Chapter 1
June Horvath stood naked and barefoot-eager in the bathroom lustfully watching the steaming water fill the spotless, white tub. Finally, as though hypnotized, she tested the water's surface with the tip of her toe, turned off the faucet and gently eased herself into the heat of the water until every pore of her firm, smooth skin felt the relief she so desperately needed.
She sighed and began soaping the rough-textured washcloth. Even before she began massaging her eager breasts with the cloth, her dark nipples stood erect and tingling. She slowly rotated the washcloth, savoring the preliminary arousal that would lead to the tantalizing stroking of her contracting vagina. After several minutes, she shuddered, draped one leg over the wall of gleaming porcelain and applied the washcloth to her pleading pussy, ever so gently. She had been indulging herself in this ritual ever since she had been a teenager. A hot tub had become her way of dealing with sexual frustration. In a way, it had become her secret lover.
What it was, of course, was masturbation. And she loved it.
As she worked the washcloth lightly against the lips of her vagina, she thrust in an easy rhythm and emitted little groans of pleasure. She loved everything about a hot tub. She adored the incredibly slick feel of the porcelain against the cheeks of her buttocks. Even the sound of the water splashing as she moved was ecstatic music to her ears. Because it was a ritual; because it was her secret place. Making love with her husband, Norm, was good, too, but she doubted if she would ever give up these private sessions of self-love, of mind-blowing orgasms in delicious solitude.
Now she moved to phase three of her ritual. Keeping one corner of the washcloth in her right hand above, she reached beneath her buttocks, took another corner and then worked the washcloth in that position so that there was a bit more pressure all along her spasming vagina. Steadily, she worked the cloth back and forth, back and forth, like a shoeshine cloth. It was against her rectum now, it grazed the more sensitive inner-folds of her vagina, it pressed harder against her expanded clitoris.
Just before she came, she stopped. Gasping, she bucked forward involuntarily, rising a little from the water. It had been very close. She had almost reached a climax and she did not want to reach a climax. Not yet. She took a long breath and lay back, still now. She thought of the men in white shorts she had seen in the market just half an hour ago. The big supermarket where she always shopped was located very near some tennis courts and, often, there were men and women in white togs and tennies shopping there. Today, especially, the sight of the virile young men, their strong and hairy legs exposed, had turned her on. She wondered why. At 26, there was no logical reason for her to be horny. Her husband satisfied her frequently and adequately. But she had felt desire in the pit of her stomach there in the store this afternoon as she had feasted her eyes on the beckoning crotch bulges of the young men in their shorts.
June's cunt beneath the water was requesting more stimulation. It wanted to come. For an instant, she nearly began re-applying the washcloth, but instead she held off. Maybe she would masturbate to orgasm this afternoon and maybe she wouldn't. She hadn't decided yet. Sometimes she merely teased herself and did not come, saving herself instead for her husband later that night when he came from work. She was always a better lover when she did not come in the afternoons. Oh, she was OK enough, but it was a much better all-out session when she just teased herself and saved her orgasm for later with Norman.
For instance, she was more inclined to suck his prick if she had not come in this solitary way earlier in the day. That kind of thing. When she didn't "get off' earlier she liked to lick his balls and nurse on his thick hard-on lingeringly, but if she fingered or washclothed herself "off" the loving was more mechanical and usually amounted to basic fucking only.
June still hadn't made up her mind about coming on this August afternoon. She elected to fantasize and lightly stimulate her asshole with the washcloth until she decided for sure. Ummm, the feel of the cloth there was beeuuu-tee-fvll. No danger of coming, but erotic and lovely, and it was like a nice backrub that let you go on thinking about whatever you wanted while the stimulation went on.
Her right hand moved slowly down low there and her legs were spread wide, just the way she liked to see them. It was heavenly obscene to lie in this position with her legs wide apart and her holes available to the washcloth or to her imaginary lovers to lap, and lick, or fuck, or do whatever they wanted there. She liked to think of narrow-hipped and firm-assed males, their flesh-poles bursting-hard and dribbling with lust-crazed desire, sticking themselves in between her spread legs and right into the eager ooze of her juicy cunt and ass hole-often at the same-and frequently there was another husky-voiced male in her fantasy who, at the same time, straddled her chest, fucking between her tits and then fucking between her lips. Yes, a hot tub and a washcloth could do wonders for a girl's secret sex dreams. Briefly, she imagined three such cockhounds there in the tub with her, one probing her anal cavity, another fucking her cunt, and the third up with his throbbing hard-on plunging deep into her gulping throat.
