Chapter 5
If Dwight Adair's strategy relative to winning Sirri's consent to seduction was thorough and painstaking, it was almost nothing in comparison to the elaborate plans he made for the night of the seduction itself. For the two days following her telephone acceptance of assignation-Dwight calling her home at a time when he knew she was alone-he removed in a dazed trance, his brain spinning like tandem slot machine cylinders, a tireless sequence of jackpots, a ceaseless click-click-click meshing that always came up: Cherry-cherry-cherry. And where his previous conquests had required cut-and-dried preparations, he knew that for this purest of the pure special pains should be taken.
Fearful lest Shirri develop cold feet, he had set up their rendezvous for the earliest possible date.
Despite her protests, he had insisted that the event take place at the house, in the exotic atmosphere of his specially equipped bedroom. Crazy to have Sirri this first time in the sunken, satin-swathed bed, to savor the play of the vari-colored spots on her exquisite body, to have image of her figure, that of their conmingled bodies, reflected a dozen-fold in the banked mirrors, he didn't, for a minute, consider taking her to the downtown apartment. To this effect he'd given both Noreen and Ardyce strict orders to clear the house this Friday night; the strictest privacy was integral to the fullest enjoyment of his holy victory. In a separate drawer in the spacious dresser at the foot of the bed Sirri's "trousseau" waited. Expertly estimating her sizes, he'd shopped for her things himself, had spent lavishly on everything from peignoir right down to white-satin pumps. While, for "wedding night" gift there was an extravagantly-costly choker of cultured pearls. Later, when he was more positive of their relationship's footing, there would be a genuine duplication. Then money would be no object; only the rarest of the earth's treasures would be fit to grace the beloved flesh of his exquisite goddess.
Again, ignoring Sirri's plea that their first confrontation should be a brief one, he had insisted that she prepare alibi that would allow her to remain for indefinite term. Noreen would be visiting her parents in Chicago that weekend; couldn't Sirri come up with a ploy whereby she could at least spend the night? Thus Sirri engineered subterfuge with a girl friend, the story she gave her mother being one involving a slumber party.
Most of all Sirri had been concerned with what Dwight might do to her, how many times she must surrender to him in order to earn her "gift" and its attendant "allowance". Which cute gaucheries Dwight took with a smile, so sure was he that once he'd indoctrinated her into the mysteries of sexual intercourse, she would hardly be concerned with such irrelevant worries. Perhaps, in the bargain, she might even learn to feel a modicum of affection for him. Which was, in the long run, the most dear-tobe-hoped-for culmination of all. Otherwise, a designated car would be left for her in a downtown parking lot; the key would be found in a specified hiding place therein. She would drive, to the Adair residence at approximately 9:30 p.m. where she would circle the house, park in the garage itself. Dwight waiting for her, he would see to closing the door, guiding her into the house personally.
It was that heart-racing arrival which Dwight impatiently waited on at this very moment. The house empty, only the dimmest of sidelights burning downstairs, he checked cartridge components of his living room hi-fi installation, started the continuous-threading reels of Eglar, Delius and Sibelius that would saturate the house throughout the rest of the night. He mentally audited his appearance and toilette (he wore a satin paisley robe, a softcollared sport shirt, regular streetclothes otherwise; lingerie affectations had been eschew for fear of alarming Sirri), as well as his above stairs preparations. Sirri was quite daring as regarded Manhattans; no harm would be done by permitting her two mild drinks to dull her understandable apprehensions, to rout niggling inhibitions.
Nevertheless he cursed himself, his trembling limbs, the erratic tattoo of his heart, as he watched for her from a darkened window. You idiotl he lashed. You'd think this was the first woman you'd ever had! Calm down, will you! If your contagion affects poor Sirri....
Sirri! The name rumbled in his brain, and suddenly he felt quite weak and dizzy, as if he were going to faint. It can't bel Not after all this time. My blessed Madonna! She's actually going to let me touch her, possess her. An unworthy swine like myself. I can't believe-New fear paralyzed him as he glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty-five. She isn't coming; she's changed her mind; she's At that moment a brilliant glare of light exploded in the drive, and he saw the dark-blue Chrysler barrel toward the house. Instantly he was darting into the depths of the house, heading toward the connected garage.
