Chapter 2
Rosalie Hammersmith was an uncommonly beautiful woman in her early thirties, tall, slender of limb, with deep blue eyes and yellow hair and a flawless milky complexion. Her beauty certainly wasn't helping her now, though; and she was growing increasingly irritated at her husband's thoughtlessness.
Where was that man? He should have joined her in the tent ages ago.
Rosalie lay naked on her back on an army-type cot in the comfortably large tent she shared with her husband-their daughter had a small tent to herself that was set up nearby. For the last twenty minutes or so Rosalie had been listening to the sounds of the Castaines, the youngest couple on the safari, making love with utter abandon in another large tent, one that was all too close. Rosalie had been itchingly horny even before the Castaines had started pounding their bodies against each other; and the gross sounds were sharpening her horniness to an almost painful extent, and making her intensely jealous as well.
What in God's name was keeping Arthur?
Fully ten minutes had passed since Rosalie had brought her feet up onto the cot and shoved a pillow under her rump. Her legs sagged wide apart, with the choicest part of her body aimed in shameless invitation at the tents entrance, but still her husband failed to appear through the flaps.
It was cruel, and Rosalie was so frustrated she felt like bursting into tears.
Her eyes remained dry, though, for at that moment she remembered the curious device she had managed, on the sly, to "borrow" from among Mark Castaine's personal effects during a long break earlier in the day.
The device was an elaborate but easily operated thing she'd quickly concluded to be a sex machine of some sort. She'd happened upon it in its own box among Castaine's other things. What had intrigued her was the legend in large, bold yellow block letters on the side of the box: NITETIME REVITALIZER-WITH MASSAGING ACTION, SUCTION, DEEP PENETRATION, AND OTHER FEATURES-FOR HEALTH AND PHYSICAL FITNESS.
Rosalie now got up and looked in the corner of the tent where she'd hidden the revitalizer. Returning with it to the cot, she lay back down and set it between her arched and open thighs close to her butt.
The main workings of the device were contained in a black metal case not much larger than a loaf of bread. The attachments, powered by a small but very potent battery, projected from the top, with the array of controls laid out on one end.
Rosalie now slipped one hand past the wet, crimson gash of her split meat and turned the revitalizer on. Hearing its soft, inviting hum, she directed what appeared to be a blower at the end of a bendable rubber stalk, toward the maw of her pudgy, dripping wound. She snaked the small funnel in close, wanting those swollen inner lips of her pussy to be jolted by really strong, concentrated action. Then she pressed the proper button on the end of the revitalizer.
It started with only a gentle flow of air, just strong enough to tickle the juicy tissues at her groin and waft their smell to her nostrils. But even the start was enough to make thick, warm cream ooze steadily from her split meat.
Rosalie's eyes fluttered steadily and then closed. She knew she should feel shame and disgust, but what she actually felt were deep, exquisite tremors of rut that made her want to purr with delight.
She felt her heart beating faster and faster under her big, creamy titties, and she forced her legs to gape even farther apart.
The stream of air grew warmer, and a series of powerful shudders passed through her as she drew the funnel even closer to her gash. With the tips of her thumbs and index fingers she pinched the flushed, dimpled skin that flanked the smelly bulge, and the red slices of inner meat pooched far out and poured down cream in a gross exhibition of her rut
And then Rosalie gasped and flung her head back hard against the cot. The small funnel wasn't only squirting air deep into the slimy recesses of her cranny; it was splattering tiny droplets of some stinging liquid all over against the blood-red display.
Ooh, the revitalizer was a fiend. It was making her pant and tremble and sweat and spew saliva from the corners of her mouth. The sweet little machine was driving her crazy.
Only moments after the shock of those stinging droplets first hit her, Rosalie got another jolt. A firm, thin extension of rubber poked out from the center of the funnel and by chance drilled its way far down into the throat of her quaking twat. The revitalizer was full of delicious surprises, and each one of them made her lust grow stronger.
The rubber prod was tormenting the neck of her womb, making her groan from deep in her lungs and gyrate her loins in a mad, turbulent dance of passion. Her eyes shot wide open as if their lids had been touched by electricity, and she worked and worked her firm-fleshed ass against the harshly scraping material of the cot
"Oh, fuck me deep, you crazy, wonderful machine! Drill in there as hard as you can!"
The rubber twat pacifier did begin fucking her then, with a vengeance. It pistoned in and out at a punishing rate, whipping against the tightly hugging walls of her passage and squishing through the juices that coated them. It made Rosalie's abdomen spasm violently, so searingly intense was the pleasure it was pumping into her.
"Ooh, Christ! God Almighty! This is so indecent! It's-but, God, it's so delicious I could shit!"
