Chapter 6
It was Saturday night and time for another party. Peter Lawrence filled the ice bucket and brought it into the living room while his wife Sharon finished preparing the onion dip, and then they sat on the couch, sipping}martinis, waiting for the guests to arrive.
"Do my breasts show through enough, Peter?" Sharon asked, turning to face him and throwing her chest forward to make the nipples protrude through the sheer red blouse.
Peter took another sip and contemplated her tits for a moment. "Enough for me to want to fuck you right now," he said.
"Good. Say, do you think I'd look sexier without a skirt on?"
"Yes."
"I'll take it off then."
Sharon stood in front of him and unzipped the skirt. With a wiggle of her hips it slid to the floor. The front of her blouse came just below her crotch, but Peter could see the dark patch of pubic hair through it. He slipped a finger underneath and rubbed the slit of her cunt lightly. He smiled when he felt her cunt juice flowing and immediately jabbed his finger inside her. Sharon gasped.
"Stop it, you prick," she said, but she remained standing in front of him.
"You saving it for Steve White?"
"That's right. I feel like having some fresh come inside me."
With his finger still in her cunt Peter pulled her closer, making her step out of the skirt. "I want to have a taste before it gets too sloppy," he said; Peter set the martini on the floor and with his free hand parted the flaps of her blouse. He nuzzled her stomach for a moment before turning his head sideways and kissing the center of her patch of hair. He stretched his tongue out as far as possible and touched the very top of her slit. Sharon stepped backward, freeing herself from his finger.
"That's all you get tonight," she said.
"That's all I wanted." He waved his wet finger in the air, then popped it into his mouth. He pulled it out slowly. "You know, you taste good. Using a new kind of douche?"
"No. It's all me."
Peter smiled. "Maybe we should go into business," he said. "If you can make enough of that cunt juice we could package it and sell it. We'd call it Box Lunch." He burst out laughing.
"Shut the fuck up," Sharon said, but she laughed also.
Just then the doorbell rang. "You'd better get it, Peter," Sharon said. "I don't want all the neighbors to see me like this."
"I always assumed that they had already. The guys, anyway."
"I've told you, I keep my fucking in the family. Besides, none of the guys on the block turn me on."
The doorbell rang again and Peter hurried to answer it. It was Barry and Nancy; Peter shook Barry's hand and kissed Nancy on the cheek.
"You can do better than that, Peter my dear," she said, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him on the lips. They stood in the open doorway for a moment, kissing passionately and rubbing their crotches together.
"We'd better stop," Nancy said. "After all, what will your wife think?"
"You're right," Peter said with deadpan seriousness. "We can't have her finding out about us."
They walked into the living room, where Sharon was on her knees in front of Barry, sucking his cock. Barry looked at them innocently. "Peter, your wife knows how to say hello very well. She should be on the receiving line at one of those hundred-dollar-a-plate dinners. For once people would get their money's worth."
Sharon stopped sucking and said, "No thanks. My jaw gets tired after about ten blowjobs."
"You obviously need more practice," Barry said, shoving his cock back into her face.
She kissed the head of it quickly. "Put it away for now, Barry," she said. "One mustn't monopolize the hostess."
"I wasn't monopolizing you. I was perfectly willing to have someone fuck you at the same time." But Barry tucked his prick back in his pants without forcing the issue.
The Norths and the Simmons arrived a moment later. "Hey, Fred," Barry called out, "come in here and have Sharon say hello to you. And you too, Ed."
"What the hell," Sharon said. "Come here, guys."
She pulled out their cocks and sucked on each one briefly while Peter poured martinis and handed them out. He poured a fresh one for Sharon also and handed it to her while she was still on her knees with Ed Simmons' cock in her mouth. She recognized the signal and stood up.
The four couples settled into chairs to wait for the guests of honor to arrive. "What do you think is keeping Steve and Mindy?" Peter asked.
Barry said, "They might be having trouble finding the house. But I talked to Steve this afternoon and they're definitely coming. He seemed pretty eager too."
"That's good," Carol said, speaking for the first time. "I can't wait for him to fuck the hell out of me."
"I'm ready then," came Steve's voice from the en-trance to the living room. The assembled couples turned to look at Steve and Mindy standing in the doorway. Steve bore a confident smile, but Mindy appeared slightly nervous. She clung to Steve's arm and attempted to smile. "The door was partially open, so we walked in," Steve explained.
"Fine," Peter said. "Here, have a drink and then let's get things rolling."