She visualized big and throbbing pricks spouting forth gobs of jism, and in her fantasy she was squeezing the hairy balls of each man as he fired his load into every aperture of her body. For just an instant she could actually hear their muffled groans as they came; she could actually taste the spend in her throat.
Suddenly she ceased working the washcloth against her puckered anus. And in a flash she knew for certain what had been bothering her these past three weeks. Yes, of course, she thought, wondering why the truth had not come to her before. It's the swap thing. I've never done that before. I want more bodies-all at once. I want to make it with more than one person. Other people naked ... all at once! The fantasies aren't enough anymore. I really want it to happen. Threesomes, foursomes.
"Orgy," June Horvath said aloud, and then she said it again so she could hear it echo there in the confines of the tile enclosure. "Orgy, orgy, orgy...."
This revelation was a relief, because if there was one place June had always been honest with herself it had been in the bathtub, and lately she had sensed that something was wrong. Now she knew it was because, for the first time, she had not been leveling with herself. Well, the truth was out now.
But why had she been indulging in self-deception in, of all places, the beautiful privacy of her bathtub? And then she knew. It was because she did not want to admit to herself that she wanted to be untrue to Norm. Not just fantasy anymore, but really. Yes, she had been lusting after other men and she had not wanted to admit it to herself. Well, now she had the perfect solution. At an orgy-a threesome, foursome, whatever-there was no infidelity, no cheating on your mate. Even a square native Californian such as herself could fondle and fuck and suck with abandon because all the participants, married or not, would be fucking and sucking each other too.
But how could she bring such a thing off? She would have to plan the thing carefully. She smiled, rubbing her cunt harder now with the washcloth. It was such a relief to pinpoint her elusive desire. Now there remained only the execution of her objective. How to set it up?
The first problem was mainly that Norman was a bit square too. Oh, yes, he had cheated on her only last month with that chubby cocktail waitress where he sometimes stopped for martinis before coming home from his store. (Norm didn't know she knew about the brief affair, but Mandy Lewis, who lived just down the street and whose husband, Gene Lewis, was a frequent tennis partner of Norm's had told her about the fling, and Mandy was reliable.) Yes, Norman was a bit square, though a sometime "cheater" and the idea of group sex would not sit too well with him. For one thing he would probably object violently to sharing his wife with another male. It would bother the shit out of him.
June stopped massaging her pussy and transferred the cloth to her breasts, frowning now in contemplation. But that was the beauty of group sex, she thought. For those with outdated morals, with puritanical notions, it would be so totally guiltless. Nobody was cheating on anyone. Everybody would be merely giving free-rein to sexual hunger with bodies of all shapes and sizes and ages and special and urgent and secret sexual needs and desires.
Blameless and divinely yummy, June thought, excited as she visualized young men of the kind she had seen in the grocery store mounting her, gulping greedily between her legs. She envisioned taking a stiff prick from a pair of white tennis shorts and making lingering, long and intense love to the thick-hard member. For a moment, she imagined a young tennis player's male gristle hunk stabbing her deep and hard in her ass hole. No act went unexplored as she imagined a heap of male and female bodies, entangled in grunting, uninhibited love. She wished, suddenly, that she had a jock strap instead of a washcloth to rub her genitals with. She wished she could masturbate with a male-scented, slightly stained athletic supporter and decided that she might purchase one for just that purpose.
But how could such a nice middle-class girl have ever come to this decision? June Horvath asked herself. My God, I'm thinking like some degenerate who goes around stealing girls' underwear off clotheslines! I used to be such a square-such an unbelievably inhibited square. She visualized the modest, two-story house in West Los Angeles, not far from the UCLA campus, which she had attended for one year in hopes of becoming an English teacher until her father had passed away-struck down suddenly by a heart attack-and left her without funds to continue her college education. She had remained a virgin until the age of eighteen, when Norman Horvath had taken her there in the front seat of his Buick on the night of her high school graduation. And then, of course, like most of the people who moved in her social circle, they had married a little over a year later. Because they had made love. Jesus, how conventional and corny can you be? June thought now, shaking her head.
