Chapter 8
It had taken Jack Caspar a little time and money to locate a" couple of really outstanding stag movies, because he figured these would set the mood for the entire evening, and he wanted something of better than average quality. Just to show a couple fucking, if it were done crudely, might create exactly the opposite effect for which he was aiming. But after having privately screened these two films (rental for which being $50 apiece just for tonight), he felt confident they would help to raise the amorous temperature of his guest viewers.
So now the lights were out and Ella was helping him load the reel, while he thought up plans for pairing off later on. So, just as he was ready to start the first film, he called out, jokingly, "You know, folks, I suggest your pair off so you each sit next to someone else's husband or wife. Then maybe you'll get an extra charge that way out of what you're going to see. And remember, we're all good friends and anything goes. So if you feel like letting your hair down, go right ahead. Marge and I, and Ella too, aren't puritans."
"I'll say you're not, Uncle Jack," his irrepressible niece whispered, and she slipped her hand up his thigh and gave his cock a quick little pinch, out of sight of everyone.
"Cut that out! Save it for those poor jokers who aren't getting any," he hissed, as he turned on the switch and let the first reel unwind.
The first movie was in color, and it showed a pretty red-haired housewife, not un-like Eleanor Dudley herself, spending a dull afternoon at home by herself. She was sitting on the couch buffing her nails, wearing a satin negligee and pumps, when the doorbell rang. With a yawn, she went to open it, and found a saucily attractive brown-haired cosmetics salesgirl with a suitcase full of wares. For want of anything to do, she invited the young lady in and lounged back on the couch with a bored expression while the brunette proceeded to open her suitcase and display cold cream, eye shadow, make-up kits and the like.
In the next close-up, the brunette was sitting beside the housewife, applying some cream to the latter's neck. Suddenly she moved closer, cupped the housewife's face in her hands, and applied a long, lingering kiss. The redhead squirmed, tried at first to disengage the embrace, and then surrendered to it. Now the salesgirl slid her hand down the bodice of the negligee and was soon cupping the redhead's titties.
A few moments later, both young women were stripped down to garter belts and sheer nylons, pussy rubbing on the couch, the brunette over the redhead.
Then the camera panned the opening of the front door, and in came a heavily set, Spanish-looking male who was certainly muy macho as was evidenced when the camera took a close-up of his swelling crotch as he surveyed this unexpected spectacle. In a moment, he had his suit-coat off, his fly open, a massive prick thrusting out demandingly, and he had seized the brunette, hauled her over his lap and was proceeding to spank her upstandingly rounded pink-sheened bottom resoundingly, while she squealed and kicked and tried to hammer at him with her fists. His red-haired wife also tried to halt the chastisement, but he merely shoved her away and continued until he had dealt the brunette a violently flaming rear end. Then, shoving her onto the floor, where she lay on her side, pathetically rubbing her flaming seat, he dragged his red-haired wife across his knees and gave her an equal dosage.
Next, the brunette was seen kneeling between his thighs, her palms on his knees, humbly sucking his prick, while his wife crouched on the couch, also kneeling, one hand ruefully rubbing her posterior, while the forefinger of her other hand was slyly tickling her own palpitating cunt.
After the brunette had attuned the husband sufficiently, he fell on his wife and began to fuck her with gusto, while the brunette, not to be denied her own solace, promptly knelt astride the latter's face and massaged her titties while the redhead feverishly gamahuched her, while she responded to her husband's prick thrusts with writhing, weaving hips, to the fadeout.
When the lights went up, Jack Caspar swiftly glanced over at the three wives. To his amusement, auburn-haired Eleanor Dudley had taken his advice and was sitting next to Dave Wormsley. And the latter had his arm around Eleanor's supple waist and was whispering in her ear.
Pete Dudley had moved over beside young, black-haired June Worsmsley and was holding her hand, but Dorothy and Matt Tilden sat apart, and Dorothy was glowering at her husband.
"Well, folks, you can take a breath now and have some more refreshments before I show the second film," Jack Caspar jovially declared. "I hope nobody's offended. I just thought it might be a nice change from the old routine of Yellowstone and Hawaii and Mexico and all those awful amateur movies everybody and his brother shows at a shindig like this."
"I never saw anything like that in all my life. Ingenuous!" June Wormsley spoke up, with a nervous little giggle. She glanced down and saw that Pete Dudley was still holding her hand, and hastily pulled it away.