For long moments-once the door rumbled down and Sirri could emerge from the car-they stood apart, Sirri's face dazed, her eyes unable to meet his. As per his plan, Dwight didn't rush her. Lightly placing one arm about her shoulders, he breathed, "Sirri, my darling. You did come. You are here. I was so worried. I thought...." He terminated his stupid chattering. "Here, baby. This way."
Wordlessly, her shoulders slightly hunched, her face strained, Sirri allowed him to guide her through the house. Until now, standing inside the door of the Adair bedroom, surveying the bizarre setting, the sunken pit in which the white-satined bed stood, the blue, yellow and red spotlights that played across its glittering surface, she was stunned to immobility. Great shudders swept her, and instantly her flesh was splayed with goose bumps. "Dwight ... Mr. Adair...." she gasped suddenly aghast at the incredible setting.
"Don't be upset now, baby," he soothed, coming behind her, guiding her to the dais upon which the escritoire, the tables and chairs stood. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I promised I'd be gentle. Nobody's going to hurt you. But surely you've seen the bedroom, Noreen told me she'd brought you and Doris up here...."
"Yes, but it wasn't like this. Those spotlights ... I didn't see those. Those crazy sheets. I don't understand...."
"A mere touch, Sirri. It reflects a certain aesthetic taste. You'll like it once you become accustomed to it." He caught himself. "It enhances the erotic. Here, sit down, pet. I'll fix us a drink. That'll relax you." He smiled reassuringly down at her, his hands trembling anew at prospect of soon touching, kissing, taking sexual liberties with the elegant female. "How lovely you look tonight, Sirri. You're absolutely ravishing. That gown; it's gorgeous."
He stood back momentarily, appraised Sirri with hot, hungry eyes. The dress was lovely, a skimpy, chartreuse crepe that clung to her breasts alluringly in the bodice, while flouncy pleats in the skirt emphasizing the opulence of Sirri's hips and thighs. Lime-green stockings, sheer, glistening, graced her legs; her pretty feet were stuffed into matching, green pumps. Contrasted to her dark tresses, her ivory flesh, the dress made her a vision of mouthwatering desirability, and immediately Dwight conjectured about her lingerie. But abruptly, remembering his pledge not to frighten Sirri, he turned off his lecherous stare. "You will have a drink?"
"I don't know. Do you think I should?"
"Definitely. Not too many, but just enough to loosen you up a little. Every thing ... sex especially ... is better after a little liquor." He guided her to a chair. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Let me feast my eyes on you." Once more, though busy with the drinks, his eyes flitted to her voluptuous body. She leaned forward slightly, the reflected light from the bed giving her complexion a psychedelic, polarized cast, creating deep, tantalizing shadows in her abundant cleavage where the low-cut gown charmingly fell away. She crossed her knees slightly; Dwight got a fleeting glimpse of white flesh above her stockings, and he became painfully aware of the sudden throb of his engorged cock inside his trousers. Dear God, he raged. If I don't shove this into someone-something-soon!
Nevertheless, he heeded his blueprint, fought for composure. Slow, Dwight. Don't crowd her. Thus, giving her drink to her, he resisted the impulse to fall at her knees, kiss her taunting, pink lips, bury his face in her ripe breasts, burrow his famished face into her fragrant, humid thighs. "To us," he toasted. "May we both find the love we seek." Still he couldn't dispel his most basic yearnings, and as she sipped the drink, he leaned, took her left hand, buried his lips in the soft, smooth palm. "Lovely," he choked, "so indescribably lovely. Forgive me, Sirri, I just can't help myself. I don't want to frighten you, really I don't."
He drew up his chair, sat facing her. For a time he erected diversion by inquiring after her escape from home. There was no trouble finding the car? What time would her mother expect her home tomorrow? Was there any chance she might call her girl friend? To which he was reassured, she inquired after Noreen, strong relief registering when she was informed she had left for Chicago. Dwight then informed her about his downtown apartment, told her they would meet there from time to time, then explained his reasons for wanting their initial meeting to be here. He neglected to mention anything of his fetishist tastes, of course. She would learn about that soon enough, there was no sense in alarming her prematurely.