She decided not to make herself come. She got out of the tub, and to the accompaniment of the water gurgling down the drain she began thoroughly drying herself. She had just finished when the front doorbell rang. She quickly grabbed her blue silk robe off the door hook and, slipping into it as she went, trotted to the door.
It was Gene Lewis, Mandy's husband. He stood there in tennis shorts, grinning, his uncombed, tousled red hair all in a tangle. Like Norman, he was fairly slim, well-built and a store owner. He was the boss, and so he could take off any time he wanted to and play tennis.
"Hi, June," he said, his voice deep. Almost always when they were alone June could tell that he would be willing to fool around if she gave him the slightest invitation. "Just finished playing and-uh-wondered if Norm might have come home early. Did he?"
"No," June said, shaking her head, brushing damp blond curls from her forehead. "Don't expect him till six. I mean, he hasn't called me to say otherwise or anything." It was not like Gene to pop by this way in hope of catching Norm at home. Gene knew Norm kept fairly regular hours unless he had set up a tennis date in advance or something. June wondered what was on Gene's mind. She figured he would make some quick explanation and leave. But he just stood there.
"Whew," he said. "Hotter than hell. I really had a workout on the courts. Gotta beer?"
"Sure," June said. "Come on in."
In the family room, Gene sat in Norm's big chair with the ottoman and looked out at the spacious backyard while June got a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She put the beer on the table beside him and then she sat down on the couch. They were perhaps three feet apart.
He took a big gulp of the ice-cold beer, restrained a burp and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Man, that tastes good," he said. "Thanks, Junie."
June was wondering why he didn't go to his own house, just down the street, and drink a beer. Take a shower, too.
"Welcome," she said, crossing her legs. She saw his greenish eyes try for a glimpse of inner-thigh as she settled into a more comfortable position. "Mandy out shopping or something?" she asked.
"No, she's out playing bridge," he said. "Thursdays are for bridge. She's getting good at it. She even won a trophy."
June remembered that Thursdays were for Mandy's bridge-playing. She nodded, sucking her lower lip. "Oh, that's right," she said. "I forgot." At least Mandy has something, June thought, bored.
Between gulps of beer, June saw that Gene was very interested in her bare breasts beneath the robe. He kept glancing from her breasts to her hips as he drank. He seemed on the verge of making some proposal and she felt vaguely uncomfortable. A very practical thought occurred to her. She doubted if she would have thought of it if Gene hadn't arrived so soon after her nearly-orgasmic bath and fantasies of orgies. She pretended to cough. As she did she let her robe part slightly so that there was a partial view of her breasts and her legs. She didn't plan to attempt a seduction; she just wanted to lead into talk of a possible group thing. She knew Gene and Mandy knew some kinky people.
His response was instantaneous. His eyes widened slightly and he gulped nervously. He let out a little gurgling sound.
"You're one helluva good-looking woman, June," he said. "I mean, you really are. Mandy's beauty, of course, but I have to say that I've always admired you." He suddenly clutched boldly at his crotch, adjusting himself. "I hope Norm appreciates what he has at home." Surprisingly, he went on scratching his balls.
She grinned, pursing her lips. "Thank you, Gene. Yes, I think he does. But a woman always like to hear that If s good for the ego."
At least he's direct and honest, she thought, letting her robe part still farther. She couldn't be certain, but she was pretty sure she detected the beginning of a bulge at his crotch. Boldly, playing it like a game, she let her robe part even more, so that all but her nipples were on display. Yes, she was absolutely sure of it now. He was getting a hard-on.
With effort, Gene forced himself to take a gulp of beer. Then he gathered courage and reached out and placed his big hand on June's knee. His eyes met hers and she made no effort to move the knee.
"I-I want you, Junie," he said in a trembling voice. "I want to do everything to you. I've wanted to make it with you for a long time now." He shrugged, his breath coming very fast now. "Do you hate me for saying that?"
His hand moved a bit farther up the inside of her leg and he worked it back and forth, testing. She could see his big prick pressing in full erection against the fly of his white shorts. He was even creaming a little. A wet spot showed near the big head of his cock.
