Chapter 1

Max killed the engine and got out of the car without so much as looking at Helen and the kids. They were all hoping so desperately for a vacancy at the hotel, they didn't even want to talk about it. Sally and Tim were bored with sleeping in the crowded camper; bored, in fact, with the whole vacation. If the weather hadn't turned so goddam cold, the youngsters could spread their sleeping bags on some beach under the stars. They were good kids, they hadn't bitched out loud, but he knew how they felt. And Helen had about had it with cooking and sleeping and just plain existing in one tiny space.

Max had his own reasons for wanting a hotel room. Steady now, old man, he told himself. Sex wasn't the be-all and end-all of life. Just because he'd grown so accustomed to having so much of it, didn't mean he couldn't go one week without fucking somebody, even Helen. Then he felt guilty for putting it that way. They'd given up swinging for good reasons, and it hadn't been all her doing. He'd agreed, hadn't he? But when they planned this vacation as a sort of period in their lives, an end to sexual freedom and a beginning, or second start, on family togetherness, he hadn't expected it to mean total abstinence! No wonder he was getting irritable.

He wrenched his mind back to the present. La Posada Vieja certainly lived up to its name: The Old Hotel. It wasn't much compared to a Hilton or even a Holiday Inn. Still, there was a certain charm to the ancient adobe building. He stood in an interior court which was colonaded around most of the four sides. Vines and other unidentifiable plants grew overhead and underfoot. He walked between them, looking for the office, and blinked. The hotel's laundry was draped in the courtyard, on clotheslines and bushes. That was one way of doing it, he thought.

The office was empty, but he finally found the bar and a bartender who spoke English. When he went out to the camper again, he tried to make a joke of it.

"Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?"

Helen and the kids just looked at him, so he went on to explain. The Posada had one large room vacant; two double beds. "So I took it," he said. "At least it's a change."

The kids were cheerful enough, but Helen didn't say anything and he wished he knew what she was thinking. Did she feel anywhere near as hot as he did? They could sneak out to the camper, if she did, once the kids were asleep. He wished now they'd stopped at the luxury hotel in San Ignacio. At this point, he'd be glad to pay almost thirty dollars for a private room for themselves, and another thirty for the kids. Of course it would shoot the hell out of their budget, but the ache in his groin didn't give a shit about money.

There was no use thinking about it. Their room was huge, with tile floors and crappy furniture, but the beds looked okay. The stack of wood beside the fireplace promised warmth, at any rate. Once the luggage was in, he kindled a fire. They didn't really need it yet but it was one way of hiding his immense hard-on which he didn't want the kids to see. Kneeling in front of the fire, feeding it twigs,' he thought of all the times in the past few days he'd had to cross his legs, or hold a newspaper on his lap, or some other damn thing. Anything, he thought bitterly, to keep Sally and Tim from knowing their father was a real human being who got horny sometimes.

Watching him from across the room, Helen grinned. Poor old Max! Poor old Helen, too, if it came to that. It wasn't one bit easier for her than it was for him. Except, of course, that his showed! And if the cream from her hungry cunt seeped through her panties, and even through her heavy pants, everybody would look the other way tactfully. They'd assume she was on the rag, or had some kind of female discharge or other. She rubbed her thighs together and tried to fix her mind on something else. If the sun would only shine! It was childish to fix her hopes for a new life on a two-week vacation. If this kept up, she'd quit arguing with Max and they'd be right back where they'd been, and she didn't want that. There'd been too many bummers.

Not that she didn't like the sexual freedom, while it lasted it was marvelous. All her fantasies came to life sooner or later. She'd been told every woman dreams about rape, and she believed it. Brought up in prudery as most women were, rape was the only way they could enjoy themselves without guilt. And some of her encounters in their swinging group had sure as hell seemed like rape to her.