"Groovy," Sirri remarked now. "That music, I mean. Not my speed, but nice. Speakers in every room. Some people have everything."
"Correct, darling. Just the way you will have everything. If you're good ... very good to me."
She shrugged, and her eyes slightly sultry, the cocktail taking quick effect, she said, "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yes, darling," he hissed. "You're here. At long last. I'm so happy, I've waited so long."
"I ... I wish we didn't have to talk. I mean, if we could just do it. I feel kind of rotten inside. Guilty and cheap, you know. Imagine ... doing this to Noreen ... Mrs. Adair. After all the nice things she's done for me."
"Please, baby, don't feel like that. Don't give Noreen a second thought. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. I'm sure, if she knew, she'd understand. It's only natural that a man ... any man ... should fall helplessly in love with you."
"It's the first time I've ever done anything like this. Honest, Dwight. Sure, I've had guys kiss me, some of them got fresh. But those jerks got a faceful of finger nails. They never tried it a second time."
"Please, Sirri," Dwight said, an insane jealousy piqued, "don't talk about those others, I don't want to hear."
"That doesn't mean I don't know what's coming off, Dwight. I'm a hip kid; I know things. I've read the books. There are some marriage manuals hidden in my room. Along with some porny books. I know things. But ... I've never done anything ... I am a ... virgin. I've read that it hurts the first time. It hurts awful. Is that the truth? You won't hurt me, will you, Dwight? You promised...."
"I'll try not to hurt you, precious," Dwight breathed, his heart bloated with joy at the longed-after affirmation of Sirri's virginity. "With some girls it doesn't hurt at all. With others there's just a little pain. I'm sure you'll be one of these. A healthy, athletic child like you...."
Sirri's face reflected surprise as she realized she'd so quickly downed her Manhattan. And proffering her glass anew: "I guess you were right, Dwight. That does help. I don't feel quite so nervous and scared now. But that bed and all ... those spotlights. It is kind of weird. Another, please?"
"Certainly, my pet." He was up, pouring refills all around. "Don't think about the surroundings then. Just think about the bed, about how wonderful those silky sheets will feel. About the wonderful things I'm going to teach you, do to you." His voice became slightly slathering. "Once you've had it, you'll never be able to live without it. That's why God made men and women the way he did."
Gradually her voice became blurred, the liquor cutting in rapidly, evidence of Sirri's inexperience as a drinker. "You make it sound so wonderful, Dwight. In a way I'm glad. Sure I'm afraid ... I'm damned scared ... but I'm glad it's someone who knows what he's doing. Like you said ... no punk kid in the back seat of a car somewhere."
"Trust me, darling. I'll be good to you. So very good." He slid to his knees before her, fervidly caressed her silken, glossed legs-her ankles, calves and knees, stopping at the hem of her skirt. "Oh, I want you, Sirri. So desperately. Will you let me take you to bed now?"
A shudder slammed her, and briefly she froze, stared ahead with glazed eyes. A moment later a helpless jittering convulsed her, she pressed her knees together, scissored her thighs reflexively. "Like wow," she giggled. "Zingies. Isn't that the craziest feeling? It's like when I read those dirty books. Only this is the real thing, isn't it?" She shrugged, heaved herself to her feet, stood bemusedly in the embrace of his arms, her belly, the bulge of her cunt equidistant to his stunned face. Until now, helplessly, involuntarily, Dwight leaned forward, buried his face in her crotch, breathed in her fragrance-flowery yet musky. An awesome spasm ripped him, and he had the most insane impulse to gobble her there, to bite her mercilessly. Somehow he resisted the yearning, contented himself with a lingering kiss. "Hey...." Sirri seethed. "Oh, hey. That's something. Oh, mister, are you one of those...?"
He didn't answer, but instead stood, solemnly commenced leading her down the risers to that erotic arena. "Here, angel," he sighed thickly. "Lie here on the bed. Let me take care of it all, let me adore you...."
Self-consciously, tremblingly, Sirri allowed herself to be pushed onto her back on the bed; she allowed him to arrange her full length-shoes and all-on the maddeningly-slippery sheets. But then, staring up, terrified as Dwight sprawled beside her: "Aren't you going to turn out the lights, Dwight? I'd much rather ... this first time...."