"You mean get things balling, don't you, Peter?" Carol said.
"Knock off the lousy puns, Carol," Fred said sharply.
"I'll knock your head off if you're not careful," she retorted, and she sulkily sat back and took a large sip of her martini.
The couples chatted for a few minutes. Peter watched Steve's drink, and when he had finished it Peter announced, "Well, it's time to get with it. How about if Steve and all the women except Mindy take off their clothes so we can start on the initiation?"
Steve smiled and stood, shucking his clothes quickly. Sharon was on her knees in front of him in an instant. As soon as his cock appeared she fastened her lips around it. She was joined a moment later by the three women, all nude, and together they dragged Steve to the floor.
Peter poured himself a fresh drink and watched with interest while ,the women took turns sucking Steve's cock. Each one licked and sucked until it appeared that Steve might come, at which time they quickly stood and left his hard cock pounding with the pressure of the infused blood and impending come.
"You've got good control," Nancy said, as she, the fourth woman to take her turn, let his cock slip out of her mouth and stood up.
"Let's see just how good," Carol said. She straddled Steve's body and lowered her cunt to his cock. With her hand she held it straight up, guided it into her pussy, and then moved her body in tiny circles while the head of his prick was just barely in-side. She reached beneath her and fondled his balls, making Steve squirm and try to jam his cock all the way in, but she forestalled his efforts by raising herself each time he thrust upward.
"You're coming, Steve," she said suddenly, and quickly' stood up. Steve's cock remained pointing upward, twitching; with a groan from Steve, come spurted from the tip of his cock, spattering on his body and on the rug. When all that was left was a large drop of come on the tip of his cock, Steve's tense body relaxed. His cock drooped and shrank.
"I knew I could make you come," Carol said. "And look at the mess you've made. All over your-self and on the floor."
A flush of embarrassment started in his cheeks and spread over his face and neck.
Sharon rushed forward. "I'll clean it up," she shouted eagerly, and she dropped to her knees and began to lick the come from his body. Peter watched her red tongue lap up the come for a moment and then went to the kitchen to mix fresh drinks.
Peter took his time in the kitchen. When the martinis were ready he poured one for himself and leaned against the sink sipping on it and listening to the groans and shrieks of pleasure from the living room, while at the same time he absent-mindedly scratched his balls with his fingernails.
He heard a shout that could only be a woman coming, followed by scattered applause. "Good show, Steve," he heard Barry say. "I haven't seen Nancy come like that for a long time. And now it's Mindy's turn."
Peter returned to the living room bearing the martini pitcher. Everyone was undressed with the exception of Mindy, who stood in the center of the room clothed only in her panties. Barry said, "Hurry up, Peter. Mindy says her cunt is all wet and ready to fuck, and since you're the host you should go first. Get with it."
"Sure thing," Peter said, placing the martini pitcher on a table and unfastening his belt. "How do you want it, Mindy?"
Mindy shrugged. "I had expected that you'd fuck me."
"I could, but I'm not sure I feel like it. How about sucking me off? Would you like that?"
"I've never done that before."
"No time to learn like the present. And we're making it as easy as possible for you, you know. We generally have the woman take all the guys on at once, but Dale put in a word for you and suggested we do it one at a time. She said you were worried you couldn't handle all of us."
Mindy blushed. "She's right." Mindy took a deep breath. "Well, should I kneel in front of you or what?"
"Just take off your panties and lie on the rug while I get my clothes off." Mindy did as she was told while Peter unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and flung it onto a chair. He staggered a bit while stepping out of his trousers and almost lost his balance. He realized that he was beginning to feel the effects of the martinis. He shook his head to clear it.
When he was naked he stood above Mindy's nude body. He gazed at her fluttering eyelashes, at her breasts rising and falling with her breathing, at the rosy nipples hard and pointed, and at her shaved cunt. He began to get an erection as he stared at her slightly parted lips and thought about how they would feel around his cock. Her tongue flicked out to moisten the lips, and the sight of that pink moist bit of flesh was all that he needed to get his cock completely hard. "Here goes," he said, and dropped to his hands and knees across her head. He lowered his body until his cock touched her lips, and he closed his eyes as he felt the lips part and warmly and wetly caress his prick.
Her mouth was soft, smooth. Her tongue swirled around the bulging head of his cock in slow motion, while her lips gently tugged at him. Peter opened his eyes for a moment and glanced down to where his cock penetrated through her red lips, and the sight made his cock harden to its fullest. He wanted to drive it in deeper, force it into her throat and shoot his come directly into her belly, and his desire was strengthened by the thought that she had never sucked a man off before. She was almost a virgin for him, and though he generally considered virginity to be a waste, this time it excited him.
