Chapter 1
Phil Blocker sat bolt upright in his deck chair, squinting across the glaring white sand that separated the two Long Island beach homes. "Damn, there she is again," he murmured as he got to his feet and walked to the rail where he rested his elbows and brought his binoculars to his eyes, slowly adjusting the focus.
"Talk about being conspicuous." Donna, his darkly alluring wife, looked up from her book, pushed her dark glasses up on her nose and looked at her husband. "Why don't you wave a red flag or shoot off fireworks or something?"
Phil, his mouth open in an easy grin, talked out of the corner of his mouth. "Just a little old bird-watcher, that's me."
"Yeah?" Donna said sarcastically. "Just remember that little old bird you're slobbering all over has a husband who might not take kindly to your attention."
Phil didn't bother to answer. Slowly, he brought the figure of Anne Coleman into sharply flat focus. She walked, seeming to stay in place, marking time, while her body rippled in shimmering heat waves. Phil Blocker, taking her in, felt his groin bulge under his swimming trunks as he watched her delectable form move along the sundeck in a tight black bikini. "Jesus," he murmured softly.
Donna, behind him, sipped on her tall Tom Collins and went back to her book. "Nothing like being married to a dirty old bird-watcher."
"Oh, baby, if you would only take a peek," Phil went on, resting more of his weight on his elbows. He was a big man, well over two-hundred pounds. Just turned thirty-eight years old, his fullback figure was just beginning to thicken and there was a slight graying at the temples. His face was still ruggedly handsome and there was a thrust and drive to his look and walk that told you he was a man used to success and good living.
"You'd look silly as hell if you fell off the porch," Donna said dryly, trying to find her place in the book. Just turned thirty, she was a knockout with long black hair and bangs, a pert nose and a dazzling wide smile. She was petite yet fully and voluptuously developed. Looking at her sprawled on her deck chair in an electric blue bikini, one would wonder why her husband would ever to bother looking elsewhere. Her well-developed breasts seemed to swell against her bra, straining to burst free and allowing anyone who looked a view of amply deep, firm cleavage.
"God damn, she's got some shape. Look at her wiggle that ass!" Phil grunted as he peered through the glasses.
Anne Coleman moved along her own deck, a tall, natural blonde with a full figure that seemed made of syrup as she flowed along the porch. Her skimpy black bikini was cut low, clinging high enough to barely cover her pubic hair, the two straps which held the suit up slinging high over her hip bones and swooping back over her full mare-like buttocks, exposing a good portion of her cheeks which quivered and danced as she shimmered in heat waves in Phil's glasses; prism-like, rainbow arcs of light danced around her as she lazily raised an arm and brushed back her long hair and Phil saw her big breasts shift and undulate in a way that made him bite his lip and moan.
"Christ, Phil, do you have to act like a bull in heat? Do I act that way in front of you when I see something I like? We agreed to our freedoms, but we didn't agree to carry on in front of each other." Donna was just a trifle testy. There was still the edge of last night's drinking-that nasty ragged, nagging hangover headache. She drank from her glass again-their ritualistic cure, the "hair of the dog"-and frowned at her husband.
Phil swung around, a grin on his face. He leaned against the rail and took in his wife's form. "Jealous, baby?"
"Hell, no. It's just a matter of style. How would you like it if I was out here drooling over what's-her-name's husband?"
"Their Christian names are Anne and Jim. They are newly married, live in Manhattan, he's just starting out as a stockbroker and that lovely bitch out there just now going across the catwalk was formerly an airline stewardess."
Donna raised an eyebrow. "Listen to him, a regular Sherlock Holmes."
"They are," Phil went on, grinning, his voice a low sure growl as he swung around again and focussed on Anne walking out over the dunes, striding over the catwalk on her way down to the beach, "a perfect couple. Real picture-book stuff. Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Redbook, stuff."
"How about Better Homes and Gardens?"
Phil ignored his wife's jibe. "They drive a TR-4, belong to the beach club, and their beach house was given to them by his parents as a wedding gift."
"All that you can tell from watching her shake her ass across that catwalk?"
"Speaking of walks, listen to who's being catty. Nope, Frank, the handyman, is an endless source of gossip. Give him a chance and he'll tell you anything. Like, the interesting fact that Mrs. Coleman doesn't bother to wear a bra under her sweater when around the house."
"Big fat thrill."
Phil watched Anne disappear from his sight down the steps, her form wiggling provocatively. Her blonde head finally bobbing out of sight, he swung the glasses around and caught a gull in flight, its wings held taut and spread wide as it wheeled against the dazzling blue sky. "There, I saw a feathered bird," he said, snapping the glasses down and turning to his wife.
