Chapter 11
Art made a point of arriving at the Hadley Arms at a quarter past seven; Sally, he saw with a smile, was waiting for him in the lobby, and from the half-smoked cigarette stubs collected in the ashtray by her side, he knew she'd been there quite some time. He led her through the lobby, saying little, and helped her into the car, then headed towards a small restaurant on the outskirts of town.
He ordered double martinis for both of them, although Sally protested that she wasn't drinking. And, although he ordered another round when he'd finished his own, he saw that Sally's first one was unfinished, her second one untouched.
He ordered wine with dinner, too, but Sally barely tasted the glass he poured for her. And after she'd picked at her steak, her baked potato, her green salad, and left most of it on her plate, he ordered brandy.
Sally sipped hers slowly-Art was way ahead of her on his drink-but she finished it and even drank a second. Still, she was sober as a judge-Art laughed a little at the expression, remembering some of the jurists he'd known-when they left.
He hadn't been able to get her drunk this time, he thought. He'd flunked that test; still, he deserved an "A" for effort.
Sally sat beside him in the car, twisting her handkerchief into knots, wadding it into a little ball, straightening it. God, he thought, her nerves must be as frayed as an old lamp cord. Still, there was more motivating her than fear alone, and what that was, Art knew, was raw, animal lust. The woman was as hot, already, as a two-dollar pistol. What would she be like later?
He'd been right about Mike Hole, Art decided; he wasn't man enough to take care of his wife. You'd think Mike would thank Art for doing the job for him; even if he didn't, Art was getting his own reward. And he was going to get a lot more of her hot little pussy, and soon, too.
"Feeling all right, Sally?" he asked once. But Sally was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to answer. Dear God! Why had she called Art?
She shook her head. It had seemed logical, this morning. She'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly terrified that he might tell someone about what she had let him do to her last night, and that the story would get back to Mike. She couldn't let that happen-she just couldn't. She would have to see Art again-although the idea of doing so froze her very marrow-make him swear on whatever honor he had, never, never tomention that she had gone to his apartment and let him do it to her. She had had to do that. And now here she was, sitting in his car, too frightened to speak. Here she was alone with him, and she saw, with a shudder of panic, that he was heading towards his apartment again.
"Oh, no!" she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
Art slid the car against the curb, braked, cut the motor. "Something bothering you, Sally?" he asked sarcastically.
Suddenly the words came tumbling forth, a gush, a torrent, spilling out Sally's anguish. "Art," she pleaded with him, "please, please promise me you'll never tell anyone what happened last night."
"Now why should I do that?" he drawled.
"Oh, Art!" Sally's eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "You won't tell! Oh, I knew you wouldn't!"
"Hold on, now!" Art said, taking her shoulder brutally, turning her to face him. "I didn't say I wouldn't."
"But you won't?" Sally begged.
Art shrugged. "Depends on you," he said.
The tone of his voice chilled Sally's veins. "What-what do you mean?"
"Just that," Art said casually. "It depends on you-and what you're willing to do to keep me from telling."
The words whirled around in Sally's brain, like bits of a picture puzzle spread out on a card table, and she tried desperately to put them together so that they would make sense, have meaning. When at last, at long last, she did, she felt a little sick. She peered through the windshield and saw the moon and the stars above her, and knew that the world-the world beyond her-hadn't changed at all, and at the same time she knew her own world could never be the same. "What do you want me to do?" she heard someone ask and then, with a little spine-chilling laugh, realized that she herself had spoken.
"Let's go inside," Art said harshly.
Sally shook her head, and when she spoke her voice was shrill and sharp. "No. No, Art! I couldn't."
"I might have to tell Mike, then."
"You wouldn't. You wouldn't!"
"I would."
Sally put her trembling hand to her damp forehead. "Mike will ... will ... "
"What?"
"He'll hate you. He'll hate and loathe and despise you."
"He might," Art said. "But I don't really care. Now, on the other hand, if he hates and loathes and despises you, you're going to feel real bad about it, aren't you, Sally?"
She huddled against the back of the seat. When Art barked, "Go inside," she climbed from the car, afraid to disobey, and followed him in to the library.
"Sit down!"
Gratefully, Sally collapsed on the leather sofa, recognizing it with a little twinge of horror. "Have a drink?" Art asked. "Do you good." Sally shook her head. She'd been drunk the night before, and that had led to her shocking, her disgraceful behavior. No, thank you, she wasn't getting drunk tonight.
"Smoke, then?" He fumbled in a pocket, then held out a crumpled cigarette to her. She let Art light it for her, and then inhaled deeply.
