Chapter 5
Eldridge went to a couch near the fireplace and lay down full-length, looking suddenly exhausted. But his eyes stayed open, and he watched intently, a tight but pleased smile on his lips as Vic Skowron stepped forward to stand over Sandra's limp form.
"Sandy." There was no interrogative note of courtesy in the tall, hard-eyed, man's tone. He spoke her name as a command, and when she failed to look up at him immediately, he drove a stiff-toed foot against her ribs in a vicious short kick.
"Look at me, Sandy."
She looked, wide-eyed, dropping her arms stiffly to her sides, straightening her legs ... assuming a position of military attention, horizontally.
Skowron hefted his half-stiff cock in one hand. "See how thick it is, Sandy? It's no longer than Mason's, but it's bigger around. It's going to hurt. I want to hear you scream when it goes in, Sandy. But don't fight it. If you resist, 111 only hurt you in others ways, too. Do you understand, little slut?"
Sandra nodded, almost imperceptibly, still holding her prone form rigid. "Good," said Skowron.
Now he moved around to stand at her feet, then bent and picked up her ankles, jack-knifing her legs back over her torso, her feet held close together until he parted them just enough to place them at either side of her head. Bent like a clothespin, her knees pressed into her breasts, Sandra lay silent with Skowron's burly form arched over her.
His cock still didn't appear to be fully hard; it hung at an angle, pointing at her upturned slot.
"What if I stuck it in your asshole, Sandra?" Skowron said threateningly. "Your cunt's all loosened up and ready now; there'll be pain when I jam it in, but nothing like what you'll feel if I decide to ream out your tailhole instead. It's winking at me, Sandra," he went on, looking back along her straining legs to the apex of her tortured form, below his swelling prick. "That tight, tender little hole is winking up at my big, fat nasty cock, and it's scared."
I realized then what Skowron was doing. He was a sadist; he had to inflict pain ... mental anguish at least, if not physical ... in order to get hard. This time, his threats seemed to be doing the job, but I wondered ... Was I hoping? I wondered if at some future time, when Sandra's newness had worn off, he might need to really make her bleed and scream before he could fuck her.
I looked quickly at Laurel, his wife, now writhing on the floor on my left as she worked my big toe in and out of her asshole, her cunt pouring goo onto my instep. Her body bore no physical evidence of past cruelties at Vic Skowron's hands. But still...
Skowron, when I looked back, had concluded his tirade of threats and was lowering himself now, holding Sandra's legs in place with his shoulders, reaching back with one hand to position the tip of his sturdy, vein-straining cock... Yes, against Sandra's asshole!
"Nooooo!" she croaked suddenly. "I can't... You'll kill me!"
"Maybe," Skowron gritted, tight-jawed. "Maybe I will, Sandra. But not yet, I guess. Wouldn't be fair to the others."
So saying, he braced up a little and repositioned the meaty purple head of his dick in the ooze of Sandra's fuckslot.
"This won't kill you, Sandy," he said tightly.
"But you may wish it would."
Sandra tensed visibly. Her eyes, which had been turning wildly in all directions as if seeking help, now closed tightly and she set her jaw.
"Are you ready, Sandra?" Skowron asked unctiously. "I'm going to count to three, and then push it in about an inch. Try to relax, baby, so it won't hurt so much. Ready now? One ... TWO!"
"Ahhggheeee!"
Christ! On two, he had smashed his full weight down on her, driving that thick tool to the balls in her tensed-up slot, and crushing her bent-double body so brutally that I swore I heard bones snap. But Sandra screamed no more, for now Skowron's open mouth slammed down on hers, enveloping, growling, as if he meant to devour her whole head, and he let her legs free to flop back alongside his as he began a blurring barrage of pelvic blows, slamming his cock into her viciously perhaps three times a second.
At first I thought he was coming, but he kept it up too long, and it became clear that he was still in full control of himself and of Sandra's agony.