"That was a lulu, Jack," Pete Dudley commented. "Say, didn't that red-haired model look a lot like my little Ellie, though?"
"Pete Dudley, don't you dare say another word!" Eleanor Dudley gasped, and she quickly disengaged herself from Dave Wormsley's embrace, got up and walked self-consciously over to the buffet to help herself to some crackers and cheese.
"How about you, Dottie?" Jack hazarded.
The tall, slim wife of Matt Tilden sniffed. "I might have known you men would gang up on us poor girls and show something that makes the female out to be just a tramp." She gave her husband a venomous glance. "Things like that just encourage a fellow to go chasing, that's all. If he'd take care of what he's got at home, he wouldn't have to look." Again she sent her husband an angry glare.
Matt Tilden lit a cigarette and shrugged. He walked over to Ella Courtnay, put one arm around her shoulders and drawled, "And if some women would look at their husband's side for a change, maybe they wouldn't want to go looking elsewhere, either."
"Is that so?" Dorothy Tilden broke out, her eyes bright with anger. "I just wonder how much that movie reminds you of what you and that Mrs. Purvis did behind my back."
"Now, you look here, Dottie," Matt Tilden snarled. "If I've told you once, I've told you a dozen times, you take everything that cranky old Mrs. Ames tells you as gospel. I'll admit I wouldn't have minded going to bed with Joanne Purviss, only I didn't. But don't think I wasn't tempted! She practically came out and told me she wanted me to take care of her, and she had on a slinky black negligee, just like the model in that flicker Jack just showed. Hell, I deserve a boy scout medal for forbearance, instead of the doghouse you've been giving me, Dottie. And I'm serving notice on you right now in front of all these witnesses that I've just about had it, get me?"
"That's right, go ahead and make a scene in front of everybody," Dorothy Tilden hissed. She got up from her armchair and confronted him, hands on hips. "You men are all a-like. You can all find excuses and alibis to justify whatever you do. But I'll bet if you heard that I was out with some fellow, you'd have beaten me black and blue! Go ahead and enjoy your dirty old movie. I'm going to take a powder on this next one, if you don't mind!"
And with this, her head held high, she marched out of the living room, went down the hall, entered one of the bedrooms and slammed the door.
"Holy cow!" Matt Tilden groaned. "Just when I thought we were almost getting to the point of forgetting about that Purviss dame! Now it'll take me another couple of weeks to talk her out of sulking."
"Maybe not, Matt. Sit down and enjoy the show. Go ahead, Ella, sit on poor Matt's lap and keep him company. He's a regular guy, and in my book, Dottie's giving him a raw deal." Jack Caspar was expertly taking off the first reel and putting on the second.
"Don't mind if I do," Matt Tilden brightened and sat back in his armchair, beckoning to the provocative, black-haired, sexpot. "I might as well have the game...I've already got the name, Ella, honey."
"Jack, darling, don't you think maybe you're going a little too far?" Marge Caspar inquired. But she quailed at the stern look he shot her and hastily consulted her half-filled glass of bourbon and ginger ale, remembering only too well the sound spanking he had administered about a month ago.
"All ready for it, the rest of you?" Jack Caspar looked around and winked at his guests. "Everybody nice and comfy with somebody else's wife? All right, here got the lights. Action! Camera!" So saying, he turned off the main living room switch, moved back to the projector and flicked it on. There was a little giggle from June Wormsley, because Pete Dudley had moved closer to her on the couch and this time had slipped his arm around her waist.
"You oughtn't to, Pete," she whispered faintly. "I don't want to make Dave jealous. And what will your wife think?"
"Ellie's making out pretty good with your hubby, now" that you mention it, honey," Pete Dudley whispered back, and his right hand crept down to stroke June's delectably rounded thigh through her skirt.
"Oooh, please don't, P-Pete!" Her whisper was audible now, across the room, and Dave good-naturedly called, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Pete."
"I won't, buddy. Nothing more than you'll do to Ellie, okay?" Pete called back.
"Well, I like that!" the sultry auburn-haired wife of Pete Dudley giggled, as she felt Dave's arm tighten around her waist and his hand brushed against one of her swelling titties. "Just whose idea was this, anyway? I didn't think you cared, Dave."
"Well, I do, and you know it now. Wanna make something of it, Ellie, baby. Hey, just look at those models there! Wow!"
For the second blue film had started with a real orgy that had everyone's attention from the very outset. A blonde and a brunette, both in their mid-twenties and extremely attractive, were lying on a wide bed with two men between them, the blonde was being gamahuched, and the brunette was busy Frenching her male partner.