The angel, the sweet, innocent angel! Dwight raged. How adorable of you to ask, how typical! "Please, baby," he choked. "Let's leave the lights, shall we? This first time especially. I must see you. A body so lovely as yours must be bathed in light."
"Oh, Dwight, please...." she squeaked.
He drowned out the rest of her plaints with hot, greedy kisses. As now, at long last, he fell upon her supine body, gathered it into his arms, and burying his lips in her exquisite, velvety throat, he slowly worked them up under her jaw, advancing on the vaunted fortress of her lips. Then, as his mouth closed on hers, as the heat of her body was transfused to his own, as the points of her breasts electrified and branded him, he groaned sobbingly in his throat at the ecstasy of finally possessing her like this, he gratefully learned that her warmth, softness, the very texture of her flesh was everything he'd ever hoped it would be. He couldn't get enough of her, he wanted to submerge himself in this lush mouth, to be swallowed up in this voluptuously slithering flesh beneath him. It was all he could do to keep from driving his fingers into the slimy mush of her cunt then and there.
Nevertheless, he managed control, and knowing that such would spook Sirri, work to the detriment of his master plan, he contented himself with famished, adoring kissings, pulsing embraces, incipient passes at her charging breasts, hips and thighs. Until, very quickly, Sirri a natural child, relaxed beneath him. Then she was breathing hard, her legs jittering, her mouth amateurishly answering his kisses. Until now as he pulled away, stared worshipfully down at the rumpled virgin, he read vestigial, witless lust in her own eyes. "Sirri, my beloved," he intoned, "you're lovely beyond description, you taste ... feel absolutely divine. I'm dying ... I want you so terribly. You're all I've ever dreamed you'd be. I feel so unworthy, so humble before beauty ... virginity like yours." His voice cracked ridiculously. "May I feel ... will you allow me ... to ... undress you now?"
For long moments, Sirri's eyes rolling wildly in her head, she said nothing. But finally: "Shouldn't I?" she quaked. "Maybe I should go into the bathroom or something."
"No, darling," he pleaded. "My way. Let me." And as his fingers reached for her, groped behind her back for snaps and zippers, she stiffened one last time, made move to resist. But as his torrid lips buried themselves in the creamy valley of her brimming breasts, she sighed shatteringly, surrendered once and for all, the look in her eyes one of gratitude-gratitude that there was proficient paramour here to skillfully indoctrinate her, remove all fear of gauche ineptitude from her shoulders.
Characteristically, Dwight made a prolonged fantastically slavish ceremony of divesting' his dream goddess of her garments. Amidst a ceaseless flurry of sighs an extravagant litany of praises and kissings and adoring caresses, he floated first one item then another off her body, making the disrobing a thing of dreamy beauty. Until, despite her qualms, Sirri was gradually transported into a limbo of sexual delirium, she became proud, preening, a profligate dispenser of largesse, as her gown, the underlying slip were peeled from her, drifted off into that abyss of darkness. She whimpered, writhed luxuriously upon the slippery satin beneath her, she thought it exceedingly voluptuous to feel her sharp heels dig into the sheets. Now, at long last, her tempestuous body lay clothed in just a lazy, black brassiere, panty-girdle, pastel-green hose and green shoes. Frozen in delight, Dwight hovered over her, stared down upon her. His eyes slavishly roving her body, his brain amok, he gloried in the fact that her flesh was as white and flaw less as he'd imagined it. Until, helpless now before his transcending lust:
Sirri lurched, whimpered as his fingers grazed the tips of her breasts, as his other hand swept ticklingly along the puffing bowl of her belly, lovingly clutched and gathered the wiry matte of her by-now-melting snatch. Pinched mewlings broke from her as he parted her legs slightly, let one finger lazily strum and pressure the weeping lips of her cunt itself. Even when Dwight commenced undoing her brassiere, toying with the waist of her charming girdle, she made no move to stop him.