Her fingers played up and down his thighs with a feather touch, and now, as they approached his dangling balls, his excitement increased. She touched them, sending a tingle of pleasure through his groin, and he began to raise and lower his hips to better feel her lips and tongue against his cock.
Mindy was breathing through her nose, warm, moist breath that Peter could feel sifting through his pubic hairs and hotly beating on his flesh. As her sucking continued Peter could feel and hear her breathing harder; when he opened his eyes again and glanced down he saw that her breasts were heaving. Looking the other way, he saw her legs parted as if waiting for a lover to sink his cock in her cunt. She was ready, too; the lips of her pussy were slick with cunt juice.
With a growl of animal pleasure Peter swung around and buried his tongue in her wet hole. At the same time he slammed down his hips, driving his cock deep into her mouth. He felt her struggling but ignored it. Her cunt was too sweet for him to think of anything else, so he concentrated on licking up the delicious fluid, while at the same time his cock pounded inside Mindy's mouth.
He felt himself coming and pistoned his cock faster, matching that rhythm with stabs of his tongue. His balls surged and boiled, his come shot through the length of his prick and spurted out the tip as it sudden relief poured through his body. He buried his cock deeper in her mouth as the second wave of come rose, and then, as he felt it foaming out, he relaxed. Almost exhausted, he licked her cunt twice before slumping and resting his head between her legs.
A few seconds, later he became conscious of Mindy struggling beneath him. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his thighs as she attempted to push him off. With an effort Peter forced his body to roll off her, feeling his cock slide out of her mouth as he did so. The wet skin of his cock felt suddenly cool now that it was removed from the moist, warm hole, but he was able to think of that for only a split second, because Mindy had rolled onto her stomach and now lay puking on the rug.
It was a shame the way Mindy got sick, Peter reflected while taking the first sips of his Monday morning coffee which his secretary had just brought him. But it wasn't my fault really, he thought. So she never sucked a guy off before. So what? There has to be a first time. Maybe Dale did have a point when she said I should have been more considerate, but how was I to know she'd get sick?
The incident had been smoothed over, and after a few minutes of rest Mindy had jerked off Ed and then let Barry and Fred fuck her. Steve and Mindy having been initiated, the party proceeded normally, and they had all paired off shortly after midnight. Peter had been with Dale; she had seemed slightly cold, but she had still been a great fuck. Peter had promised her that he would apologize to Mindy, and he would, too, as soon as he got a chance.
Peter pressed a button on his intercom and spoke to his secretary. "Gail, is the mail ready yet?" he asked.
"I'll have it for you momentarily, Mr. Lawrence," she replied, and Peter leaned back in his leather chair and drummed his fingers on the desk top while he waited.
Gail entered a few seconds later and deposited the bundle of mail on his desk. When she turned to walk out Peter allowed himself to admire her figure, trim and taut under a tight sweater and miniskirt. Just before closing the door she bent down to pick up a scrap of paper; Peter felt his prick surge for an instant as he caught the flash of blue panties covering her ass. But the door closed and Peter sighed, knowing that it was best not to get involved with his secretary. Some of the other junior partners did, of course, but there was always the possibility of complications arising from such an affair. Besides, Gail had a boyfriend, and Peter suspected that they were to be married soon. Peter put his secretary out of his mind and began to thumb through the mail.
It was the usual assortment: letters from clients whose accounts Peter handled, investment advertisements, and one or two pieces of junk mail which Gail had passed on because they were of at least minimal interest. At the bottom of the stack was a large manila envelope marked Personal in large block letters. Peter wondered what it could be, so he threw aside the other letters to open it first.
Peter sucked in his breath sharply when he saw the contents. He spread the two photographs on the desk and stared at them while a hurting hollowness like hunger gnawed at his belly. The blackmailer had contacted him again.
The first photo showed Peter on his knees in front of Nancy. It had been taken at just the right angle to show beyond a doubt that it was he, Peter Lawrence, and that he was eating the cunt of a woman other than his wife. Having a good time of it too, for even his hardon was visible. The picture had been taken at the party in Barry's basement; for there were the mattresses which had formed the stage, and Nancy's cunt was shaved.