Still, she made no effort to halt his advances. "Hate you for saying something you really feel?" she asked. "Hardly, Gene. I'm only human and you're a very attractive man. But-but I've known Mandy a long time. She's my friend."
He nodded, and he scooted out of the chair and onto the ottoman. He reached up and slid his hand beneath the robe. His rough hand felt good against her breast and she let him feel her up while they stared directly into each other's eyes. The wet spot on his shorts grew larger, spreading fast, and then his hand was up very high, almost making contact with her pussy. She spread her legs just a little so the top of his hand could make contact with her moistening cunt.
She liked the way he worked on a woman's breasts. He alternated from one to the other, giving gentle care to each erect nipple as he steadily massaged her cunt. She spread her legs a bit wider and then his middle finger was against her clit, playing gentle, rhythmic games. Mandy had said he was a good lover with a good-sized cock and sexual appetite and she was right. She was beginning to want to fuck, and bad, but there was still some silly, lingering thought that Mandy was her friend and, also, that Norm might possibly come home. Un-likely, true, but anything was possible.
"Don't worry about Mandy," Gene was stammering. "She's played around a few times herself, and-" He broke off, breathing very heavily and almost out of control, but censoring himself.
"And whatV June asked, nearly out of control herself now. "D-Do you mean about Norm and that cocktail waitress?"
"Yes, that's what I mean," he said. "Junie? Junie? Please? I mean, Jesus....
June let him spread her legs still wider apart, then closed her eyes briefly, thinking of the washcloth and the bathtub and the way he was working her boobies and cunt so deliriously. He removed his hand from her cunt for a second and she could feel him moving about. Then she heard him rasping something. He was asking a question and it was urgent. He grunted.
"Look, Junie ... please look ... open your eyes and look...."
She slowly opened her eyes and saw that he had taken his prick out. It was lovely, bending upward in pulsing beauty. It made a banana-like upward arch, pointing up at the ceiling and there were pearly drops dribbling over the brownish, purple-ridged and bulbous head. She could almost feel the mushroom texture of the cockhead against the roof of her mouth, she wanted it so bad.
"It's beautiful," she said, nodding. "I'd love to suck it But-"
"But what? Christ, I don't get this hard this fast for Mandy anymore. It-it could only happen with you. Christ, I even love the smell of you. Whenever I'm around you I sniff like a dog trying to get a whiff of your cunt, everything. Sometimes I jerk off thinking of you. I'm not sick-I'm just crazy in heat over you. Can you understand that?"
"I-I can understand that," June tried to say evenly and then gave up all pretense. His finger was at her slick channel now.
She stared in fascination at his dribbling prick as he slowly worked the foreskin up and down, up and down, like a big-cocked exhibitionist artfully masturbating in front of a female voyeur. And at that instant that's precisely what she was. She never wanted him to stop displaying his big cock that way and showing her the way he must have jerked off before when thinking about her. All the while he stared directly into her eyes, as if he knew her secret, as if he knew all about her secret sex baths, all of it.
While he went on jerking off slowly that way, he began easing his middle finger right into her cunt and she just stared into his eyes then, taking her gaze from his hard-on for a moment. His finger went in up to his knuckle and he made several finger-fucking stabs before he withdrew it. It glistened with cunt juice, as if he had immersed it in a jar of thick ointment. He held it up directly between their locked gazes.
"Look, Junie," he said. And then he patiently and lovingly licked it clean the way a dog licks its bowl after a meal. When he had lapped it cleansingly he reinserted it and repeated the process.
It was truly a magic moment for June-square, would-be English teacher who had married a square man who ran a Rental Equipment business, both of them middle-class in morals and lifestyles. But Gene was a storeowner too, she thought. And then she didn't care. This was a mind-blowing moment of moral release for her. Gulping involuntarily, her eyes still fixed on Gene's, she reached over, gathered his male dribblings carefully on her own index finger, then transferred the finger to her full lips and imitated him. She lovingly licked every speck of the male fluid from her finger, then reached over, gathered some more and gulped that down too. Finally, she grasped his prick hard at the base.