It tasted sweet-sweeter than any cigarette she'd ever had-and it seemed to soothe her, in a way no cigarette ever had. She wasn't so much afraid of Art, now; she even thought she was almost glad to be here. And when, little thrills of excitement began to course through her at Art's nearness, she leaned back drowsily. She noticed that the cigarette seemed to relax Art, too, and she thought it would be nice to smoke another. "May I have another one?" she asked. "They're nice."
"A reefer?"
"I don't know what they are, but they're good," Sally said.
"Sure!" Art found another. "Ever had a reefer before, Sally?"
Sally shook her head. The word seemed familiar to her-she racked her brain to remember it-and then it seemed it had something to do with drugs, with marijuana, wasn't that it? But she thought that couldn't be, because that was illegal, and so Art wouldn't have given her one. "No," she said at last, "I've never had a reefer before."
"You won't forget it," Art said. He opened the door of the library, and guiding her firmly by the elbow, led her into the bedroom.
She looked hazily, through her drug-dimmed eyes, around the room. She hadn't been in here before, but she thought she was going to like it. Little flashes of pleasure were traveling up and down her spine, like railroad trains on a siding, and she gasped a little . wondering why nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Except for last night, of course. It had happened a little bit like this last night. "Didn't it, Art?" she asked.
He looked puzzled and that puzzled Sally but she forgot about that because he suddenly grasped her by the shoulder, his fingers biting deep into her soft white flesh, and he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, and then he opened it and his fingers trailed over the firm white mounds of her breasts, twisting and tweaking her ruby-red nipples, tracing the narrow, milk-white valley between the twin globes.
The flashes of pleasure increased, like trains traveling faster and faster, coming nearer, and then there was a kind of crashing ecstasy, as if two trains had collided head-on, when Art bent forward and his tongue flicked out at last to one nipple, whipping it into a taut little erection. Sally moaned, and moaned again as she felt her husband's friend's hands travel down her sides, felt him slip his fingers under the waistband of her thin nylon panties, felt the sharp tug as he ripped them off. His fingers played over her smooth white hips, sending delicious thrills tiptoeing up and down her spine, and then they converged on the flat plane of her belly, slid the length of it to the soft golden pussy hairs that grew in tiny curling ringlets over her pubic-mound. Sally felt little sparks of pleasure exploding now between her legs, and it somehow seeped into her consciousness that this was something wicked, and her drug-distorted mind tried desperately to understand why-why-it was wicked, when it made her feel warmer and happier and more excited than she had ever felt.
And then it penetrated Sally's reeling mind that Art had stripped her clothing off, and she realized that she stood before him with no clothes on at all. And that, she knew, really was wicked. Why she never even let Mike, her own husband, her own dear husband, see her that way, and she let out a little cry in which shame and horror mingled, and tried to hide the little triangle of her sex behind her two crossed hands.
Art yanked at them viciously, and Sally cried out, this time in pain. "I want to see you," Art hissed, as his eyes roamed lecherously over the voluptuous curves of her firm, heavy thighs, down over her slim legs, then up again to the firmly rounded globes of her milk white breasts. His hands roved the length of her body now, then slipped between her legs to crawl with lust-provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Sally gasped, struggling to free herself from the maddening touch of his stroking fingers, to cover her quivering little cunt from his evil, leering gaze. With a cruel, quick movement, Art caught her slim wrists in his two powerful hands, twisting them brutally, until Sally winced.
"I told you I want to see your pussy naked," Art snarled again. "So what the hell did you do that for?"
The corners of his mouth curled up in a vicious grin, and even through the fog of drugs that blurred her brain, he appeared to Sally as a complete stranger. This cruel, evil man now grasping and kneading her tender flesh so obscenely could hardly be the man she had trusted implicitly only the day before, the man she had poured oat her troubles to, who had listened so sympathetically, who had offered her his help, along with his friendship. Oh, God! What had come over him? And what had come over her, that she had permitted him to lick up between her legs so vilely the day before?
Sally choked back the sob that rose in her throat and began to plead pitifully with Art. "Oh, God! Please stop! For God's sake, Art: I want you to Stop."
"Like hell you do," Art snapped. "You love this. You're getting it good for the first time in your life and you love it!"
"Oh, no!" Sally moaned, but the little twirls of excitement that flooded her stomach belied her words, and her loins began to ache with the passion she could not suppress.
"You love it, baby. And I got news for you. That's only the beginning!"
Sally , recoiled, trembling, at his coarse, lewd words, yet her heart began to beat violently, the blood to race through her veins, as Art's hands continued to rove over the voluptuous curves of her thighs and hips, as he slipped them around behind to cup the firm white rounds of her ass cheeks, to trail his forefinger down the narrow protecting valley between them.
"Ever sucked cock, Sally?" he asked suddenly.