The adorable pink tits appeared now pouty blood-engorged plum puddings, a knurled cherry of flesh aton a minor mound of smooth, seemingly-burnished aureole. Tits Dwight raged, that all but scream for a merciless sucking! Whereupon he impulsively dipped his head, sent serpentine tongue to wrap about each succulent bud, followed each searing lashing with a compressing tugging of his lips. Attentions which caused Sirri's hips to jut up, tore blissful yips from her maiden lips. Somehow Dwight was strong enough to pull himself away from the tantalizing turrets; he proceeded to finish disrobing her. The shoes were flung aside, the stockings were undone, slowly worked down her legs, the peeling accompanied by many and many a tickling kiss. At the last Sirri gasped, blocked his hands feebly as he moved to draw down her panty girdle, reveal that most secret, most highly-guarded treasure of her body. But as Dwight's hands persisted, she whined piteously, allowed him to have his way. Then the mildly-stiff garment descended inch-by-inch, revealing her puffing, dazzlingly white belly. And now, the jet-black diamond of her lower belly, a crisp, vibrant bramble of curls that seemingly erupted as the nylon was drawn away, a hairy pompadour that careened down between her thighs, obscured the lips of her pussy itself.
The panty went sailing, and instantly Dwight's fingers sallied forth to ruffle and play with her matte, one finger, in the process, slicing deep into that lubricious heartland, grazing the pearl of her clitoris skillfully, a liberty that truly made Sirri leap and twist. It took all the will power Dwight possessed to content himself with but one fleeting pass with his lips across that wiry gorse. For the briefest wild moment he thought to fling all his carefully prepared plans to the winds, he was wild to pull those delectable thighs, to plunge his greedy, gobbling, licking, pentrating tongue and mouth onto that vulnerable target, drive Sirri to screaming fits then and there. From whence the reserve will power came, he was never to know. But suddenly a guttural gasp escaping him, he jerked his face from that maladorous font; he was up from the bed in a rush.
"Dwight...." Sirri groaned dazedly. "What...?"
"This first, my pet," he seethed. "Something special."
Whereupon he fled up the steps, opened the dresser drawer. Now he stood with a swirl of silk in one hand, a black jewel box in the other. In a rush he was upon Sirri, kissing and hugging her tender ly, raising her from the bed while he affixed the expensive choker to her throat. Then she must appraise her reflection in the mirror, she must watch as he caressed and lifted her breasts from behind, his lips busy on the nape of her neck, an homage which seemingly pulled pagan strings attached to her cunt, seemingly made it tingle and tighten delightfully. "For me, Dwight?" she gasped. "It's beautiful."
"Only the beginning, princess," he seethed. "There will be so many beautiful things in your future."
She turned dazedly, regarded the clutch of silk which Dwight, even now disentangled beside her. "What's this?"
"More pretties, baby. I bought them just for you." He shook out the hosiery, the brassiere, the panties and garter belt, he arranged the witchy pumps on the sheets beside her. "For our wedding night, angel. The only wedding night we'll ever have. It's only fitting." Whereupon he commenced to dress the bemused child in the rich, heavy, silk lingerie: The brassiere first, tailored and plain, emphasizing the high uplift of youthful breasts, the simple, unadorned garter-belt; the opaque, thigh-slashed, lace-hemmed step-ins (a special fetish in itself; then the white sheer hosiery; finally the dagger-toed and heeled slippers, with the chaste strap across the vamp.
All of which Sirri docilely, dazedly lent herself to, the rampaging sexuality within her eventually overriding the mild pangs of repugnance suffusing her. Eerie his love might be. But the incredible feelings it generated within her belly and groin were worth any and all submissions. Still there was one more weird addition to her costume. As, once more, Dwight deserted the bed, returning this time with-of all things!-an abbreviated net veil, crowned with a pearl-studded tiara-the ultimate artifice of his psychotic obsession with her virginity! Sirri's limbs were awash with goose pimples as she bowed her head, allowed him to place the veil upon her disheveled curls.
Now, numbly, nearly falling as Dwight slid her from the bed, forced her to stand, walked her to the second tier, Sirri was asked to pose for him there, the picture-so far as the man was concerned-thrillingly provocative beyond his wildest fantasies. A virgin, decked out in a virgin's costume-a costume to celebrate her impending defloration! , He could only stand the heart-wrenching vision briefly. And then, his eyes glittering fiendishly: "Come, my beloved. Walk to me. Walk proudly, walk regally." He fell to his knees before her as she reached the floor of the arena, upon which, strangled whines searing his throat, he groveled before her, kissed the toes of the shoes, the silky incline of her ankles, his tongue flicking forth in tiny stabbings, the tandem torture making Sirri moan, causing a fiery itch and constriction in the deepest recesses of her vagina. , "Dwight!" she gasped. "What...."
