Chapter 9
Wade stripped the coverlet from the wide bed, disclosing the sheet. "You get down on your back," he told Paul Bryson. "Since we're gentlemen, we wouldn't ask a lady with a sore ass to get on the bottom right now. She can ride you from on top."
Lucille watched, blinking away tears, as Paul slid onto the bed on his back and stretched out with his rugged-looking erection waggling in the air.
"First time I fucked your wife I couldn't understand how I went in so easy," Wade said coolly. "That's really a piece of machinery you got there, Reverend." He lifted Lucille onto the bed on her knees. "Stand up and then lower yourself down on that until it slides into your cunt," he commanded.
She did as she was told, inexpertly but with no mishaps. She whimpered when the new position stretched her discolored rump, but she straddled her husband's thighs, lowered herself slowly until she could insert the big head of his penis in her orifice, and then sat down on it. "Ohhhhh!" she breathed, wide-eyed at the extent of the penetration.
This whole incredible experience can't really be taking place, Paul Bryson thought. He would wake up presently to find it all a dream. But the feel of his wife's quirt-hot bottom on his thighs and the tight-clasping grasp of her slippery vaginal walls upon his rigid shaft continued in exquisite tactile sensibility.
Wade pushed Lucille's upper body forward until her heavy, grape-nippled breasts brushed her husband's chest. "Put your arms around her an' give her a little ride from underneath," Wade instructed. "She'll like that." Paul Bryson raised and lowered himself underneath his wife while he held her in his arms, and his jogging penis inside her clutching cunny caused her to sigh deeply and move her own hips tentatively.
Her new position had elevated and spread Lucille's scarlet-streaked hindquarters. Prick in hand, Wade straddled Paul's lower legs as he approached Lucille's plumped-out hemispheres. "Hold her, now!" he warned. He shuffled closer on his knees and applied the head of his prick to the minister's wife's disclosed anus.
Lucille quivered at the contact. All too well she recalled the pain of the assault upon that part of her body in Wade's office. She switched her hips from side to side despite the pain it caused her, trying to dislodge the intruder. Wade sized her waist and held her firmly, boring harder with his big tool. "What are-you trying-to do!" Lucille gasped, the pain in her bottom partially offset by what all her movements were doing to her internally with Paul's inflexible rigidity stirring up a different kind of heat in her vagina.
"You know the old sayin'," Wade answered. "If one prick's good, two's better." He had his prick-head lodged between Lucille's wealed globes, and he thrust steadily. He wormed his way in an inch, slipped in another inch, and then burst through Lucille's brown-ringed barrier with a corkscrew movement while she squalled shrilly. He rested for a moment with his cock in to the hilt and his belly resting against Lucille's hot-feeling bottom. "How's that-for a sandwich!" he panted.
Lucille thought she would lose her mind with the two big penises separated only by a thin flap of flesh. When Wade began to join his movements to Paul's which had never ceased, the two cocks actually rubbed together against the elastic membrane as well as in both her agitated apertures. Lucille's senses reeled with the impact of the multi-faceted sensations assaulting her.
Paul's penis banged upward into her suddenly from below, and Lucille almost bit her tongue as she felt his quick flurry of movement and the hot gush of sperm he shot into her gaping maw. Lucille's behind went into an uncontrolled little dance as she gushed madly all over the quivering lance. "Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!" she moaned in shamed delight, inwardly stricken at the realization that Wade, too, had not only felt her orgasm but in fact had helped to trigger it.
Wade's thick cock was stimulated by the contractions of Lucille's pussy-walls which seemed to induce sympathetic squeezing activities in her sphincter muscle. He plunged and plunged into her blubbery-feeling rectum while he built up a nerve-tingling head of steam that was relieved only when he shot jet after jet of boiling come into her interior. His back ached with the effort he put into showering her entire internal anal area.
Lucille was still making small, tentative movements with her hindquarters when Wade pulled out of her with an audible sucking sound. The raped anal ring snapped to like a trout upon a May fly. A tiny trickle of sperm emerged from its reddened center and oozed down Lucille's plump white thighs.
Wade glanced down at her once-more-exposed welted croup, grinned, and backed away on his knees. Lucille was prostrate on Paul's chest, her head buried in his shoulder-and-neck juncture. Her husband's hands stroked her back and gently kneaded the upper slopes of her languidly moving handsome bottom cheeks. Wade slipped from the bed and began to dress.
When he was ready, with gunbelt on and handcuffs attached to a belt-loop, the tableau on the bed had changed in only one respect. Paul Bryson was moving rapidly under his wife's body again with a renewed erection.
Wade Sampson laughed jauntily.
He glanced at his watch.
If he hurried, he might just manage to catch Geraldine Kearns when she was ready to leave her motel-room assignation with her great-and-good friend, her dentist.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Wade Sampson said to the pair on the bed as he started for the doorway.
He doubted that they even heard him.
Tommy Johnson escorted Cathy Riggins up the back stairs of the bakery and opened the door to his room. Cathy stood just inside and looked around curiously at the small space. There were dark shadows under her eyes, but she was being determinedly cheerful. Cuts and bruises marked Tommy's young face, but they were healing.