The question penetrated the cloud of drugs enveloping Sally's brain, and sent a stab of revulsion, of shock, through her quaking body. He wasn't planning to make her-oh, God, no! Not that! And yet, mingled with it was a tingling excitement that Sally fought against with all her feeble strength.
"Hey, Sally!" Art repeated, his voice strident with his own inherent sadism. "Sally! I asked you a question. Ever suck cock?"
"NOOOOOOO!" she stammered. "Nooooooooo!"
"It's good, Sally. You ought to try it sometime. Like now. What say you try it now?"
"NO!" Sally spat the word out this time, her eyes closed tight to shut out her shame, her humiliation.
Art appeared not to notice. "It's good, Sally," he said. "You'll like it. It's even better than reefers," he added. "Gives you more of a thrill."
Sally shook her head, and tried again to protest. And yet her blurred mind told her that Art was right; it would give her more of a thrill than the marijuana had, and she knew her now sexually aroused body could never resist this final degradation. She watched with a mixed feeling of excitement and dread as Art pulled off his tie and shirt, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, as he slithered out of his pants and cotton shorts.
The sight of his huge prick springing forth like a python escaping from a cage sent another spasm of excitement raging through Sally, and when, with a flick of his wrist and the wink of an eye, Art commanded her to take it, she dropped to her knees in front of him, and one slim, suntanned hand darted out to encircle the rigid, fleshy hardness of it.
"Suck it!"
"No," Sally protested mechanically-it was wicked, something deep down inside her said-but the marijuana she had smoked now controlled her almost completely, and so she leaned forward and her tongue darted out-like a just released, caged , bird, too-to swipe and swirl at the hugely throbbing tip of his nakedly skinned back cockhead. With a little moan of delight, she licked at the sticky white fluid oozing from the tiny, winking eye at the tip, swallowed it hungrily, came back for more. She paused, lifted her head, gasping for breath and then saw the angry expression on Art's face as he snarled, "Suck!" In a swift thrust, he shoved his throbbing member deep into her widely gaping mouth, while Sally gagged and fought wildly but briefly to expel it. As she grew used to the presence there of this alien object, new little pools of pleasure began to whirl around her, and she began to mouth Art's penis hungrily, like a new-born infant at its mother's breast, her cheeks swelling and deflating like a pair of bellows. No, she thought now, she'd never sucked cock before, and as the short, wiry hairs that surrounded his huge organ grazed her lips, as his sperm-filled balls slapped heavily down against her chin, tiny little explosions of rising desire and passion were set off in her blood.
Art jerked his hips forward and began to fuck in and out of her widely ovaled mouth, sawing back and forth as stifled gasps of pleasure escaped from Sally's suddenly tightly clasping lips. Madly, insanely, Sally sucked on and on, running her tongue brazenly over the sensitive, swollen flesh of his cock. It was so good, she thought, and she'd never done it before, and now the lingering fumes she had inhaled as she smoked the marijuana a short while before blotted out the last vestige of restraint she might have had. Could she ever get enough of this heavenly plunging cock, that sank deep in her throat, that withdrew to sink in once again as her whole body trembled in a heretofore unknown ecstasy? No, Sally thought, and she was suddenly unbearably impatient for Art to shoot forth his thick, milk-like sperm, to fill her mouth with the pungent liquid, pouring it down her throat in great gushing rivers while she gulped to swallow every precious drop.
And then at last-at long last, it seemed to Sally-the moment she so longed for came, and Art jerked his pelvis harder into her face in a wild spasm, his body tensing, arching, and then he drove deep into her mouth again, and his bloated balls spurted forth their thin, viscous sperm, and she sucked at it as hungrily as before, until her cum-hungering belly was satiated and full, and as Art withdrew his now deflated penis, she sank to the floor, while an ecstatic joy she had never known flowed through her sensually exhilarated body.
Mike Hole parked the car just behind his friend, Art Pitts' and got out, as the enticing young blonde beside him popped from her side of the car. "Is this it?" she asked expectantly.
"This is it. Come on." Mike yanked her along the sidewalk, pulled her into the building behind him, and into the elevator, then down the hall to the door of Art's apartment.
He rang the bell and waited. There was no answer, and he rang again, and then he knocked. When still no one came, he tried the doorknob. It turned and the door swung open. "Well," he said, "we might as well make ourselves at home until he gets here."
They sat down in the living room, facing one another, saying little. After a few minutes had passed, Mike went over to the liquor cabinet. "Something to drink?" he asked. When Kirst nodded, he poured a brandy for her, another for himself. They drank, again in silence, and Mike poured himself a second.