The other photograph was of his wife Sharon. The pose was almost identical to that in the previous picture, except she knelt in front of Carol, licking Carol's cunt. Sharon's nipples were hard, her eyes were closed, and her tongue stuck out as if licking an ice-cream cone.
Peter stared at the picture for several minutes before noticing the letter which had accompanied them. Locking the photographs in a drawer lest his secretary should enter and see them, he picked up the letter and read:
Dear Mr. Lawrence:
As promised, here are your 8 x 10 glossy proofs. You may frame them or do whatever else you like with them; it's no matter, I have more. I trust that you would not care to have your friends, relatives, and employer receive them, and they will not, provided you do exactly as I say.
Every Wednesday, beginning this. week, you will send $25 in five dollar bills to Box 80105, Union Station. As long as I continue to receive the money I promise not to reveal anything of your secret life, nor will I demand more money. But if I should fail to receive the money on time, or if you should make any attempt to contact the police or to discover my identity, then I cannot be responsible for the consequences.
It is a pleasure doing business with you.
The letter was unsigned. Peter's hand trembled as he read it through once more and realized that he was actually being blackmailed. "That son of a bitch," he said. "That son of a bitch."
What if his boss should see the pictures? He would probably lose his job, because the firm would want to hide a scandal as quickly as possible. He and Sharon would probably have to move to another city. And what if his mother should receive copies of the photos? He could hear her voice now. Once, when he had gotten in trouble in college for drinking in the dorms, his mother had said, "Who would think that I raised my son to be an alcoholic?" Now she would say, "Who would think that I raised my son to be a pervert, and that he would marry a whore?" Peter shuddered to think of it.
He made a sudden decision. "Gail," he called over the intercom, "do I have any appointments this morning?"
"No sir, not until this afternoon."
"Good. I'm going out to lunch early."
He locked the letter in the drawer with the pictures and headed out to get a drink.
Peter returned shortly before one o'clock. "Mr. Bradley wants you to call him as soon as you can, and Mr. North stopped by and left this note for you. He typed it himself," his secretary said, passing him the folded piece of paper.
"Thank you, Gail," Peter said. He unfolded the note and read it as he entered his office. "Call me this afternoon. Fred."'
Why didn't he just tell that to Gail? he wondered, but he forgot about it as he picked up the phone call his boss, Mr. Bradley.
"You know Mrs. Gracie, don't you, Peter?" was the first thing his boss said after they had exchanged greetings.
"Of course," Peter replied, wondering at the question. Mrs. Gracie was one of the firm's best clients, a Daughter of the American Revolution, and, above. all, an absolute teetotaler. Peter often suspected that she was personally responsible for every blue law on the books.
Mr. Bradley continued. "She saw you going into a cocktail lounge awhile ago, and she rushed right down here to tell me about it."
Peter groaned to himself. "I had to meet a client there for lunch," he lied hastily.
"I thought it was something like that, and that's what I told her. But I just wanted to remind you to keep on your toes. Myself, I always look both ways before walking into a bar. You never know who might be walking down the street."
"I'll be more careful," Peter said.
"Good. That's all, then," Mr. Bradley said, and signed off.
Peter slumped in his chair after hanging up the phone. What if Mrs. Gracie or someone like that saw the pictures? She'd not only make sure I was fired, but also would do her damnedest to keep me from getting another job anywhere in the country. Fuck, I need another drink, but I'd better not. The three martinis I had should hold me until after work. But another one sure would go down well. Fuck it, though, I'd better call Fred. He probably stopped by about the pictures.
Peter's surmise was correct. Fred said, "Everyone got the photos and letters in the mail today, all except Steve and Mindy, of course. We're going to meet at Barry's tonight, put our heads together, and see if we can come up with anything. Can you make it?"
"I'll be there. Should I bring the pictures?"
"Yes. I thought we'd compare them, maybe work out where the camera was, and, in general, see if there are any clues. Is eight o'clock good?"
"Fine," Peter said. "I'll see you then."
Peter arrived a few minutes late, having stayed too long at the last bar. He attempted to button his shirt collar and straighten his tie before he entered the living room, but the collar seemed too tight so he gave up.
Fred, Barry and Ed were gathered around the coffee table, the photos spread out in front of them. Nancy sat aside, not taking part in the discussion but looking interested. Peter tossed his photographs on the table with the others and settled back on the couch.
"Good to see you, Peter," Barry said. "Do you want a drink?"
"Sure, why not? Well, what's happening?"
A strange expression crept across Fred's face. "Nothing much, until now," he said. "This one of you and Nancy is different from the rest."