Donna stuck her tongue out and shifted in her chair, raising one knee and wiggling her hips as she put on a broad sun hat and grinned up at her husband. They were an attractive and exciting couple. Married five years, they had arrived at certain understandings: each was free to have affairs and each agreed that they would not get involved. Donna had entered into the agreement reluctantly, wanting to please her husband. She had suffered silent at first, knowing that Phil was out seducing some girl when he said he had to work late at the office.
Yet, to her surprise, when he was home, when they did have sex, it was much better. There was an excitement and lewdness to their sex that never had been before. Despite herself, Donna felt herself curious and jealous of another woman: a woman she didn't even know. Lying in bed, the two of them naked, excited, caressing each other in intimate ways and places, Donna heard herself ask, "What was she like?" and she felt a lubricious thrill surge through her body. She felt like a voyeur, a peeping-tom, intruding on someone's privacy and watching them. It was a tribute to their desire for one another and a kind of proof of their relationship that Phil told her, in detail, just what her body was like. He whispered in her ear as she lay on her back, her eyes closed, while she felt his fingers gently massaging the lips of her vagina.
He answered all of her questions, telling her exactly what the girl said and did, how her body felt and what he did to it and Donna felt herself aroused in a wild lewd way. Inhibitions disappeared as they made love with Donna doing everything the girl had done to her husband.
Later, there had been a young college student delivering clothes from the cleaners who had surprised Donna one morning in her negligee. She had found herself flirting with the boy, "accidentally" dropping a cigarette and bending over to pick it up, allowing him a view of her full breasts and small pointed nipples. The college boy had made a pass and Donna found herself in his arms, grinding her groin into his while her tongue probed in his mouth. The rest of the morning, she was in a state of breathless excitement and sexual arousal as she waited for the student to finish his deliveries and come back.
He came back in the early afternoon and Donna did a striptease for him in the guest bedroom and he had been rough, but exciting. That night, in bed, she told Phil about the whole thing and the two of them found themselves in lewd wild abandon.
The situation grew and both of them found they could discuss sex and what excited them with more and more candor. Phil was the successful and free-wheeling head of a public relations firm and, on a business and pleasure trip to San Francisco, he proposed a new game to Donna. He went out and picked up a prostitute, a hooker, and brought her back to the hotel room. Donna had sat in a chair, in the corner of the room, and watched as her husband and the prostitute had stripped naked and made obscene love on the bed. She could barely wait for them to be through before she tore off her own clothes and fell on her husband and made love to him while the prostitute watched.
They both were soaring to giddy heights of horny excitement and when Phil suggested that Donna go out and pick up some guy and bring him back to the hotel while he, Phil, hid in the closet and watched, she agreed. She went out on the street, her heart pounding, her vagina moist with sexual heat and excitement and, in no time at all, she was back in the room with a man and was being fucked by him on the bed while she knew her husband was watching. When it was over, she had no sooner shut the door than Phil was rushing from the closet. He was naked and his big cock was rigidly erect and they fucked deliciously far into the night.
Through long years of propaganda, Phil convinced Donna that he was right. The only thing that stopped people from enjoying their lives was a sense of guilt. A sense of guilt was something one imposed on oneself. "Life is a one-time thing," he was fond of saying, "I don't know what comes after and right now, I'm concerned with what's happening now. I'd hate to check out knowing there was some experience I hadn't had just because of some middle-class sense of guilt."
Donna didn't care much for all of his intellectual rationalizing; what she did know was that it was exciting, it was living; the thought of sexual adventure and promiscuity excited a lewdness and lust in her that she hadn't felt since she was a teenager and fantasized about sex. And even that wasn't the same, for now she actually did what most people daydreamed about. She knew her husband was aggressive, that he ran his business like he had his sex-urgently, endlessly, and with a kind of abandon. There were times when his agency teetered on the brink of disaster only to have his personality and charm bring it back. He pulled off many a wild stunt that a lesser man would have been crushed by. She knew she had to give in to him on practically everything, for, above all, he would have his way. And his way excited her and made her wish for more.
Now, standing over her, he put on his dark glasses and grinned down at her, a handsome ex-athlete with just the hint of a paunch around the waist. "Donna, I want her. I'm going to have her."
"Okay, good luck, go ahead. Why tell me about it?"
"Because you're going to help me."
"What? Oh, come on." She waved a disgusted hand at him.
"Why not?" he asked, bending over her chair, his hands on the arms. "Why not a little orgy?" he asked, his voice dropping, his smile remaining constant.
"Huh? What are you getting at?"