Her long yellow hair was flying all over her face as her head jerked this way and that against the cot. Only through a tremendous exertion of willpower did she manage to still her head so that she could lean up and watch what was going on at her crotch. Peering down between her heavily congested breasts, she observed in a state of utter fascination the obscene violation of her sopping wet meat.
"Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord-God!" she grunted as her pussy bear-hugged the length of rubber stabbing repeatedly into its inflamed throat. "Ooh, this is crazy! It's absolutely mad! I'm being raped by a baby robot!"
Just then, Rosalie caught sight of her monstrously bloated clitoris, which was ramrod stiff and twitching furiously.
She drew what looked like a small, toothy mouth from the top of the revitalizer down to her hot bud, which was so raunchy it looked as if it were about to burst. The "mouth" was connected to the revitalizer by a thin, limp rubber tube. When Rosalie worked the partly open "mouth" down around her clitoris and then pressed the proper button, the "mouth" gripped the ramrod stalk of slimy red gristle between its sharp little "teeth" and started right in chewing away at the glans of the thing-and just then the firm rubber fucking prod retracted into the center of the funnel.
It was too much. Rosalie was mad with the ecstasy that was sizzling and tingling in every cranny of her twat. Her eyes were going to pop out of her head, and she imagined she could actually feel the profusion of silken hairs that covered her pubis being singed at their roots.
Mindlessly, frenziedly, she reached down and grabbed firm hold of the blowing and spurting funnel. Straining to get her sweat-smeared legs as far apart as possible, she set about fitfully dragging the funnel through and through her almost unbearably horny slit.
She bucked up at her middle and held her body unsteadily arched, with only her head and shoulders and her toes giving her support. After a few preliminary moments spent prodding and frigging the browny pucker of her rear aperture to make the tiny sphincter relax and expand, she set the tips of the index and middle fingers of her free hand against the tiny elastic ring and began forcing the fingers into her rectum.
"Jeez, my bowels are going to explode!" she grunted after a few moments. But she kept on and on, stuffing her fingers deeper and deeper into her greasy-walled bung. "What am I doing? I'm behaving like a fiend!"
She began to wedge her thumb along with her index and middle, fingers as deep as possible into her gripping shit hole, and she also began to try to wedge the funnel of the revitalizer into her vagina.
She whimpered and squealed at the stretching she was giving herself-both front and back-but she kept at her wicked work till she was half afraid she would split herself open twat and ass-hole both. She ignored the touch of fear, in fact; she kept on even after she felt as if she were on the verge of experiencing a double delivery of a truly miraculous sort.
Her face was nearly beet red, and it was literally pouring off sweat. She was grinding her teeth against her tongue, her nostrils were grossly flared and palpitating, and she was creaming out more smelly, gluey musk than she would have believed her loins could contain.
When she came, her cunt would melt!
Having forced part of the circular edge of the funnel into her pussy, she redoubled her efforts to get the whole thing in. She jammed the funnel's leading edge as strongly as she could against the mouth of her vagina, and after some moments she overcame the resistance.
Yes! Yes! The funnel was going into her ravenous cuntal passage. Ooh, it was so good ... so good ... Her muscular slot was stretched to such a wicked extent-
Oh, Christ, I can't stand this much more! I'm going to come and come and never stop, the way I feel!
The arch of her body became more pronounced. She fought to still her ragged breathing so that she could savor every nuance of what was happening to her.
She felt the blower's hot air streaming against her cervix, and she creamed so steadily and so heavily that she was a little afraid she might dehydrate herself. The stuff was running down her inner thighs and flowing into the crack between her cheeks, around the fingers and thumb crammed deeply into her rectum, and it was slopping down under her and forming a thick, spreading puddle on the cot.
Rosalie began struggling to pump her vagina with the small funnel, and in doing so she massaged the glans of her clitoris with the lower part of her palm. It was all the trigger she needed, and suddenly her bottom plopped into the puddle of her cream and began slapping repeatedly, convulsively, into it.
"I'm coming!" she moaned. "Oh, you crazy, blowing, fucking machine, you're doing it for me! I'm coming so hard and strong-oh, man, so strong it hurts!"
Rosalie's husband was just then entering the tent, and when his eyes lighted on her spread-eagled form, he exclaimed, "Hey now, what's all this?"
Rosalie smiled mellowly, to herself. Just now she had debunged her fingers and thumb, and pried the funnel out of her cunt hole, adding an extra kick to her climax, which would have been memorable for its intensity even without the bonus.
"I'm ... I'm sorry," she murmured luxuriantly.
Hammersmith stepped completely into the tent and drew the flaps together. Facing Rosalie again, he grinned and asked, "For what?"
With her sure instinct for side-stepping matters she didn't care to discuss, Rosalie chose that moment to redirect the focus of attention onto her husband. "Where in blazes have you been?" she demanded. "Why is it your pants are soaked like that?"