He was getting impatient. What the hell had happened to Art? And wasn't this a hell of a thing to do, anyway? Invite them over, knowing how damned important it was for Mike to talk to him, and then not to show?
He picked up a magazine, leafed through it, put it down. He lit a cigarette and smoked it. He tried to talk to Kirst, but could think of nothing to say. Anyway, he didn't want to talk to the kid-she had plenty of talents, but conversation wasn't one of them. His mind focused on the others, and in spite of his worry and anguish, his prick started in again, lurching and jerking the way it did the first time he had seen the girl at the airport. Christ, he wasn't going to be able just to sit around here, staring at the sex kitten all evening. Not when she sat opposite him with her legs blatantly spread apart that way, so that he could even see the thin little cleft of her pussy out-lined against the tight strip of flimsy sheer nylon panties between her legs. He swallowed hard and turned away, picked up another magazine, put it down, poured another drink for each of them.
God, his balls were aching again, his loins like cauldrons of boiling, bubbling oil. He'd like to fuck the kid right here in Art's living room. Wouldn't that be something?
He looked around, and caught sight of the open door to the guest room down the hall, the double bed inside. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was still early. Art might not be back for an hour, he told himself. Even if he were, there'd be plenty of time for a quickie-and he could do without the preliminaries.
He got up and snatched Kirst's hand, pulling her to her feet, leading her down the hall. He closed the door behind them, and shoved Kirst onto the bed. She fell onto it, her legs hanging open over the side. The thin nylon crotchband of her panties had somehow slipped to one side up between her thighs, and the sight of her sparsely bearded little pussy, exposed to Mike's view, sent maddening bolts of excitement swirling through him. Quickly, feverishly, he slipped his hands under the rounded mounds of her firm little buttocks, lifted her to slip her mini-skirt, along with her equally mini-panties, off her trembling body. In a quick, almost brutal gesture, he tore open her blouse, pulled off her bra, and then, as the sensuously curved fifteen year old lay unresisting on the huge bed, his hands roamed over the soft, naked flesh of her young body, stroking her neck, her throat, her smooth white shoulders. He cupped a firmly rounded young breast in his hand, then pressed his face forward to explore her lips, with hot hungry lips, forcing his tongue into the warm, moist cavern of her pouting little ovaled mouth, to sink it deep inside.
He pulled his head back, twisting it and smiling to ask, "Like that, kid?" and was answered by Kirst's passionate low moans, her soft mewls of pleasure. His tongue sank deep into her mouth again, teasing and tantalizing, and then he ran it down the narrow valley between her milk-white breasts.
Kirst squirmed under the delicious sensation of his hotly licking tongue, then, with a convulsive, involuntary movement, spread her legs farther apart. Mike sank back on his heels, and fixed his eyes on the thin, tight little cuntal slit already moist with desire, up between the girl's soft, smooth thighs.
He trailed his hands over the gentle, rounded swell of her belly now, along the fuzzy little line of golden hair that led to the thin patch of fleece at the base of it. His thumbs found the soft pink edges of her cunt, pressed the softly hair-fringed lips apart, to display the pink little hole of her vaginal mouth that glistened within it to his hungrily peering eyes. The sight of her openly exposed little pussy, as always, sent forth maddening bolts of exquisite, aching pleasure that throbbed through his balls. Then, with a low groan of passion, he moved his head forward to bury it in the widespread "V" of Kirst's open loins. His tongue darted out to find her tiny pink clitoris, to lave it into a taut, hard little erection, flicked out again to snake deep into her wetly throbbing pussy. Kirst whined with pleasure under the older man's maddening licking of her cuntal lips, under the invasion of her pulsating pussy by his voraciously slithering tongue. And then, only moments later, as pure delight drenched her voluptuous young body, she began to groan and squirm her hips about, and then to cry, "Ooooooh! Ooooooh, God! I'm going to cuuuuuum! I'm going to cuuuuuum!"
Jesus Christ, she's hot tonight! she's cumming already! he thought gleefully as she writhed beneath his still hotly flicking tongue, and then he tasted the warm, fresh young vaginal fluid that gushed forth in her climax, to moisten the silken hairs of her pubis and spread down wetly over the smooth whiteness of her inner thighs.
Satiated, she lay back against the white counterpane of the bed, while Mike stared down at her prostrate body. It was his turn now, and Christ, he couldn't wait. With terrible urgency, he hoisted her legs onto the bed, spun her around so that she stretched the length of it, with the same urgency stripped off his clothes.
"Oh, God!" he groaned, and then knelt, hunched over her while Kirst trailed her nails across his chest and sides, and then, with a little groan of her own, encircled his huge, rigid prick with her small cool hand, and guided it down to the gaping little hole between her legs. He rubbed his huge prick, glistening with her vaginal juices, into her throbbing cunt lips, withdrew, then stabbed deep into the hot, wetly pulsating little hole.