"Please, please," he babbled. "Let me adore you. Let me confer the adoration you deserve." How long he knelt before her, how long he slid his lips up and down her ankles, calves, knees and thighs, how long he circled his lips about those fleshly pillars, Sirri was never to remember. All she knew was that shortly she could stand no more of it, and in escape attempt, fell toward the bed. Immediately Dwight was upon her, crawling forward, his body jamming her knees, his face buried in her thighs, spiraling on the silky, puffing dome of her belly. She groaned thickly-the cry half fright, half delight-as his mouth opened, then closed on her mons veneris struggled for even more total entrapment of her entire twat. "Dwight, Dwight...." she pleaded. But then, as a heathenish, filthy yearning exploded backward within the depths of her belly, she protested no more.
For perhaps five minutes, his fingers tormenting her tits while he worked at her crotch, Dwight was derangedly content to suck and nibble her cunt through the rich silk of her ritual costume; he chewed and licked and sucked until the material was soaked completely through, impregnated with a mixture of his saliva and her vaginal liqueur. By then Sirri was beyond the pale. Enthralled with the unholy sensations, she let her legs open and close in slapping spasms; she twisted and rotated her pelvis the better to make contact with his tongue, with his gently nipping teeth. In her heart of hearts, she was crazy to have him remove her panties, to introduce the torturing tongue and mouth into the screaming flesh of her realest self.
Very shortly then, her fondest yearnings were realized. As, still kneeling, Dwight raised her buttocks, slid the sticky step-ins off her hips. Immediately his mouth reattacked her gash. His hands joining in the fray, he led Sirri's dazed fingers down to her cunt, where he guided her to hold herself to even more gaping grin as his fiery, vibrating tongue charged inside her most sacred flesh. Then, when his tongue branded her clitoris, wove incandescent bracelets of sensation about the swollen button, when it stabbed the raw, shrieking tip itself she could contain her cries no longer. "Go ahead," Dwight wheezed at her muffled outbursts, pausing briefly in his obeisance, "Let it go, darling. Nobody will hear you."
"What is it, Dwight?" she barked, her pelvis rocking savagely. "Darling, what's happening? It's so intense, I feel so wild, like I'm going to die or something! Darling!"
Sirri's final breakdown, her usage of the darling endearment thrilled Dwight to the very eore of his being, and he wrapped his tongue more demonically about the distended pearl, he formed cowl with his mouth which would seemingly create vacuum powerful enough to suck her very pussy inside out. It was further torture that caused Sirri to shriek hideously, unashamedly. "You baby," he chuckled upon again relenting, "you adorable baby! You're coming, that's what's happening. You're coming for the very first time. A pop, a climax, an orgasm ... whatever you want to call it. You're coming, darling! Let it happen. Let it go!" Once more he buried his face in her swimming, sweet-tasting cunt, he swirled his tongue in the serrated, compound lips there, ended by virtually scalpeling her clitoris with a keeling tongue, a thing that made her growl raggedly, caused her to clamp her legs about his head, almost suffocate him.
"Oh, oh, ohh...." she yawped. "It's heavenly, it's ... You're killing me. Stop, oh stop ... I can't stand any more!"
At which Dwight removed his tongue from the passion cherry, by no means deserted the tasty twat itself. Around and around his tongue went-in and out-providing soothing cornedown from that apex of sensation. Finally, as her sighs and writhings diminished, he withdrew his mouth from her crack, began slithering up her belly. Across her pubic delta, across her navel, across her diaphragm, between her breasts. Until now, in a decisive move, the act accomplished before Sirri realized what was happening, he clamped her head between his hands, drove his oily cunt-reeking lips into hers, forced his slimed tongue between her teeth, swirled it deep into the depths of her mouth. It was an uncontrollable sadism and filth designed to either outrage or to inflame the nymph beyond control, deliver her to a mindless limbo where any excess would be permitted. As it turned out, the calculated risk paid off, for Sirri exploded beneath him, her mouth clamping and sucking his tongue, her face rolling paganly upon his. "Yes," she hissed when he finally broke away. "Oh, yes, now. Do it to me, whatever you want! I'm not afraid now."