The trouble was, good manners lasted even in swinging. Or maybe it was a basic sense of fairness, or fear of the group's disapproval. What was she supposed to do, when Max was fucking the hell out of Bernice across the room? Bernice's husband Paul was a slob, and she'd managed to avoid him up till then. She sat and had a cigarette and watched Max, his hard white ass moving in a fast blur, as he pounded his superbig prick into Bernice. Just thinking about it made her cunt contract and the cream flow heavier in her itchy pussy. Bernice was a slob, too, but a sexy slob. Her boobs looked like two big bowls of white jelly, spilling and squashing over her chest. One thing, it was fascinating to see what others looked like naked. Bernice's tits were the biggest she'd ever seen, their aureoles big as saucers, the nipples themselves rosy-brown and as long as a finger joint. When Max sucked one of them in his mouth, it must feel like swallowing somebody's finger.

She remembered with a shiver how Paul came up and grabbed her by the ass. His fingers cupped around her buttock, and he squeezed hard. Hard enough to make her yelp.

He just grinned and squeezed again. "Come on, baby, lie down and spread 'em out. You can smoke any time."

She didn't want to. Some of the other women complained about his roughness, and besides, she was exhausted. She'd spent the past half hour giving her best blow job to another man, one she really liked and enjoyed. He'd gone down on her, too, and she'd enjoyed it so thoroughly, she wanted just to sit and remember for a moment.

"Later, Paul," she said. "I'm tired."

"You don't have to do anything," he smirked. "Men do all the work, didn't you know that? Come on, gash, I want a piece right now."

It wasn't only his rudeness. They had rules about it and no man or woman was supposed to have to do anything they didn't want to. Only-not too many argued with Paul. Looking at his huge body, she could see why. He was built like a wrestler, the muscles in his arms writhing like snakes under his hairy pelt. And he was an MCP if ever she'd seen one-a male chauvinist pig. She wasn't exactly a women's libber, but she did have respect for herself as a person. To Paul she was just what he'd said: gash. An ugly word.

Some of the women complained about his roughness, but she had to admit others liked it. And they all noticed his enormous cock, looking sideways out of their eyes at it even without an erection. Paul made fun of the other men who liked hugging and kissing and feeling a woman up. Foreplay was for sissies, he said. A cunt, and he made that an ugly word, too, didn't have to do anything but spread her legs, and he'd give her the thrill of her life, he boasted.

Paul balanced his hard prick on his hands, waving it in front of her face. "Look what I've got for you," he boasted. The huge scarlet head weaved a little as if feinting, like a boxer. The shaft was dark with blood, too, bursting thickly out of his matted pubic hair. It was right in front of her eyes and she gasped and drew back a little. That made him angry.

"Come on, cunt," he said, pulling her up by one arm.

She could have made a fuss, of course. That was where the rape fantasy came in. Secretly she was enjoying the sensation of being forced against her will. When she really thought about it, she knew that was Paul's appeal. Even if he'd never figured it all out, he must sense it, and lived up to his role. Part of her secretly thrilled to his crudity. In fact, she had the sudden impulse to wrap her lips around his fantastically big dong, but she put it down. It wouldn't suit the little play they were acting out. Instead, she let him pull her into an empty bedroom and toss her on the bed.

Helen had a clear picture in her mind of how they'd looked, as if she'd been able to watch in a mirror. She was rather a small woman, flat-stomached and sparely built except for her tits. She had a pair of knockers, she knew, which almost looked obscene on her slim body. Oh, her hips were rounded and womanly. After all, she'd had three children. But for the age of thirty-six, her body looked slimly unused. She enjoyed the satiny white look of her skin in contrast to Paul's swarthy hairiness. Her mass of glossy brown hair had long ago come tumbling down around her shoulders, and her curly triangle glistened with cream and semen.

Paul crouched over her on his hands and knees, his hard prick brushing against her thighs. At least he didn't want to fuck her in the ass, she thought with a delicious thrill of fear. Much as she enjoyed having her anus reamed out, she knew it couldn't take anything the size of him.

She clenched her round thighs together only to have the fun of feeling him wrench them apart. When she pushed at his shoulders, he pinned her wrists with his big hands. Slowly, leisurely, he poked at her hair-lined slit with his hot cockhead. The bulging scarlet flesh burned as it slid inside. Helen gasped, and this time it was for real.