Peter sat upright, almost spilling the drink which Barry had just handed him. "How so?" he asked.
"It was taken from a different position and, I would say, with a different camera. Here, compare these."
Fred shoved across the photograph of Peter and Nancy along with one of Ed and Carol. "All of these were taken from the same position, except for this one," Fred said, tapping his finger on Peter's photograph. "See, it was taken more from the side, not head-on like the rest, and I also suspect the camera was held lower. Also, it's not as clear. It's a little fuzzy, not quite in focus, and the exposure is some-what different too."
"Let me see them," Peter said, picking up the two pictures. He could feel the eyes of the other men staring at him coldly. "I suppose you're right," he said after examining them. "But what does it mean?"
Barry said, "We might ask you that."
"But I don't know anything! I never saw these pictures until they came in the mail today."
"Are you sure?" Barry asked.
"All right, knock it off," Fred interrupted. "As I recall, Peter and Nancy were the first ones to go on stage. It's possible that I'm wrong about it being a different camera, and that whoever was taking the pictures just didn't have it adjusted right to begin with. But it does seem that if it was one of us taking them, then there must have been two, since all of us are included in at least one picture. For instance, Barry, you and Nancy."
It was time for all the men to stare at Barry. He sat dumbfounded, and it was Nancy who said, "But that's ridiculous! I've never used a camera in my life, and neither has Barry. We don't even own one. And besides, you're all our friends. We could never do anything like that to you."
"Perhaps," Fred said evenly. "But you two were the ones who arranged the party. And another thing: the first letters were mailed before the night of the party. Whoever mailed them was sure that he'd be able to get photographs. Barry and Nancy, you two are obviously the prime suspects."
"But we know nothing about it!" Barry shouted. "You can't think it was us!"
Fred smiled. "I don't. You'd have to be pretty dumb to take the pictures when the party was at your own house. No, I don't think it was you."
"That's a relief, then," Barry said. "I was trying to think of some way to prove it, but I couldn't. All I could give was my word."
Steve White appeared suddenly. "What did you find?" Fred asked him.
Peter said, "I didn't see Steve when -I came in."
"No, he was upstairs going through the house."
"Going through the house?" Barry shouted. "What was he doing that for?"
Fred answered. "You thought he was just going to the bathroom, but before we arrived I told him to slip away the first chance he got to check for type-writers and cameras. Well, Steve, what did you find?"
"No camera, and only one typewriter. The print doesn't match."
"Good enough," Fred said. "I'm sorry I had to do it this way, Barry, but I'll have to admit that I did suspect you. I thought it would be best to check without you knowing."
"That's okay, I understand," Barry grumbled. "But wait a minute. We have two typewriters."
Fred smiled. ,Did you find two of them, Steve?"
"Yes, but I just mentioned the one, like you told me-I should do in that case. Neither one matches the type in the letters."
"Good. Now then, let's go downstairs and see if we can figure out where the person was when the pictures were being taken."
Peter got to his feet slowly and followed the others downstairs. On the way he freshened his drink and, with the first sip, swirled the stronger liquor around in his mouth before swallowing it. He had to admit that it tasted good.
Once in the basement Peter settled into a chair with his drink and watched the others cluster around Fred. He was speaking of angles, heights, enlargements, and croppings, and to Peter it made no sense whatsoever. Besides, his legs were unsteady, and it was much easier to sit in one place rather than pace the floor the way the others were doing.
The stage was still in place at the one end of the room, the same way it had been the night of the party. Peter could still remember how good Nancy's cunt had tasted when he was on stage eating her, and he also remembered how Carol had whipped Sharon and made her eat her cunt. That had been a good night, he thought, but it had also been the start of their troubles with blackmail. He wondered how many more good nights there would be, and whether they would ever get to the bottom of the blackmail mess. At this point, I don't care, he told himself.
A shout from the far end of the room caused Peter to look up. Fred was lifting a curtain which covered one of the basement windows while asking, "You're sure it was locked?"
"It's always locked," Barry said. "Nancy, you don't remember unlocking it at any time, do you?"
"No, I can't think of any reason for me to do it," she replied.
Ed said, "But if the pictures were taken by some-one outside the window, then someone from inside must have opened it for him."
"Could be," Fred said, "but look: the lock is only a hook and eye; someone could have reached through with a piece of celluloid and unfastened it from out there."