Kirst screamed as Mike's enormous cock plunged deep inside her, and then, as his balls began to slap against the twin cheeks of her upturned ass, she ground her pelvis beneath him, straining, arching her loins to meet his thrusts.
He felt as if his enormous plunging prick would burst wide open, split down the middle, as if his aching, sperm-filled balls would explode. He stroked harder, grinding his pelvis into her soft, yielding flesh, battering her quivering little pussy. Oh, my God, he thought, I just got it in her and I'm cumming. ,. I'm cumming, too! And then the torrents of creamy hot sperm surged from his aching balls and along the length of his prick to spurt wildly into the depths of the young girl's hungrily receptive belly. As at last he withdrew his deflating penis, his body went limp with exhaustion and he rolled from Kirst to lie quiescent beside her.
After a few minutes, the sound of weird wails from the room next door aroused Mike from his torpor. He listened, puzzled. Something strange was going on. Something very strange indeed. He slipped from the bed, gathered up his tangled shirt and held it in front of him, just managing to cover his genitals, and padded out of the room, with Kirst on his heels. My God, he thought, I'll bet Art's in there, and that he's got someone in the sack with him. Good ol' Art, having a good fuck, too! A lewd smile spread across Mike's face. Why not just drop in on his friend, catch him in the act, and see what he had to say this time! He beckoned to Kirst to hurry, wondering vaguely who it was that was getting screwed silly by his friend.
The two paused outside the door, listening to the rapturous cries from within. Then Mike turned the doorknob and pushed the door open a crack. Jesus! He was right. There was Art, hunched over a woman, exploring her nakedly twisting body, running his hands over the huge, well shaped mounds of her breasts, down over her voluptuously formed thighs. God, she was built beautifully, whoever she was; he wouldn't mind getting a piece of that himself.
Watching, Mike licked his lips lasciviously as Art's tongue darted out to pry into the moist mouth of the woman, as his hand moved down across her belly to the lushly curling triangle of her pubic hair, as his fingers parted the golden strands to lay bare the long thin slit of her vagina. God, he's giving it to her good, he thought, as one finger wormed its way into the tiny, split-like hole there, plunged deep into the narrow passage, twisting and turning. The woman responded to Art's lewd finger-fucking with screams of wild, abandoned passion, and once again he wondered who she was.
Whoever she might be, she sure was a hot little bitch, Mike thought, as he watched her reach eagerly out to grasp Art's thick, virile cock, rubbing the foreskin back and forth, teasing him, then running one finger over the smooth rubbery head, tickling the parted little hole, running another finger along the underside of the stiff shaft. Mike held his breath, then let it out with a low, lewd whistle. Christ, she was getting him excited, too!
Mike's balls began to ache again, as the woman drew Art's huge, blood-engorged penis towards the moist hole of her hot pink pussy, used the fleshy instrument to part her tender, hair-fringed cuntal lips, then eased it gently into the narrow sheath of her vagina. As the burgeoning instrument sank deep into her belly, she struggled to clasp his arching back between her legs, and fully exposed her now upturned buttocks, the narrow crevice between the twinly quivering cheeks, even the tiny, brown-ringed hole of her anus.
Art's cock sank in to the hilt now, moved in and out like a piston, while the woman, oblivious to everything but the crazed desire of her lust-filled body, writhed and fucked back beneath him in wild, uncontrolled ecstasy. She grasped his nude body tighter and her fingernails raked across his naked buttocks, leaving red welts mingled with white scratches, while the rhythm of the couple's lewd lovemaking crescendoed to a climax. Then the woman's long wail of pleasure split the air. "Aaaaaaaagh! I'm cumming ... I'm cuuuuuummmming!"
Art thrust his aching, plunging cock deeper, ramming it in to the soft recesses of her cervix, while she jerked and thrashed hotly around beneath him. The woman screamed again, calling "Art! OH, ART!" and then his piercing scream of pleasure as he too reached climax assailed Mike's ears. "Oh, my God! I'm cumming, too. I'M CUUUUUUMMMMING TO!"
The woman jerked convulsively as Art sent his load of hot, sticky sperm shooting deep up into her belly, to mingle there with her own wetly exploding juices. She lay back then, her legs splayed out obscenely, as Art, with a final shuddering spasm, collapsed beside her on the bed.
There was a long moment of utter silence, a moment fraught with tension, a silence that could almost have been cut with a knife, as Mike stared at the woman on the bed. Then, with a scream like that of a wounded bull, he recognized his wife. Sally! Oh, my God! SALLY! He shook his head, trying to blot out the knowledge, to erase from his mind the lewd, unbelievable scene he had just witnessed of his own wife getting fucked half to death by their best friend.