"Have you seen him, Jim Coleman?"
"Of course I have. So what?"
"Good looking, acceptable, right?"
A slow smile twitched on her lips. "What are you getting at? dirty old gull-watcher."
His grin was loose and lewd as he put the flat of one palm on her tanned and firm stomach and let it slide down, wedging his fingers under her suit and kneading them in her pubic hair. "Phil!" she said. "People can see!"
"So what?" he asked. "It's legal, you're my wife and besides, it's an advertisement."
"Phil, for God's sake," Donna murmured as she tried to wiggle deeper into the chair as she felt his fingers probing lower, stretching the elastic band of her bikini as his forefinger found the lips of her vagina and gently spread them as he massaged her clitoris. Lewdness and desire began to boil and bubble deep in her loins.
"Like that, don't you?" he murmured.
Donna tried not to answer but a moan of lazy delight escaped her lips.
Phil grunted with satisfaction. "How about an orgy? How about the four of us getting together and having a little orgy? Swap mates. The four of us naked in a bedroom. That appeal to you?"
Donna was breathing heavily through her nostrils and she spread her legs lazily, allowing his finger to plunge home in her cunt where it began sawing in and out and she felt her desire rising. Phil knelt on her deck chair and his other hand forced its way under her bra and he seized her breast in his hand and squeezed it, the nipple caught and tortured between two of his fingers. Lewdness made her pump her hips and her mouth was open, her eyes closed as she relished the sensations she was feeling and thought: Oh, God, if anyone sees us!
"How about it? A little swap-party, a little wild time?"
Her breath was coming heavy now and her breasts beginning to heave with passion as she spoke. "It would be fun, but it would be so risky."
"Not if it's handled right," he answered, shifting his hand on her cunt so that it forced her panties down, revealing the line where her tan stopped and her snow white flesh began. He shifted his hand even more, forcing his finger deeper into her cunt and revealing her dark downy pubic hair to the sun as she spread her legs wider and let her head fall back as the book she had been reading slipped from her stomach and fell to the deck with a heavy thud.
Her hips were undulating with a life of their own now and her lips were wet as she moaned, "Take me inside and fuck me!"
Phil rammed his finger home deeper, feeling the pulpy walls of her cunt wet with excitement and twitching convulsively with lust. "The idea excites you, doesn't it?"
"Yesss!" she breathed, arching her back, her breasts jutting up as his fingers toyed with her nipple under the bra.
"Then you want to do it? Huh?" he persisted, his voice low, hypnotic, insistent. "Tell me you want to do it, tell me you want to see me fuck that blonde while I watch you fuck her husband."
His words and lewd ministrations drove her body into a passion. Her bikini panties were down around her thighs now and she stretched her legs as wide apart as they would go and thrust her pelvis up. It was so obscene and exhibitionistic, what they were doing, right out in the broad daylight! Anyone could see and Donna found herself wishing that someone would see-and perhaps join them!
Her hands were pawing her husband now, trying to pull him down on top of her. "Yessss!" she hissed, feeling an orgasm growing. "Yes, I'd love it! Oh, I'd fuck him!"
A hard smile on his face, Phil looked down at his wife, gave a final lunge into her cunt then pulled his hands free and stepped back. "Good!" he said, his voice betraying an edge of sadism.
Anger and frustration raged in Donna and her mouth twisted as she looked up at her grinning husband. "Good? You bastard, that's not fair!" she cried as she pulled her panties back up and adjusted her bra.
He sat down in his chair and lit a cigarette, grinning at her. "Agreed. Teasing isn't fair." He levelled a finger at her. "Unless it accomplishes a mutual end."
"Mutual end my foot," Donna said, pouting. "You get me all excited then you sit back and laugh at me. Just you wait, your turn will come."
Phil laughed. "Easy. Why don't you take a walk on the beach?"
"Why don't you take a flying leap over the rail?" she said, snatching up her book and riffling through the pages.
"Anybody ever tell you that when you're mad, you're positively sexual?"
"Go to hell, sweet talker!"
He leaned toward her. "I got you hot on purpose. Go take a walk on the beach."
Behind her glasses, she squinted one eye at him, beginning to understand what he was getting at. "And?" she asked, smiling.
"And strike up a conversation with Mrs. Coleman-she of the barely concealing black bikini."
"Break the ice, huh?"
Phil's face broke into a broad smile. "Now you're talking. Let me give you an idea of what to talk about." Their heads bent together, he told her and she got up with a grin, snapped her bikini into place and said, "And you'd better watch me shake it across the catwalk."
Phil sat back, folding his arms. "Wouldn't miss it for all the gull-shit in the world."