Peter got to his feet with an effort and walked unsteadily to where the four men and Nancy stood in a group a the end of the basement. "What's going on, anyway?" he asked.
"We just found that this window is unlocked," Fred explained.
"You mean the pictures were taken through there?"
"Right. The window was opened and the curtain pushed aside. It was dark back here, so none of us noticed."
Ed asked, "What about footprints outside? Think we ought to check?"
"We could," Fred said, "but it's rained several times since then. I doubt that any will be left by now."
"It's all grass outside the window. There wouldn't be any footprints anyway," Barry said.
"How about fingerprints?" asked Ed.
Fred brushed his mustache with his fingers. "I can give it a try, but not tonight. I have a kit at home, and I'll bring it by tomorrow. But I checked the photographs as soon as I got them, and there were none on them. Whoever took them was careful about developing them, and I'd say he was just as careful when he took the pictures."
"Then it looks like it wasn't any of us," Peter said, taking another swallow of his drink after he spoke.
Fred brushed aside his mustache once more. "Yes, it looks that way. But let's do one final check. Let's go to each one of our houses and look for typewriters and cameras like we did here with Barry. To be on the safe side, let's agree not to call our wives to say we're coming. It's not that I suspect anyone, but I think it's better to be sure."
The other men agreed, and shortly they left Barry's to drive to Fred's house. Fred showed them his typewriter and camera and then remained in the living room while Ed, Barry and Steve were left free to search the house. "I have nothing to hide, and of course I could have hidden anything if I wanted to, but it's better to be sure," Fred told them. "Go through anything you like, I'll understand."
Peter remained in the living room. He got a new drink and slumped on the couch, his feet extended out in front of him. He could hear movements and the men's voices upstairs, but paid little attention to them. But after a few minutes he sat up suddenly.
"Say, Fred," Peter began, "I was wondering about something. When you stopped by the office this afternoon, why did you bother to type out, the note telling me to call you? My secretary could have passed the message along just as easily."
Fred smiled. "I was just up to one of my little tricks," he said. "I wanted to get a sample of type from the machine in your office. I did the same to everyone. None of them matched the letters."
"You seem to be taking this pretty seriously," Peter observed.
"Yes, I am," was all Fred replied.
Peter's house was the last to be searched. By eleven o'clock that task was completed with the same results as elsewhere: the type on the typewriters did not match that of the letters. The cameras which were found did not seem to be ones which could have been used; Fred had explained in the course of the evening, "Most likely a zoom lens was used. If the photos were taken from the back of the room with an ordinary lens, and the photos enlarged and cropped the way they were, they couldn't be nearly as distinct, particularly when you consider that the lighting was poor." But no zoom lenses were found.
When the last of the men had left Peter returned to the living room where Sharon lay sleeping on the couch. She had been about to go to bed when they arrived, but had remained downstairs while they were searching. Sharon's legs were tucked up as she slept, leaving room at the end of the couch, and Peter sat there finishing his last drink for the evening.
He watched Sharon's breasts rise and fall as she breathed. She was wearing her favorite style of blouse, sheer, and Peter could see her tits clearly. He felt an urge to reach over and squeeze them, but refrained for a moment. However, his cock began to harden at the thought.
When he had drunk the last drops of liquor and decided against having another, Peter again looked at his wife. I'm horny, he thought, but if I wake her up she'll be too tired and say no. I wonder if I can fuck her without waking her up?
He immediately knelt beside her and unbuttoned her blouse. He left it open, her breasts exposed, and then unsnapped and unzippered her slacks. As he pulled them off Sharon stirred, but her eyes remained closed and her breathing was still even. Her panties were next, and Peter managed to remove them without her waking.
He dropped his trousers and underwear and stood above his wife's nearly naked body for a few minutes while he massaged his cock to get it as hard as possible. When he was ready he gently spread her legs and climbed onto the couch. A gob of spit lubricated his cock. He got into position, his prick poised an inch from her cunt, and suddenly lost control and jammed it into her cunt as hard and as deep as he could.
Sharon screamed as she awoke.
Peter pounded his cock inside her cunt like a madman.
"You fucking bastard!" Sharon cried, and she struggled to throw him off. "You drunk bastard!" she screamed at him when Peter had lost the struggle and lay on the floor breathing heavily. "You can sleep down here, you son of a bitch," she cried at him as she stormed out of the living room and up the stairs.
Peter's mind whirled drunkenly as he lay on the rug; through the haze he heard the bedroom door slam. He rolled onto his stomach and fell' asleep.