When his jackhammer fucking had driven her off the pillows and along the floor a good two feet closer to where I sat surrounded by the other women, Skowron suddenly changed his tactics. Letting go of Sandra's tits, which he had been crushing in his grip, he slid his hands back under her ass, braced his hips up slightly on knees and forearms, then with his fingers' strength alone, began to lift Sandra's hips and butt off the floor a couple inches, only to slam her back with a resounding blow of his loins.
His rhythm now was perhaps one a second, and I found myself counting the strokes as Sandra's ass was smashed against the tile floor. Three... four ... five ... six ...
Seven! Now he was coming. He bowed his back, legs and shoulders rising so that his whole weight rode on the contact of his pelvic mass with Sandra's, and he squirmed from side to side thus, grinding into her, punctuating her long, whinnying moan with his grunts of completion.
When he collapsed upon her, her moan went on, but her arms came up to hold him, and I thought I saw her hips wriggle beneath him for a moment before she, too, went limp.
Jack Deering was next, and he was eager. Even before Skowron had gotten to his feet, our host for the evening was kneeling beside my wife's sweat-slick, reddened body.
He caressed her breasts for a few seconds, seemingly smoothing them back into shape after the mauling Skowron had given them. Then he rolled Sandra onto her stomach and pushed her thighs apart. He got between them on his knees, and lifted her by the hips until she knelt thus spraddled, her head cradled on her forearms.
Deering spent no time in talk. He tucked his slim, pointy cock into Sandra's wet crevice and straightened at the hips to slide it in fully, then grasped her waist and began to work her back and forth on it.
His body was plank-straight from knees to shoulders, his head bent as he watched his prick appear and disappear beneath Sandra's slowly pistoning ass. All the friction must have been along the top and sides of his rod, rather than the sensitive underside, yet it wasn't long before his hips began to twitch responsively, and soon he was holding her still while he took over the movement, accelerating, buffeting her harder and harder...
When his rhythm grew ragged, he fell forward on her back, pressed her down flat, then crabbed out with either leg to pull Sandra's legs in tight, closing her sheath and creating a downward angle of stroke that seemed to excite him tremendously.
His hands sought her tits again now, and* Sandra ... eyes closed, mouth working in grimaces that bespoke more passion than pain ... arched up a bit to help him get his hands beneath them.
Deering never did reach a jackhammer pace of thrusts; in fact, as his strokes became more forceful, they came farther apart, and he began to emit a little karate shout with each one. His feet hooked over Sandra's ankles now, his knees outside hers, pressing inward. He released her tits and braced up on straight arms for two final sharp lunges. He held the second at full depth for at least a minute, his face red and straining, then sprang suddenly back to a crouch, his prick jerking free of her cunt with an audible smack.
In the same motion, Deering dropped his chin between Sandra's asscheeks and sank his teeth into the flesh right at the base of her spine in a fierce, clinging bite.
I saw Sandra's eyes snap open, her jaw drop.
"Ooooooh!" she gasped. "Oh, God, I'm... I think I..." She looked around wildly, and there was need in her expression now.
Well, Deering was no longer what she needed; that was clear. As he got to his feet, his slim prick hung limp and drizzling, already half shriveled.
Sandra rolled onto her back, closed her eyes again as if in shame, and put both hands down between her thighs. Was she going to .. ?"
But before she had time, if masturbation was her intention, Rex Cahill was bending over her, taking her hands in his.
"These guys have been doing all the work, Sandy," he said silkily, "and it's got me tired, just watching 'em." He pulled her to her feet, and while he still held her hands, two of his fingers extended and began to play in the fuzzy crevice where her trembling thighs converged.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to do the work this time, little Sandyslut," Cahill went on, smiling mirthlessly.
Suddenly he stepped back from her, sat down on one of the pillows on the floor, then lay back, his stiff cock rising at a low angle above his belly. He held out his arms.
"Climb on, sugarcunt. Come get it while it's hot. Wrap that slimy natch around this turnip and let's see what you can squeeze out of it."
Sandra looked around for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. Her eyes lingered only a second or two on me, as I strained up near orgasm, with Alice Cahill now avidly sucking my cock while the other women rubbed their tits and cunts over all available parts of my body; there was no shock, no anger in her expression. She simply looked confused.