Reluctantly Dwight drew away from Sirri. Standing beside the bed, he commenced to undress. His underwear plastered to him, he tore at his robe, shirt, undershirt, kicking off his shoes simultaneously. His trousers' zipper sang; and he brought down pants and undershorts in one fell swoop. His socks then. And now, reflected light silvering a plummeting stream of his prick oil as he allowed the prodigious length to spring to its fullest extension, he turned toward the bed. Whereupon, her eyes widening in abject terror as she saw the awesome cock staring at her eye-to-eye, Sirri recoiled slightly, expelled a sibilent gasp. "No, Dwight! You aren't ... I had no idea ... You aren't going to put ... that ... big thing into me! You'll hurt me, you'll kill me!"
He leeringly advanced on the bed. "I won't, my pet. You underestimate the powers ... the adaptability of a woman. And you are a woman ... Such a woman! I'll be careful, I promise; I'll make it easy for you as I can. But first...." Once more he whirled away from the bed, reappeared from the gloom bearing two articles this time: One a fringed, white, silken coverlet perhaps three-by-three, the other a hastily-charged applicator containing contraceptive foam. Even as he placed the silk scarf beneath Sirri's buttocks, the fetishist within him demanding that he keep its stained message as memento of this conquest, he said, "I noticed that your hymen is all but non-existent. A good sign. You'll bleed, but not over much. Even so...."
The mesmerized girl stared girl stared aghast as he forced her knees, moved to insert the long, plunger-type dispenser into her vagina. "Dwight ... what is that?"
"Relax, my dearest. Only a little precaution. To keep the babies away. Later I'll supply you with pills, but for this first time...." Sirri gasped, started as he drove the syringe into her gaping slit, then gasped anew as she felt the eold foam spill into her. "There, that isn't so bad, is it?" The clouded syringe was withdrawn, flung aside. "And now, my beloved...."
She froze as he came over her, as he spread her legs, brought her knees up, delighted in the exotic starbursts her sharp heels poked into the white satin. Then, as he slid forward, the massive, hanging stalk horrifying her further, she protested, "My clothes. The bra and belt, my shoes and stockings ... aren't you going to take them off?"
His sneer became even more sick. "No, precious," he snickered. "That won't be ncessary. This will do very nicely indeed." He made a slight advance, his movement bobbing his dripping prick against her thigh, and Sirri froze anew. "Relax, darling," he soothed. "Everything's going to be just fine...."
"I'm afraid, Dwight," she rasped. "I'm so afraid.
He took the slippery snout of his phallus, gently worked it in the vestibule of her vagina, pointedly slid it across her blatantly-exposed clitoris, the hot caress causing her to whimper piteously. "There, doesn't that feel wonderful? Doesn't that excite you? How can a thing like that do you any harm? Be brave, my darling, be brave." He continued to swivel his cannon against her outer lips, against that touchstone of her passion, until, not too much later, Sirri's hips began to rotate; harsh, drawn-out sighs began striating her throat. "Be brave," he intoned a last time.
Then, his own fingers guiding the slippery, red knob of his cock into that narrow, cringing mouth-the contact of his sex machine with the hot lips of hers causing Dwight to croon viscously-he commenced his inexorable, punishing, stretching and rupturing descent into that most holy of holies. "Oh, ouch, owww, Dwight," she gasped. "Oh, darling, please don't. I've changed my mind, I can't stand it. You'll tear me. I can feel it starting, I can...." But, practiced swordsman that he was, Dwight never relented for an instant. Gentle as he could possibly be under the circumstances, he nevertheless drove on, realizing that to hesitate now would be folly of the grossest sort. His rapture was magnified intolerably as he bulldozed the remnants of Sirri's sacred seal, actually felt them tear at his passage. Appalled at the tightness of her channel, a sound of pain erupted from his own mouth. He felt a fine, hot mist splash against his thighs, he felt streams of blood, intermixed with their genital effluent, meander down the bunching rondules of Sirri's buttocks. A virgin, he exulted, nearly insane with lust and joy, a bona fide virgin! Dear God, can a man ever be more proud, more sanctified! He grunted, pushed relentessly on, knew continuing amazement at the resistance the tiny mouth threw up. Even Noreen's asshole, he admitted, wasn't this narrow. Rampaging bestiality further took him, and he twisted, dug, pressured still deeper, Sirri's pinched cries serving as spur of the most fanatic sort.