Oddly, she then realized that tears were running down her cheeks. This had been such a gesture of total sexual freedom. It was as if she had permitted him to enter that sacred sanctuary of the bathtub and witness one of her secret masturbatory sessions.
"C-Can we fuck?" he asked, his voice a hoarse and guttural rasp. He was shaking all over.
"Of course we'll fuck," she replied. "How couldn't we? But first I have to ask you something."
"Anything," he whimpered. "I'll do anything, everything. You know that."
"I do feel some guilt. I can't help that. After today-after our fucking this afternoon-could you ever permit Mandy to make it with Norman?"
"I-I don't know." He ceased fingering her clit, blinking. "Why? I don't understand."
"Because if-if all four of us made it. I mean, if all four of us made it together, a group thing, I wouldn't feel any guilt. I want us all to make it together. I want to have a-a swap thing."
His finger was rubbing against the top of her cunt again. With his other hand, he kept gently squeezing her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. "All right," he said, in a whisper. "Mandy and I-we made that scene once before."
June steadily worked his flesh-sheath up and down the near-bursting, banana-like hard-on. "Where?" she asked. "With whom?"
"At a public place ... over in Santa Monica near Venice. ... Some guy invited us....It was called The Caves, and you have to come in couples and pay an admission price at the door. ... Lots of couples."
June's fingers alternately fluttered from his high-riding testicles now to his incredibly hard cock. It was like a rock, really-an oblong fountain of a rock. She adored it and she wanted it in her mouth and in her cunt and up her ass-all at the same time. She wanted to ride it and feel it bending inside her own wet cave and feel it stick and stab and jab her until she was delirious from getting fucked and coming, coming, coming. But that would have to wait for a bit longer. She had to know about these "Caves" and the people who fucked and sucked in groups. She had to know all about it.
"Why call them The Caves!" she asked, teasing his anus.
He was going crazy with need and desire, but he accommodated her, and she knew he meant it when he had said "anything for you" because he delayed the sticking-in of his prick in the ooze-pie between her legs, which was not an ordinary just-fuck-'em male. She liked him very much for that. It would make it all even better when Gene did stick it in and up inside and began fucking her. He could do anything he wanted to her-anything-and she would do it all to him. They would do it all. Animal City....
But his head was somewhere else, she realized then. He had forgotten her question. His brain had gone to fuckland for sure.
"The Caves," she repeated, trembling violently herself. "Why say Caves!"
"Ohhh," he said. "They call them that because inside they have these little places. Mattresses on the floor. In every one a mattress. Real small. Just like a kind of cave. It's dimly-lit with low red lights."
She gave his prick a special squeeze. "I'd like that, umm. Hey, can we go?"
"I-I guess so."
"I mean, with Mandy and with Norm?"
"I don't guess not. Why not?"
"Ohhhhhh," he groaned. Both of her hands were on his balls and prick, massaging. They lost the trend of talk for a moment then and just felt prick and cunt.
"We have to fuck," he said. "We have to suck and fuck now. Right now. Huh?"
"Yes," June said. "But before The Caves there has to be a warm-up. We have to get the four of us together. Just four first, right?"
"Ummmm, yeah, OK," Gene said, getting down on his knees there on the floor in front of her, spreading her knees and leaning forward with his face to eat. His mouth was open and already he was making gulping motions, trying to eat cunt before he was even there. Really, he wasn't even there. June knew. Really, he was somewhere else. His brain was already tasting pussy, tasting the juice and grunt-gulping between legs with the inner legs rubbing against his ears. Yes, he was somewhere else. Pussy-heaven....
But she had to finalize the situation, even though she was just as cock-hungry as he was greedy for cunt.
"Saturday night," she managed. "You and Mandy. We'll get Norm drunk. We'll make it together. All together ... in the bed or on the floor. We'll fuck and suck each other. An orgy. I have to do it, Gene. I've let it get to be a real need for me. I have to do it. And then, soon, we'll all be ready for the Caves, okay?"
"Okay," he muttered, gulping at the air.
"You promise? Hey, promise me!"
"I promise you. Four here" he said, really promising because he was so desperate. "All together Saturday. And then the Caves some other time. I promise. Promise. I promise...."