When her head turned back toward Cahill, I was watching Eldridge, who still lay on the couch beyond him, and I could tell by the rangy insurance man's expression that Sandra's eyes were locked with his. Gradually a thin, triumphant smile formed on his lips, and then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if to say to her, "Get on with it, bitch."
Sandra's head dropped forward, and she stepped up to straddle CahilPs prone form.
"Wait," Cahill ordered curtly while she still stood erect. "Open that nasty snatch for inspection first, you little pig. Let me see what kind of cesspool I'm getting my cock into."
Obediently, Sandra splayed her knees and reached down to part the lips of her cunt.
"Ugh!" Cahill gagged, almost convincingly. "Christ, I don't know if I want that filthy thing contaminating me. Let's see the shit-hole, whore. Maybe that's more appealing. I'll never be able to come in that flabby butcher's nightmare of a cunt, anyway."
When Sandra hesitated, tensing, "Come on!" Cahill barked. "Spread those scrawny asscheeks and pucker for me, you cocksucking bitch!"
Moving her hands around her thighs, Sandra pried the halves of her trembling butt apart, tipping her pelvis up to afford him a clear view.
"You wouldn't shit on me, would you, slut?" Cahill gritted. "If you do, I'll make you eat it, while I stuff a whole pineapple up your dirty cunt."
Sandy shook her head, still holding her asscheeks apart, her knees beginning to vibrate from the strain of her position.
"Answer me, you stupid piece of filth!" the little man beneath her shouted. "Are you going to crap on me?"
"No," Sandra moaned, just audibly.
"No, what?" Cahill snapped.
"I'm not going to ... I won't... sh-shit on you." It was spoken barely above a whisper, but the women around me had slowed their erotic activities and were silent, all straining to hear, to enjoy with me this fresh humiliation of my wife.
"All right," said Cahill, smiling like a knife thrower.
Then, as Sandra released her asscheeks and straightened her knees, apparently believing the insult phase was over, "Take the position!" Cahill barked. "Grab that ass and spread it! Get that cunt down here where I can smell it! Lower! Yeah. There. Now freeze, you piece of catshit!"
Her knees bent at an even sharper angle now, her loins gaping as they hovered perhaps eighteen inches above CahiU's throbbing erection and
Sandra froze.
"Are you watching, Mason?" Cahill called. "Have you got a good view of this worthless piece of diseased meat you call a secretary?"
"I'm with you, Rex," Eldridge replied, smiling.
"Do proceed."
"She's not the snot-nosed, snooty little prick-teaser she once was, is she, Mason? She's learning what she's good for now. And she's not much good even for that. Are you, you slack-snatched shrew?"
"I... I don't..."
Cahill's lips formed a snarl, but before he could speak:
"No!" Sandra blurted. "I. .. I'm no good! I'm a... a piece of ... of shit!"
"Right!" Cahill cheered. "You're good for just one thing, aren't you, cuntface? And what's that one thing? Tell me. Tell everybody, loud and clear."
Her legs were sending their shuddering pain through her whole body now, but Sandra managed to hold the impossible position as she said shrilly, "fucking! I'm only good for fucking!"
"Where?" Cahill pressed, leering up at her.
"In my ... In my cunt."
"And where else?"
"My... In ...My mouth?"
"NO!!" Cahill roared. "Not in your filthy, dirty-talking mouth, you worthless slut! Where else?"
"In ... In ... Ooohhhh . .."
She was sobbing now, and her arms jerked out frantically as she almost fell backward.
"Hold the position!" Cahill shouted angrily. And she held.
"Now, say it, you utter bitch!"
"In . .. my. .. My asshole!" Sandra screamed. "Ooooh, fuck me in my filthy asshole!"
There was a long, utterly silent pause while Cahill smiled triumphantly up at Sandra's pain-racked form. He breathed deeply, his cock looming upward stiffer than ever, his hands behind his head.
Then, smooth as honey: "Say please, Sandy."
"Please,"
"Please what?"
"Please ... fuck me in my asshole!"
Cahill was silent again, pursing his lips. Then, "No."