June's voice, still in a whisper, was suddenly audible in the hushed room. "I think you're just awful, Pete Dudley! Please ... you ... you oughtn't to put your hand there. Please don t, P-Pete."
But her eyes, like the eyes of everyone else, were glued to the screen and Pete Dudley had no trouble cupping one of June's juicy round bubbies through the bodice of her dress. The skimpy nylon bra beneath couldn't hide the exuberant, firm flesh, and he was already getting a violent hard-on.
Jack Caspar had a brainstorm. He tiptoed away from the projector, slipping toward the chair where Ella Courtnay was sitting on Matt Tilden's lap, playfully ruffling his hair and whispering to him.
"Ella, I hate to break up such a terrific smooching scene, but why don't you go pay a little visit to Dottie in there and see if you can't get her over her anger at poor Matt here?"
"Sure, Uncle Jack. Hey, Matt, tell me one thing.
Do you know if your wife ever had a yen for girls?"
"How the hell should I know? I don't even know if she's got a yen for me any more," Matt disconsolately muttered.
"I just thought I'd ask," Ella Courtnay giggled, with a purposeful glitter in her lovely eyes. "You'll have to run that second film off for me later, so I can see how it all comes out."
"Any time, baby, any time!" He gave her a playful smack on the behind as she waltzed out of the living room, then bent down and whispered to Matt Tilden, "Say, old buddy, why don't you go over and cheer Marge up some? I've been neglecting her all evening. It'd do her a world of good...and you, too."
"Do you really mean that, fellow?"
"Why do you think I dreamed up this little club of ours? Hell, one of these nights I hope I can get Dottie to swap house keys with me-and if she says yes, I'd be a fine spoilsport if I wouldn't let you give Marge a whirl," he chuckled, and gave Matt Tilden a hearty slap on the back. "Go ahead now, with my blessings."
He went back to his padded footstool, sat down and lit a cigarette, and watched the rest of the film unwind. In the midst of the vigorous activity among the four partners on the bed, the camera suddenly panned to the living room to focus on the front door as it was being opened by a pretty brunette, wearing a very thick, dowdy bun at the back of her neck.
"Hey, get a load of that!" Pete Dudley crowed.
"Boy, if she doesn't look like little Junie here! Of course, Junie's got lots prettier hair."
"Omigosh, don't you dare say a thing like that, Pete Dudley. I wouldn't ever be a model in one of those awful naughty movies!" the pretty wife of Dave Wormsley gasped.
Now the camera followed the brunette intruder as she entered a bedroom and there stood on the threshold of the room with her mouth agape, not believing what she saw. The blonde and the brunette desisted from their amorous byplay to point at her, and then both sprang out of bed, hurried toward her and dragged her toward the bed. The two naked men sprang out of bed, seized her, and dragged her after them back to the bed. In a trice, the newcomer was sans glasses, clothes and her dowdy hairdo, which had been rumpled down past her shoulder blades. A few minutes later, she was lifted to the bed and held down on it, while one man took his place between her struggling thighs, which the two girls amiably yawned apart, until he was "well planted inside her cunt.
The other man, kneeling astride her, forced her to French him, while the blonde and the brunette took charge of her titties, each girl sucking and licking one of the newcomer's nipples. At the fade-out, the brunette was wriggling in the throes of untold ecstasy.
And as the screen went black, June Wormsley was moaning and whimpering, because Pete Dudley's adventurous right hand had foraged under her skirt and his forefinger edged past the hems of her panties to tickle the rims of her moist, twitching quim, while his other hand was busy squeezing one of her juicy, round, panting bubbies.
Across the room, Eleanor Dudley and Dave Wormsley were locked in a passionate soul kiss, their tongues voraciously rubbing together, while his left hand squeezed one of her jouncy bottom-cheeks and his right palm squeezed one of her heaving titties until he could feel the nipple turn hard as flint.
Jack Caspar squinted towards the armchair in which Matt Tilden and his wife Marge were ensconced. Then he grinned. Marge was on Matt's lap, her arms wound around his neck, and there was nothing unconvincing about the way their lips were fused together, and he could just make out Matt's hand on one of Marge's gorgeous bubbles.
It was working out beautifully, all according to plan. The only fly in the ointment was if Dottie Tilden couldn't be coaxed by his sexpot niece into forgiving and forgetting, and finally giving in!