Hammersmith shrugged. "I slipped in the mud by the water hole and fell in," he said.
He knew he should tell Rosalie that their daughter had been raped, but he didn't feel like talking to her about it. He didn't believe that Rosalie was sensitive enough to deal with a thing like that. If Suleen wanted to tell her-a prospect he didn't consider-likely-okay; but he was quite willing to leave her in ignorance. After all, Rosalie wasn't nearly so close to their daughter as he was.
"If you'd watch where you're stepping instead of always being so involved in being on the lookout for something to shoot..." Rosalie muttered, swinging her legs over the side of the cot and sitting up.
Hammersmith set his rifle carefully down on a pile of gear at the edge of the tent-and he made a mental note to be sure to clean it later on.
"You pay more attention to that damned gun of yours than you do to me."
Hammersmith stared at her and grinned. "Well now, aren't we feeling bitchy tonight?" he teased.
"You'd feel the same way if you'd been listening to what I've been hearing for the longest time now."
"And what might that be?"
"You'd hear right now if you'd open your ears: those Castaines have been miking like rabbits practically nonstop for hours, it seems."
Hammersmith chuckled as he approached Rosalie.
Rosalie looked up at her husband's face. "Go outside lonesome, with my husband out shooting at shadows."
Hammersmith clasped her shoulders and coaxed her up into his arms. "I never shoot at shadows, pet," he said levelly.
"Well, it's for sure you don't set your sights on me often enough ... not lately, anyway."
Hammersmith refused to take the bait. "So you get the hots from listening to other people fuck, huh?"
Rosalie caressed his chest with her cheek. "I'm normal," she answered without anger, "even if you may not be."
"Oh, I'm normal too. So, look, how 'bout us two normal folks go out and sneak up behind the Castaines' tent and get a little closer to the action?"
Rosalie looked up at her husband's face. "Go outside and listen? Actually spy on them?"
"Why not? It won't hurt them. And there's a good chance we might even be able to sneak a peek in on them-or haven't you noticed that our tent has a few rips here and there, thanks to the no-good bunch of lousy porters we're saddled with? Hell, we might even learn a few pointers." Hammersmith playfully slapped his wife on the back. "I hear tell these younger couples are supposed to know all the tricks."
Rosalie was too intrigued by her husband's suggestion to share his lighthearted mood. "But ... you don't mean ... I mean, I should put something on, shouldn't I?"
"Don't you dare! In fact, I'm going to take off everything that I have on." , "But ... the porters! What if we're seen?"
"None of the porters are around this area-or none should be, anyway. And what if any of them did see us? Who cares? Hell, I don't mind showing you off."
Rosalie giggled and stood back from him. "All right ... if you're really serious about this idea."
"You just wait and see if I'm serious," Hammersmith said, and began stripping.
Presently he and Rosalie were holding hands like children as they parted the flaps and stepped out into the open and then padded quietly around their tent in a wide half circle that brought them stealthily toward the rear of the Castaines' tent.
"No more giggling," Hammersmith cautioned. He added, "The young lovers seem to be quiet enough at the moment."
"Well, even they must need a breather now and then."
Hammersmith settled to his knees and gestured for Rosalie to do the same. With her tailing him, he crept right up to the rear of the tent, listening intently as he looked for tears in the material through which he could see inside.
"There," Rosalie said softly, pointing.
The hole was a small one less than two feet above the ground, but it would do. Hammersmith settled forward onto his forearms and moved his face up till one of his eyes was flush with the hole.
"What are they doing?" Rosalie asked, burning with curiosity. "Why are they so quiet?"
Inside the tent, Kitty Castaine lay naked and spread-eagled on a narrow, thin mat near the center of the tent floor area. She was breathing slowly and evenly, as if asleep, and her eyes were closed.
Beside her, her husband Mark, who was also completely naked, was on his knees and peering down into what appeared to be a medical bag. There was a frown of concentration on his face; for some time he seemed unable to make up his mind about something.
Castaine was no doctor. Though only twenty-four-years old, he was the chairman of the board of the Inter-American Textile Corporation. It wasn't really a job after his tastes; but he held the largest block of stock in the corporation, and a man did have responsibilities.
It was Castaine who had got up the safari, inviting along two of the higher executives of IATC, and their wives. Castaine didn't particularly like hunting, but he did like the primitive life. Also, the safari promised to give him ample opportunity to pursue his obsession-he thought of it as a hobby: exotic plant potions, particularly aphrodisiacs and allied drugs.