That was when Sandra collapsed. Her knees seemed to break like dry bread, and her ass smacked down on Cahill's calves almost before she could move her hands from their grip on her slayed asscheeks. She slumped to one side, sobbing and kicking spastically, her hands now covering her face.
Immediately, Cahill was up and swarming all over her, hitting her at random with both fists, driving a knee into her crotch, battering her with his shoulders and elbows as he swore and grunted in a frantic rage.
"Get up, you sonofabitching cocksucking shiteating cunt! Up! Take the position, you fucking bitch!"
She couldn't have, even if she'd had strength left, for he was full-weight on top of her now, one knee sunk in her belly as he pummeled her breasts with both fists.
"Rex!" Eldridge called from the couch, not really excited, merely stern. "Easy, Rex. Fuck her now, boy. Save the rest for later."
Cahill raised his head, and before he turned to look over his shoulder at Eldridge, I saw the vacant madness in his eyes. The guy had gone utterly off his nut for a minute. He really might have killed Sandra, if there'd been no one there to stop it!
But when he turned back, bracing up to remove his knee from the weeping girl's gut, the deadly madness in his face had been replaced by urgent lust.
He spoke no more. Getting to his knees beside her, he forced Sandra roughly over onto her belly, then thrust his thumbs into her asscrack to wrench the reddened swells apart. He brought his head down for one deep thrust of his tongue into the puckered ring of red-brown tissue, then got over her, one hand now flat in the small of her back, the other guiding his leading cock.
Eldridge sat up now, looking amused. "Rex, you're going to waste it. You won't be able to ... "
"The fuck I won't!" Cahill snapped. "Watch!"
Sandra's choking sobs grew louder as the small man on her back set his prick's tip against her squinted anal eye. "Ahhhggg!" she croaked, when he bore down, the tip of his cock sinking out of sight.
"It's in, bitch," Cahill grunted now. "The tip's in, but you don't know what pain is yet, you filthy prick-teaser. Are you ready to find out?"
Sandy's tortured lips couldn't form words, but she shook her head violently, banging a cheekbone against the floor, her arms crabbing forward in futile hope of escape.
"Here it comes, slut," Cahill gritted. "Now!" His downward lunge sent half his cock's length grinding into Sandra's writhing ass, and drove a long, wavering scream of agony from her lungs. And as it died and her mouth gaped to draw new breath, her tormentor lunged again, smashing his hips down to flatten her ass and drive her inches foward on the floor.
"Uhhhh!" It was all the sound she could produce, but her shoulders bucked in a spasm of searing pain that actually made me wince. Cahill was in to the balls.
Now he began a short, rapid stroke that never drew the base of his blunt prick visibly from Sandra's agonized rectum, yet lifted her hips enough on each upstroke that she was repeatedly slammed to the tile floor, her thighs and belly producing audible smacks.
Cahill now gripped her upper arms for leverage, his weight squashing her breasts to the floor, his thrusts driving her forward a little aach time, her legs dragging limply outside his braced knees.
"I'm fucking... your ... filthy ... shithole, you ... cocksucking... bitch!" Cahill croaked hoarsely. "I'm ... I'm ..."
Suddenly he doubled the rate of his hip-thrusts, his face contorting, and Sandra's head rose, her neck arching back in fresh agony.
"I'm ... comingggg!" Cahill screeched.
IBs hips, held fully forward, spasmed crazily from side to side, grinding his cum into Sandra's ravished asshole, and his hands became claws on her arms, the fingers sinking deep, making circles of whiteness that spread and merged on her flushed skin.
Then he collapsed, to lie spreadeagled atop her, his cock still held by the cling of her rectum. They both lay as if dead for a long breathless moment. Then new sobs began to shake Sandra's form, and Cahill drew breath, scrambled to his knees again, and wrenched his flaccid, chafed-red tool from the gaping wound of my wife's anus.
He rose, spat on her, then silently turned away and went to sit on the floor near Eldridge. He was exhausted and panting as he looked up at the older man for approval, like a faithful dog after the hunt.
"Good show, Rex," Eldridge said curtly. And then: "Can you top that, Don?"