedness against his chubby frame.
Rhonda and Claudine and Barbara were all still hard at work, devoting themselves to a detailed examination of that part of Hardington's anatomy they had chosen to explore orally.
Claudine was now sucking on George's thick toes, moving from one digit to the other and vacuuming it into her mouth.
Barbara was nibbling on the fat man's knees, chewing like a hungry mouse on a mound of cheese.
And Rhonda was still eating George's cock, cupping and squeezing his hairy scrotal sac with one hand while the other held his bone perfectly perpendicular. Up and down her lovely head bobbed, her face shielded from view by the wealth of flaming hair which cascaded down and around her shoulders.
And then a stunned Arthur Treeman appeared in the doorway, his presence announced by the loud gasp which burst from his throat at the gut-jumbling sight of his friend being eaten alive by four obviously ravenous females.
Barbara looked up. "Who the hell are you?"
"That's his friend," explained Rhonda, who like Judy and Claudine had ceased chewing on George and turned toward the doorway. "The one Paul was telling us about, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that's right."
"What is going on here?" Arthur demanded to know, clutching to his bosom the two large shopping bags he held in his quivering arms. "What are you doing to Mr. Hardington?"
"We're making him happy, you fag," was Judy's sarcastic retort.
"The police. I'll get the police, George," Treeman turned, started moving quickly down the hall.
"Arthur!" Hardington yelled. "Come back here, you idiot!"
Mad, they were driving him ma'd, Arthur thought, stopping dead in his tracks at the sound of his friend's voice. He turned around and cautiously returned to the doorway, his mind still refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him was so.
"It's all right, Arthur," George assured his friend. "I can't, I don't understand it, but these ladies have-" he left the thought unfinished, realizing that it would be impossible to explain to another homosexual what he himself found totally unbelievable.
"Come on, join the party," Rhonda said, grinning broadly.
"Yeah, there's room for one more," Judy chimed in.
Arthur hesitated, began to speak, and changed his mind. A fierce battle was suddenly raging within him. On the one hand he wanted to flee from this hideous place, to run just as fast as his legs would carry him to the safety and solitude of the living room downstairs.
And yet, something was forcing him to stay put, to keep his eyes glued to the four naked females and his equally naked friend. How could this be, he wondered?
Did George actually appreciate what these four famished vixens were doing to him? George? A good friend with whom he had been intimate more times than he could remember-a fellow homosexual?
"I'll get Arthur," Barbara stated suddenly, moving from the bed to where George's frail friend was standing in quivering confusion.
"Bring him here, Babs," Rhonda said. "You and I will pleasure Mr., er, what was your name, Arthur?"
"Treeman," Arthur answered in a quavering voice, "Arthur C. Treeman.
Rhonda smiled sexily. "I'll bet the C stands for cock, right?"
Arthur took a few steps back, widening the space between himself and the still stalking Barbara. "I think, I think I'll be leaving now," he stammered. "I'll be downstairs, George."
George frowned. "Put those packages down, Arthur, and come over here. These women aren't going to hurt you."
"But George," his friend complained, "how could you, I mean, what about us? What did they do to-"
"Enough talk," Rhonda interrupted, once again taking charge. "Babs, take those bags from Mr. Treeman and bring him here."
Before Arthur could make a move, Barbara grabbed the two packages from him and set them on the floor. Then she took Arthur by the arm and steered him firmly toward the bed.
"No, please," Arthur protested, pulling away. "I don't like this sort of thing at all. Really I don't. Tell them, George. Don't they know that-"
"Oh, don't be such a baby," George said, his voice mirroring his irritation at his friend's whining complaints. "Come and enjoy with me these delightful and talented young women."
He reached for Judy Allen and drew her down into his arms, his heavy hands moving sensuously up and down her smooth back as she resumed the washing of his face with her wandering tongue.
"George!" Arthur shouted. "Have you gone mad?"
"Not mad, Arthur," was his friend's softly-voiced reply, "I'm learning to be happy, truly happy."
"But one doesn't change overnight, George. I mean, you're a homosexual. You can't do this to me, George. Please, tell me that you're pulling my leg."
A pained expression broke over Arthur's lean face as he watched his friend plant his thick lips on Judy's soft, pliant ones. Again, he started to protest, the fear that a good friendship was going right down the drain almost overwhelming him. What would he do without George Hardington? And without George's cock?
But Arthur was denied further contemplation, Rhonda jumping off the bed and bounding over to him. Together with Barbara, the redheaded lovely began quickly undressing the trembling man, removing his shirt, shoes, slacks, and socks in what had to be a record time for a denuding.
And when Arthur was standing in trembling expectation, Barbara sank to her knees and without further ado stuffed his limp penis into her mouth.
"You and Judy continue working on George," Rhonda said, turning to address Claudine. "I'll help Babs with Mr. Treeman."
"All right," the French female replied, watching as Rhonda moved around behind Arthur and then dropped to her knees. It was obvious that Rhonda intended to lick the man's ass.
"And we thought we'd have to blackmail good old George," Rhonda said, chuckling lightly. "This should teach us to underestimate our powers of persuasion."
"You don't think we'll have to threaten to expose his homosexuality?" Claudine asked.
Rhonda grinned. "Honey, we're home free. Home free!"
And with that, the titian-tressed beauty placed her hands on Arthur's hips and shuffled forward on her knees, her tongue snaking out of her mouth as she brought her face to the man's slender behind and began licking.
"Oh! Oh my," Arthur gasped. "What are you doing?"
Not by choice did he place his bony hands on Barbara's head, but the shock of Rhonda's tongue working up his ass-hole necessitated his grabbing hold of something for support.
Claudine watched for just a moment longer, her eyes drifting from the beautiful blonde eating Arthur's prick to the gorgeous redhead chewing out his ass-hole. Then she turned her attention back to George Hardington and Judy.
Judy was now sitting on George's chest, her soft sighs of delight suggesting that the fat man was doing an adequate job of sucking her twat.
Claudine's gaze wandered down to Hardington's now unattended cock. It was hard and throbbing, wet with Rhonda's saliva.
After brushing back a few strands of her long raven hair, the stunning French girl moved into position between the man's heavy legs. Crouched on her elbows and knees, she opened her mouth and steered George's small but meaty member between her lovely lips.