He was debating with himself right now whether he dared give his wife yet another dose of the powerful alkaloid he had had smuggled out of China. The drug wasn't really dangerous even in doses considerably larger than those he gave Kitty, but it was so effective that it brought on a frenzy of violent, exhausting sex action-and as it was Kitty had pumped her way to a state of prostration during the bout they'd finished only a minute or two ago.
"What do you think?" Castaine finally asked. "Feel like you could go another round?"
His cock was stiffening back up, and his balls were starting to swell and tingle already. His sexual needs were far greater than those of the average man even on days when he felt under the weather, and something about being out here-out in the wilds of Africa-made them almost superhuman in their strength. He'd fucked Kitty and fucked her, but he couldn't seem to get enough.
By God, he felt as if he could fuck her right into the ground! He'd ride her so long and so hard that they'd both end up collapsing from the fiendish workout...
"If you want to," Kitty murmured in answer to his question.
She rolled up tiredly onto her side and waited-and Castaine leered at the small, creamy melons of her bottom and wondered if she were as indifferent as her casual tone of voice and implied.
Her face away from her husband's, Kitty grinned girlishly in pleasure over her pretense. She and Castaine had been married less than a year-she was only eighteen years old-but even so she found it remarkable, and oddly amusing, that he didn't realize she was an extremely passionate girl by nature. Castaine's aphrodisiacs strengthened her ability to "perform", sure-but they never made her feel anything she wasn't already.
"Aiie!" she yelped, for her husband had impaled her raised cheek with a hypodermic needle and was forcing stinging yellow jets of the Chinese potion deep into her flesh.
In a moment Castaine withdrew the needle from her and tossed the empty hypodermic into his bag.
As soon as Kitty lay back, Castaine reached between her legs and stroked up her thighs with his fingertips. The silken, downy flesh was warm and yielding, and the warmth increased as his fingertips reached the wet folds of her pussy.
He began massaging the delicate red tissues and membranes between the little lips, sweeping the tips of his fingers this way and that with brutish gusto.
"Is it starting to do anything for you?" he asked.
Kitty tilted her head up and stared wide eyed at her hardening clitoris, and she groaned.
"Let me look," Rosalie whispered impatiently to her husband, who hadn't once drawn his eye away from the small hole in the rear of the Castaines' tent.
Hammersmith did at last, now, move out of the way to let Rosalie take up the position he had occupied. He scooted behind her, to her outthrust bottom; the sight of what Castaine had done to Kitty had so excited him that he needed to start in on Rosalie without delay.
Her thighs were well separated to keep her body steady, as finely balanced as possible considering her position, and he spent a few moments teasing himself by admiring the lush, creamy columns instead of feasting his eyes right away on the glorious red meat for which he hungered so strongly. He could smell her swollen, musky twat, and-God, he had to look!
There it was. Beads of sweat welled out on his brow as he leered at the juicy display, his eyes poring over every bit of the pouting flesh. He examined it all with lascivious intentness: the plump, hair-lined folds, the fragile little inner lips-and her clitoris, which was so big and hard and sticky it looked like a little penis that had been frigged to a state of feverish erection and then smeared all over with ketchup.
Hammersmith closed in, and he grabbed hold of the cheeks of her ass and pried them as far apart as he could.
"You look so goddamn beautiful here," he murmured.
"He's going down on her now!" Rosalie whispered hoarsely. "Oh, Jesus, he's sucking her!"
Hammersmith wrapped his arms around his wife's thighs and jammed his face against her groin. "Rosalie," he sighed, his voice heavily muffled.
He released her cheeks, and he gripped her cunt's outer lips and pulled them far apart instead. His head seemed to reel at the almost overpowering smell of her that penetrated deep into his nostrils.
He glued the circle of his lips to the stretched cuntal folds, and suddenly Rosalie felt his tongue stabbing in against her glutinous tissues and membranes and begin to lash against the sensitive meat with near-ferocious gusto.
"Oh, yes! More! More!" Rosalie hissed softly. "Lick and suck all over in there!"
Her body bucked violently, and Hammersmith shot back in alarm. "Wha-" he began.
"Fuck me now. Right away. God, I'm so ready."
"You asked for it; and, darling, I'm going to give it to you like you never even dreamed of getting it before."
Hammersmith hunched over her, his hands going forward to squeeze her shoulders for leverage. "I really am as horny as I can be," he whispered. "It's just beautiful. It really is." And he plowed hard into her vagina, going deep ... deeper . .. ever deeper ...
"Ahhh!" Rosalie gasped out loud, uncontrollably, when her husband's glans slammed against her cervix deep inside her. Her head was driven against the taut material of the tent, and all of a sudden the small, ragged hole in the material grew upward till a long tear extended almost to the tent's pyramid-shaped roof.
Rosalie went skidding in through the tear, and Hammersmith surged right in after her.
"Oh, no!" Rosalie yelped, her face flushing crimson.