She let go of his prick then, even though she wanted to suck it. His need was greater. And then her knees were up against her chest and she watched the gulping mouth make contact. His lips touched her cunt lips and, adoringly, he kissed and nibbled at the pink folds. He kept chanting something she couldn't understand. Suddenly he broke away and lifted himself in a crazy rush. He kissed her hard against the mouth, forcing his tongue into her mouth, and then he tried to stuff both of her nipples in his mouth at once. It was the old, beautiful "watch-the-male-go-sex-mad" that she remembered and loved from her teenage necking days all right, and she adored him for it. Finally he nursed and tongue-probed at her navel for a brief interlude before he went back to the business of eating pussy. She could hear him snorting down there as she put her head back against the couch and closed her eyes and savored the reaming and devouring of holes. Yes, she found herself thinking, it's just like in the books.
"Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, low and long, and it was a song that spurred him on in his laving of her femininity. "Eat my pussy" she chanted.
"Gene, really suck my cunt. Oh, honey ... mama loves it everywhere...."
During all of it, he hadn't once really neglected her love nub. He was not forgetful about the clit. No. From time to time his mouth would cease its cleansing, inhaling, nose-bumping gulp-game and would ascend to wag horizontally and delicately at the top. His tongue twirled at times, too. He did it just right. She could not have done it better with a washcloth herself. Truly he could suck a cunt as good as she could suck a cock, which she was eager to do, but she could not bring herself to give up the pleasure she was receiving to do any giving. It was like the old, inevitable irony of the "69"-that terrible and conflicting urge within the brain that says, somehow, I cannot truly give while I am getting. No, only the fuck was the solution. Either the fuck or the alternate playing of the roles of "do me" then I "do you." It had to be one or the other. Or at least so June had always viewed it.
His mouth was low now, very low and stabbing at her ass. He raised each of her legs in jerky motion, to make the friction telling, to make his male-strength and commitment known. Male strength lifted each leg beneath the knees as his greedy face worked all over, and then he was back against her cunt and sucking-long, hard, very noisily-trying to ingest all of the cunt-juice the fountain of her lust could gush. He wanted her dry, for certain. His skill was as good as any man's she had known. He could inject the total impact of his emotion (the way few men really can) so that he was truly making the male-female sex communication. And all of it felt good-better than anything-especially with that emotion there with the purely physical thing going along simultaneously.
Gene knew his male mission well. He knew it in his genes as so few truly did. Yes, some primordial heritage had given him the secret. He even had an inner sex-clock; he knew the precise second at which to stop licking cunt-hole and start fucking it. He knew the route to female sex-hysteria. He could make a woman babble and not know what she was even screaming-not what or how loud or how often. Gene knew how to drive a woman out of her mind, and that was ultimate triumph really.
At first it looked as if he would not permit her to indulge in crazed licking at his cock and balls. At first, he seemed to want to begin the fucking at once. She would not have been opposed to it. She would not have opposed anything, for she was his-all his-and he knew it. But, eager as he was to stick his bone-hard prod between her legs into the inferno of craving he had created, he recognized her need and valued this final proof of commitment and evidence of absolute female surrender on her part. So he permitted her to lick and suck and kiss his huge extended hard-on. While he watched, of course.
He stared down from his temporary standing stance, clutching her by the shoulders as she adoringly rolled the meat hunk-so hot, so anxious, so worthy of total female worship-against her tits and chin, her shoulders, her armpits. Then, in great gulps, she took as much of the cock into her mouth as she could, with generous, glassy-eyed neck movements. She was like an enormous pecking chicken (but with lips instead of beak) as her head shot forward for the God-like phallus, bathing it in spit and murmuring in some unintelligible language. Next came the almond-shaped and furry testicles, which she carefully cleansed with laving tongue while the teasing of the anus accompanied it.
From time to time, he would release one shoulder to grasp his rod then, clutching at the back of her head to direct the show, he would jerk his rod off into her extra-wide-open mouth. This expressed her willingness to swallow his seed if he so elected. Not that he wanted that, but it was important, ritual-wise, to express commitment to do anything and everything during her mouthing of his genitals.
Finally, Gene made several penetrating stabs deep to the back of her throat, which she accepted as his right, and then she knew he had decided to begin the fucking, which was also at this moment, at this time, his right also.