Furiously, he groped for the light switch, slammed his fist into it, flooding the room with the harsh yellow beams. Sally opened her eyes, blinked, then let out a scream of pure terror. "Oh, my God! Mike!"
"I'd like to know what the hell you're doing here getting the shit fucked out of you by that bastard!" Mike bellowed, then strode across the room to yank hiss nakedly cringing wife to her feet. His hand slashed out, slapping her across the face and Sally winced and screamed in pain. "You damned little whore!" He slapped her again.
Art watched through half-closed eyes. Then as Mike slapped Sally a third time, he asked laconically, "What's going oh here?"
Mike whirled, turning on Art. "You Goddamned son of a bitch," he snarled. "You bastard."
Art pulled himself slowly to his feet. "Watch it, Mike," he said. "No sense in using abusive language, is there?" He yawned. "Anyway, as for what Sally was doing here., she was obviously getting fucked."
Mike doubled his fist, ready to smash it into Art's sneering, smirking face. "And what were you doing here, Mike?" Art asked. "Weren't you fucking, too?"
Mike's fist shot out, catching Art on the nose. He reeled backwards, clapping his hand to his face. "Careful," he warned. "I don't want to have to defend you on an assault charge, too."
"How about murder?" Mike asked, hitting Art again.
"Might be difficult," Art muttered, "but I could probably do it." His eyes narrowed, and then, without warning, he swung on Mike, sending him sprawling on the floor. "Down, boy, down!" he ordered as his friend, caught by surprise, slumped helplessly against the wall.
Sally sank back onto the bed, her face a mask of violent fury. "Yes," she screamed. "I'm a whore. That's what I am. But you're the one who made me it, Mike Hole! YOU ARE!" She began to sob hysterically. "Oh, I stayed home and ran the house and took care of the children for you. And you were off, all the time, weren't you? Just the way you were with that little slut over there!" she pointed at Kirst. "Fucking her! That's what you were doing." A scalding tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away. "Well, I'm a whore, now. And I'm going to act like one. Like the lowest kind of a whore, too."
She stood up and sidled over to Art. "Want to go upstairs?" she purred seductively, remembering a play she'd once seen about a brothel.
"Sure," Art said. "How much?"
"For you I'll do it for nothing," Sally smiled wickedly.
"What will you do?"
"Anything." Sally repeated the word. "Anything."
"I want to fuck you in the ass?" he smiled questioningly.
Sally froze, and her blood seemed to curdle in horror. My God! She hadn't heard Art correctly. He couldn't have asked to sodomize her. "I ... I ... " she stammered.
"I want to fuck you in the ass," Art said. "Ever done that before?" He grinned lewdly, repulsively at her.
"Oh, no! No, Art!"
Art ignored her and turned to Mike. "Ever seen your wife fucked in the ass?" he asked. "No? Well, watch this, then." And in a voice of the utmost cruelty he ordered, "Get on the bed, Sally. And kneel down with your butt up in the air!"
The sheer revulsion, the terror she felt made Sally's stomach churn, her legs wobble. The man was a maniac! He was going to do this vile, filthy, perverted thing to her. And the look on his face warned her not to resist. Oh, God!
She hesitated, looking around, searching for some way out. And then she felt the sting of Art's swift, cruel slap against her nakedly quivering buttocks. "Get!" he said.
"NO!"
Another swift slap. "Get! And now!" and Sally threw herself face down on the bed to escape his blows, her fearfully trembling backside naked and vulnerable now to his will.
"Spread your legs!" One more vicious blow persuaded Sally to do as she was ordered. "Wider!" Art commanded, and then took her by the ankles and forced her legs farther and farther apart, until Sally was sure she would split in two. She screamed in agony, then screamed again as Art spread her ass cheeks wide with his thumbs and slowly, relentlessly wormed a finger into the tiny, puckered little mouth of her anus. She whimpered at the sharp, shooting pain as her husband's best friend gleefully probed his finger in and out between her open buttock cheeks, and then, her whimpers turned to sudden, strangely masochistic moans of pleasure as the pain subsided, and she was possessed by a marvelous growing excitement that made her tingle with ecstasy.
Art thrust a second finger into Sally's now wide-stretched rectal passage, spitting on them and working the two wetly back and forth up inside the tightly resisting rectal walls as he prepared them for the entrance of his swollen, throbbing prick. "Like it?" he demanded lewdly, skewering her on his impaling digits. Sally was too terrified to answer. "Like it?" Art thundered, striking still another harsh blow against her smoothly rounded ass cheeks.