Tommy took Cathy's handbag from her, opened it, and removed a stiff-feeling sheet of parchment with a legal seal upon it. "What are you going to do with our wedding certificate?" Cathy asked.
"The term is marriage certificate," Tommy corrected her. "And I'm going to tack it up outside the door here for everyone to see."
"You'll do nothing of the kind!" Cathy said, blushing. She snatched it away from him and returned it to her bag.
"We'll have a real honeymoon as soon as I get straightened out," Tommy promised. "And I'm sorry the bed is so narrow."
"In some circumstances a girl can make do with a narrow bed," Cathy said demurely.
"Don't you mean in some positions?" Tommy smiled.
Cathy's blush deepened. "Why do I feel so- so strange with you?" she asked.
"Maybe because you're just about to be fucked by your legal husband for the first time," Tommy guessed. "Do you think that could be it?"
Cathy placed a finger over her husband's lips. "You're going to have to watch that kind of talk when we go to live with mother until you get a good job," she warned.
Tommy sighed with mock solemnity. "You don't suppose your mother is allergic to creaking bedsprings, do you? Wouldn't that be terrible?"
"You're the one who's terrible," Cathy retorted. She slipped inside the circle of Tommy's arms and nestled her blonde head on his shoulder. "But I feel so good, Tommy. So good."
He rocked her curvaceous slenderness to and fro in his arms while he kissed the top of her regal little head. "Everything's going to be all right now, baby," he said gravely. "Everything's going to be alllllll right."
His young wife stood quietly while he unzipped the back of her dress.
Jo Tucker drew a panting breath and stared up at the ceiling. She was suspended by bound wrists from the top of a door, one arm on either side of its narrow wedge. Her wrists were cushioned by a pillow heavily taped in place across the top edge of the door. Waist high, another pillow was taped in place covering the door's edge.
The doubled-up belt whistled through the air and cracked loudly upon her scarlet buttocks. "Oh, Jesus!" she begged as a white-hot flame scalded her seat. Her legs climbed slowly until all her weight was suspended from her bound wrists while her thighs and pussy rubbed against the waist-high pillow which kept the door from scratching her. Her inner thighs writhed frantically for a moment before she again put her feet on the floor. "Oh, God, Tom, you're burning m-me up!"
The burly man standing behind her made no answer. He took a long drag on his cigarette, glanced at the second hand on his watch, and swung the belt again. Jo's buttock-globes puckered in a convulsed shudder as her legs once again performed their climbing action and her vagina rubbed against the pillow. When her trembling legs stretched out and her feet again touched the floor, the burly man stepped forward and lifted her down from the door.
She dropped to her knees in front of him, holding out her bound wrists. "Th-thanks for letting me h-have the pillow to f-frig myself," she said as Tom Tucker freed her wrists. She rubbed them once, then immediately unzipped his trousers. "Let me get it nice and big," she whispered feverishly as she extracted his penis from his shorts. "Oh, God, Tom, I want it! I want it!"
Her shining chestnut hair moved in against the front of his thighs and settled there.
Lucille Bryson and her husband Paul sat on the edge of the bed in the manse's bedroom. It was their usual midweek conjugal-relation time and the shades were drawn as usual, but not much else was the same.
Two lamps were on in the bedroom, for instance, as husband and wife sat nude, holding hands. Lucille's free arm circled Paul's waist while his free hand toyed with the nipple of a springy, velvet breast. Lucille's head was inclined slightly forward and down so that she could see her husband's penis slowly elongating in his lap.
After a moment he removed her arm, took hold of her waist, and slowly urged her first sideways and then face downward over his lap. Lucille relaxed complaisantly while Paul alternately stroked, patted, and pinched lightly the magnificent white orbs upon which the weals had receded but the purple-and-yellow stripes were prominently visible.
"You enjoyed whipping me, Paul, didn't you?" Lucille asked quietly, moving her bottom slowly in a graceful semicircular rotation. "Because I'd been such a poor wife?"
"Not because you'd been a poor wife," he answered. "I stand equally accused of being a poor husband. No, it was just the unfamiliar titillation caused by the sight of that marvelously heavy-laden posterior shown off in its exquisite entirety by its agitation." He drew a deep, remembering breath. "I was-I was dazzled." He removed a hand covering one hind cheek to stare down at the whole intensely. "I hope to be dazzled more often in the future, my dear, without use of the quirt. Perhaps not at the breakfast table-"
"But some mornings say ten minutes later?" Lucille queried.
Paul Bryson laughed, and Lucille turned over on his lap to smile up at him. She widened her thighs obligingly when he dipped a finger down amidst her raven-black curls. "How am I going to learn to be the wife you deserve, Paul?"
"We will learn together," he said firmly. "Enjoyably, I'm sure. The Lord moves strangely his wondrous miracles to perform. That might be considered slightly blasphemous in the present context, but not by this minister." His finger was out of sight within his wife's fleshy grotto. "We've earned something better, Lucille, and we're going to have it."
Dr. Paul Bryson picked up his wife and placed her on her back in the center of the bed, and she held up her arms to receive him.