"Dwight, Dwight...." she pleaded. "Stop, oh stop! It hurts, it hurts terribly. You're going to tear me, I know you will!"
He ignored the pleas, leaned into her all the more stubbornly. Until now, finally, their pelvic bones ground together, their hairy, muck-plastered crotches fused and wove into one superabundant mat. Here Dwight paused pantingly savored the agonizing sleeve into which he'd forced himself; he delighted in the involuntary tremors and milkings the naiad's sweet cunt conferred upon his cock. Now, gradually, there was infinitesimal relaxing, s'gnal seemingly, and he began a slow steady ebb and flow. "There, baby, there...." he soothed. "It's better now, easier ... isn't it?"
"It still hurts," she whimpered. "Oh, Dwight, I don't think I'll ever get to like this. How can anything so painful ever...."
"Patience, my love, patience." Up and down he went-in and out. Until the scalding, viscous tunnel became more juicy and loose, until soft, slurping lisps carried to his ears. Dwight groaned anguishedly. He wanted to shoot, to spill his cream so desperately. And yet, seasoned provocateur that he was, he knew that if he delivered before Sirri did, he would have a devil's own time inducing her to participate again. Her own orgasm was of the essence, once she'd achieved it, she'd be a tireless devotee of cunt and cock, a convert until the day she died. Thus he forestalled his own climax, dulled his lust by chanting endless flatteries and endearments into Sirri's ears, concentrated on her pleasure. He kissed her repeatedly, cradled her bottom with one hand, flirted with the puckered, besmirched star of her anus. Now and then he paused to readjust his position, and hers, so that the can't of his penetration would afford ultimate contact between his pistoning meat and her swollen clitoris; he instructed her to wrap her legs around his flanks, the slide of silk on his flesh, the sharp stab of her heels behind his knees piquing his lust intolerably despite all his good intentions. He mustn't fail this innocent!
Then, shortly, the tenor of Sirri's pleas changed, and pained mortification was replaced by hectic desperation. "That feeling," she squeaked, pumping her hips of her own volition now, "it's beginning again! Only it's better this time, stronger; it seems perfect and holy. Oh, darling!" Her voice snagged. "Darling, darling. I'm coming! It's happening! Yes, yes ... Push, push, never stop pushing. Hurt me, tear me! I don't care! Just so long as...." Now a horrendous, deafening scream ruptured her throat, filled the room, shot to the ceiling. Where it shattered into a million pieces, descended as slow-drifting, gold-plated confetti. Confetti which stung and seared like liquid fire as it landed upon Dwight's back.
As of that moment his control was demolished, and pumping like one gone berserk, he reamed Sirri's cunt savagely, exulted in the fact that he seemingly hit bottom. Now he knew that scalding backup inside his guts; he felt the hot, gushing stream rumble down his swollen cock; he felt the recoil, Sirri's startled murmurings as the torrid charges arced repeatedly into the depths of her womb, splashed and painted her very bowels in a way she would never-in her whole life-ever tire of.
While at that selfsame moment, on the other side of those mirrored closet doors, an ugly, black, fat dildo enscounced in the depths of her gaping gash, being worked frantically back and forth over her voyeur-maddened clitoris A deceitful Noreen, who hadn't flown to Chicago after all. Who had deemed that her role in implementing this seduction most certainlv entitled her to ringside seat at the consummation itself. And now, marveling at her husband's innovationary preparations, at the fantastically skillful way he'd brought Sirri along, had delivered her to screaming climax There was no other alternative but to produce the outrageous dildo, to deliver herself to orgasm upon orgasm. Now the fiendish instrument dug and swiveled even more ferociously, made Noreen seethe raggedly through clenched teeth. As she saw Dwight buck and plunge atop Sirri, saw eviscerating agony mask his features, undeniable evidence of his own climax, of his own blistering discharge of sperm without end.