In the beginning, he elected to fuck her, knees high, while standing, so that he could admire the exit and entrance of his prick. She babbled incoherently as he laid her on her back and slowly worked his hard-on against her outer folds, her clit, her asshole. Then, considerately but with perfect male control, he slid half the rod into her cunt. He bade her reach beneath her ass and massage his balls until the cock had made total entry. Once way up there, working at her cervix, he began a rotating movement with his hips, like a sex dance.
"Fuck," he said, almost harshly. Then again, a command, he said, "Fuck the cock. Fuck my prick."
She responded, obeying, giving him every access to everything she had. The big prick gouged deeper, having its way, exploring her inner recesses. He clutched her buttocks hard with one hand and massaged her clitoris with the other as he drove his flesh weapon deep, deeper, plunging hard and almost mercilessly.
"Fuck me," she replied. "Fuck me hard. Fuck me any way you want."
"Yesssss," he replied. "Any way I want. Fucking you. Sticking your cunt. Fucking you hard, deep. Gonna come in your snatch. Gonna squirt in your box. Gonna hose you out with come, baby!"
His cock was having its way, its total way with her, and she could feel the first gatherings of orgasm forming within her. Her cunt lips clutched hard, without her willing it. The ripples of delicious, incredible pleasure were crescendoing through her rectum, peaking at her clit, somehow running the length of her spine to her brain. He had penetrated her mind! He had fucked her, both body and brain, bringing about the ultimate union of male and female!
The thrusts came so fast she was not conscious that her pelvis met each tempestuous slam.
She heard grunting questions, unintelligible but clearly interpreted. He was coming, coming, and the signal was clear. Her own breath bursts replied the universal yes. Then came the universal I am coming too. The exchange was fierce, unrelenting, savage, a primitive thing so urgent nothing could deny it.
Was it his balls she was kneading so pleadingly, or was it his back? She could not be sure.
The waves and waves of indescribable pleasure struck with a ferocity and fury of a procreative hurricane, an urgency so hysterical that June nearly blacked out. Her head was swimming as the contents of his balls filled her cunt. She could feel it overflowing the rim of her hole and running down her legs. He had pumped her full of come, it seemed, and now he was bucking and shuddering out the aftermath of his orgasmic seizure and gasping.
"Angh, Angh, Awggghhh," went on and on.
Her cunt seemed to spasm for hours, but of course it was only minutes. His prick remained fully hard inside her velvet, satiated sheath for a long time before it gradually began its loving retreat.
At last they parted and lay on their backs, still sighing, praising, unashamed and grateful.
Finally she kissed him on the cheek, loving the roughness of his beard. "My god, what a fuck," she said, and meant it.
"Yes," he repeated, then emitted a kind of chuckle as he shook his head in total exhaustion. "That was a thundering good fuck. It never happened better for me. Good god, what a fuck."
He took her face in both his rough hands and tenderly kissed her waiting lips. Then he stood and began to dress. "Suddenly I'm terrified that Norm might come home."
"Me too," she said, giggling. "But after Saturday I guess it won't much matter any more, will it?"
"No, I guess not," Gene said.
"You promised, you know," June reminded him. "It means a lot to me. First the four of us, and then maybe The Caves!"
They were no longer naked now. "If it means a lot to you," he said, "then you know I want it too. I promise."
"I do love Norm," she said suddenly, as she led him to the door. "I mean, you realize that."
He raised his thick reddish eyebrows innocently. "Of course, and I love my Mandy. That has nothing to do with it."
She smiled lovingly as she let him out the door. "Beautiful," she said. "We both understand this perfectly and it's going to be absolutely beautiful." But when she closed the door after Gene Lewis, she wasn't absolutely certain about the total beauty of it at all. The risk of complications was great. Along with the great physical relief she felt there was a nagging trace of fear. She would just have to wait and see. She would see the Lewises on Saturday night, and the Horvaths and the Lewises were about to embark on a sexual adventure she had never experienced before.
June glanced at the big wall-clock and winced. It was almost time for Norman's arrival. The sexual act on the floor of the family room had been very, very risky. Actually it had been rather insane. They had cut it awfully close.
Even as she began chopping lettuce for the dinner salad she heard Norman's car pull into the driveway.