"God, Paul," she whimpered. "I feel like I got a telephone pole up me."

He smirked and said, "You want a real ride, baby, you come to ol' Paul."

She'd never felt so stuffed and filled before. Her resilient cunt walls were stretched as far as they could go, sending out a thick profusion of juices to ease his way. Even her clit was touched and sweetly abraded without his having to do anything special about it. Her eyes widened as she felt the cockhead twitch deep in her belly. God, he was right smack up against her backbone! She just couldn't believe the sensations it gave her, a tingling sort of pain that faded into warm spreading pleasure. And when he began to saw slowly in and out....

"Mom! What's the matter, Mom, you sick or something?"

Helen blinked and came back to the present. Her face reddened as she realized where she was, and how. Crouched over on a wooden chair, her hands between her thighs, hair swinging while she breathed quickly in remembered ecstasy.

Tim looked at her curiously. "Are you sick?"

"Uh ... oh, no, darling, not really. Just had a little pain in my turn but it's gone already. I guess I must be hungry."

"Let's eat, then. Dad and Sally are in the dining room already." The boy wondered if he should help her up, but was relieved to see her smile and rise and look normal again. There were so many things about grownups he didn't understand. Even though he was fourteen and considered himself almost an adult, he had trouble figuring out what being an adult meant.

In the dining room, Helen found it easy to drift again into her reverie. The kids read comic books while they waited for the meal. Max seemed lost in a dream of his own. After sixteen years of marriage, she was able to guess pretty accurately where his thoughts were, and they weren't too different from her own.

She remembered again how orgasm had thundered through her, as she lay gasping and panting under Paul's heavy body. His hot seed squirted into her and overflowed her cunt, trickling warmly down the inside of her thighs. Paul's smile was triumphant, he was as pleased with himself as a kitten in cream. And she too was certainly satisfied-physically. She'd cum so many times that evening already, she'd lost count.

Wandering back into the living room-Paul was never one to enjoy the snugglings and whisperings and happy kisses after climax-she'd looked around at the group. Most of them were as wiped out as she and Paul. The women had begun to comb their hair and slip into clothes, and some of the men were also partly dressed. Others still sprawled nakedly exhausted, flushed with satisfaction, maybe enjoying a last few minutes of exhibitionistic behavior. Swingers were also apt to be exhibitionists, she'd long ago discovered.

And that's when a little voice in her head said: Enough of this. You've had enough of this.

She'd expected a big argument from Max, and he did grumble and ask her to think about it for a while. But he didn't scream and holler, as she'd thought he might. He accepted it, without really explaining why. They both knew the other couples in their swap group would make a fuss, so they planned this vacation in advance of telling their friends. They hoped by the time they returned, the worst would be over. Those who wanted to maintain the friendship without swapping sex, would do so; and the others would drift away.

Of course while they wanted to be together as a family, neither she nor Max had quite this degree of togetherness in mind. She'd imagined nights in the camper, or in their sleeping bags in the moonlight, and enough privacy so they could take care of each other's needs. It would be fun, they both thought, to talk over all the exciting and sometimes comical events of their swinging lives, until they'd worked each other to a fever pitch of sexuality.

Instead, they were stuck first with the kids in the camper and now, the four of them in one hotel room! Damn it all, she told herself, we've got to let go somehow! She almost wished she had the nerve to slip a sedative in the kids' cokes, to make sure they'd sleep through the night. But that wouldn't really be necessary, they could always go to the camper.

The waitress finally showed up with a tray load of food, the kids put down their comic books and the family talked as they ate. She noticed Max looking at his watch for the third or fourth time, and winked at him.

"It's eight o'clock already," she said. "Why don't we sit in the bar for a while after dinner? Give the kids a chance to get settled down and to sleep."

Good idea," he said. "Damn good idea, Helen." Sally and Tim looked at each other and didn't say anything. It was obvious to them they were supposed to go to bed early, to suit the convenience of their parents. But they were tired, and neither one really minded.