Sally let out a sharp scream, then sobbed, "Yes."
"That's great," Art said. "Just great!" And then with a triumphant grin, he mounted her as if she were a dog bitch in heat, guiding his thick, swollen shaft down towards the tight little brown-ringed opening of her anus. With a quick, brutal thrust, Art forced the blunt instrument into the tiny, futilely clenched orifice, while Sally screamed in agony as the pain seared her flesh like leaping flames.
"Ooooooh God! she moaned pitifully. He was tearing her to bits back there! Her pain blended with her terrible feelings of guilt and shame and submission, and then those feelings ebbed away as a strange sexual stimulation began to possess her. She slowly, experimentally ground her naked ass back against him, meeting the forward thrust of his loins, then began to moan incessantly beneath him and move her buttocks back in tiny teasing circles. Oh, God, she thought, she had never in her wildest dreams believed herself capable of such a perverted act as this, and yet ... and yet ... there was sheer ecstatic bliss whirling with the pain, joy mingling with the agony. She wished she could understand it, but the pleasure-pain of the moment precluded letting her thoughts dwell on the matter, and she gave herself over completely to the marvelous sensation of being lewdly sodomized right in the same room with her own husband watching in disbelieving shock a few feet away.
Art's rock hard prick speared deep into Sally's tight little rectal passage, pushing almost to her pelvis, and his heavy testicles slapped down below against her tender, sensitive cunt. Sally. almost out of her mind now with her tormented passion, began to moan as Art withdrew his penis almost to the tip, then rammed it deep back into the wide-stretched rectal passage again.
Then, she suddenly felt him jerk and thmsh behind her as the pendulous sacs of his testicles slapping against her sent their load of churning, hot sperm shooting the length of his throbbing, thrusting shaft, to gush forth inside her.
Oh, God! he's cumming up in my bowels, she thought wickedly, and then, oh, God! I'm cumming again, too. She jerked her nakedly writhing ass cheeks backwards against his jerking pelvis, rocking in a rhythm with his convulsive spasm, while weird wild groans escaped her wide open mouth. A contentment, a joy, a pleasure of the highest degree seemed to well up inside her, spreading out, fulfilling her. Dimly, she felt Art's sperm flow from her plundered rectal passage, soothe the crevice of her widespread buttocks as it trickled down to brush the tender, gaping lips of her moist, warm vagina. She felt Art's final withdrawal, too, hazily, as if in a dream, as he pulled his flaccid, deflated penis from the tiny, rubbery passage it had invaded so precipitately. And then she rolled over on her back, drained of energy, limp.
Then, she heard her husband Mike's voice, cruel and savage, his words sharp and stinging as the lash of a whip. "If you're going to act like a whore," he spat at her, "your own husband might as well fuck you like one too!"
She looked up to see his lust and hate contorted face staring straight into hers, realized that Mike was kneeling above her, brutally parting her thighs.
"Spread your legs!" he ordered. Sally whimpered, but tried to obey, and then recoiled in fear as Mike began to stroke his huge cock into a stiff, surging rod. Now he threw himself upon her trembling body, his hips wedging between her legs, his pelvis grinding into her squirming, defenseless crotch. Then he grasped his thick, hard penis in one large hand, guided it to his sperm flooded wife's still moist, warm pussy, speared brutally against the fleshy lips there-Sally whimpered again in pain and fear-then parted them with a violent movement that made her scream. Without a thought for her, he continued his ravishment of her fearfully quivering cunt, plunging deep inside, his prick smashing in as though it were a battering ram.
"Oh, God!" Sally screamed; and began to plead, "Don't. Oh, my God, Mike. Don't fuck me so hard, darling!"
But her pleading only enraged Mike more, and he fucked harder and farther with her, his pistoning cock slashing deep into her belly like a wielded sword, until Sally yelped with pain. "Oh, God! You're hurting me! YOU'RE SPLITTING ME WIDE OPEN!"
Mike arched backwards, partially withdrew his blood-engorged penis, sent it surging in again with another swift stroke, then flexed it deep inside her palpitating vagina. "You're a whore," he said. "Remember?"
"No," Sally whined. "Oh, God, no!"
"Yes! So act like a whore. Put on a show for me! Pretend you enjoy it!" He stared down into her frightened face. "Pretend you enjoy it," he repeated, "just the way you've always pretended."
His cruel, sadistic words were like a knife plunged into Sally's heart, sending a pain through her soul that made the pain in her flesh seem nothing. "Just the way you've always pretended!" Oh, God, he was right-he was right! She'd done just that-and all the time she'd thought herself a good, an exemplary wife. Instead, she had really been nothing but a whore because they always pretended too! But she hadn't been with Art! She had felt real joy with her husband's best friend, real ecstasy, when Art had fucked her. She had fought him, she had felt pain, but she had felt pleasure, too. And yet, with her own husband ... ! Oh, God, what was the matter with her?
She lay back with her thighs open wide, tears streaming from her eyes, as Mike began again to thrust his hips forward wildly, fucking in and out of her openly defenseless cunt like some cold, impersonal machine, his enormous prick sliding up and down her tight, unyielding vaginal passage as though he had just paid two dollars for it. Oh, God! Why couldn't she enjoy sex with her own husband, when she had been raped-yes, raped-by Art Pitts, and had thrilled to it ecstatically? She choked back her sobs. What on earth was the matter with her? She didn't know, she just didn't know.
Well, if she was a whore-and she was, she told herself, she wasshe would no longer resist Mike, and she lay back, impassively, trying desperately to shut out thought as he continued to plunder her moisture' flooded vagina. He ground in and out, and the pain she had felt before seemed to ebb away, and then, for a time she felt nothing at all. But then she felt the first faint stirrings of excitement, like those she had felt when Art had fucked her the night before, and yes, tonight, too. They were fragile as butterfly wings, beating in her blood, but they became stronger, sending little spasms of hot, churning delight sputtering through her body. Unconsciously, even involuntarily, she began to rotate her hips, grinding her buttocks deep into the mattress, thrusting her loins forward to meet her husband's thrusts. And now they began to move in rhythm and a wild burst of pleasure exploded deep inside her.
Her pulsating, moist vagina clasped Mike's plunging penis, sucked it deep into her belly, released it as he withdrew, sucked it again until it crashed heavily up against her cervix, sending overwhelming sparks of joy flowing through her veins. They rocked back and forth in their act of copulation, and Sally seemed to know nothing but the sheer, physical bliss of the moment.
As if from a great distance sounds came to her, sounds, it seemed, of sucking, and then it flashed through her mind that that was just what it was, that Art had his face between the Danish girl's legs and was sucking her pussy. She hoped that they, too, were finding the sort of happiness she had found.
The sound of sucking stopped abruptly, and Sally was aroused by the sense of touch-someone was taking her hand and opening it. She turned to see Art beside her, realized he was curling her fingers around his own iron-stiff prick, and instinctively she took it, began to run her fingers along the sensitive underside of his swollen shaft. Kirst seemed to be there, too, and through what was now a tangle of arms and legs and bodies, all intertwined, she saw that Art had burrowed deep into Kirst's sweet, soft little pussy with his long, thick finger, twisting it inside the narrow little passage to bring forth mewls of pleasure from the hotly aroused young sex kitten, and that he was now plunging deeper and deeper into the dark, moist cavern as he lewdly, carnally finger-fucked her to a wildly rising state of passion.
Sally felt the passion mounting again in her own lust-driven body too, felt Mike's prick flex and subside while her cunt walls tightly clung to it, cradled it in the sheath of her vagina, felt the beginning of her own orgasm, felt the gush of fluids that seeped from her vagina, to flow down, bathing her husband's heavily plunging cock in their warmth and wetness. She heard Mike's groan, knew that the tension, the ache in his sperm-filled balls had now become unbearable, that he was responding to her own wild, passionate fucking in his own male way, that he, too, was ready to cum, to fill her open, waiting belly with his white hot sperm.
At almost the same moment, Art's prick began to jerk in her hand and flooding out over her wrist, as he, too, reached climax, and then she heard the little moans of Kirst's mounting excitement, her murmurs of intense pleasure, and then everything seemed to merge in some fantastic whirling vortex which lifted her irresistibly to heights of sensual passion heretofore unknown. It was like angelic voices singing, like the whirling of stars and the blending and changing of the most vibrant, beautiful colors in the world, it was a tingling of her flesh, a series of thrills coursing through her body that set her on fire, made her whole insides bum and sear as though the whole of her body was engulfed in the hotly consuming flames of endless passion.
She felt her husband's cum-bloated balls smacking hard down against the upturned cheeks of her ass as his rock-hard penis penetrated deep into her belly, smashed once more against her cervix, and as the white hot, churning sperm spurted out, the full length of it, to spill forth in luxurious profusion, she felt his furious bucking against her own thrashing body, and then the marvelous moment when their viscously erupting orgiastic fluids merged, uniting them as they had never been united before. And then the two collapsed, completely spent, as Art and Kirst too fell back, weak and happy and above all, satisfied. Sally fell asleep then, dozing off in a state of pure and utter contentment, with her own husband, Mike, lying beside her. Their friend, Art, who had first shown her such joy, was sleeping peacefully nearby with the voluptuous young girl, Kirst, cradled possessively in his arms....