Chapter 4

If a man's spirits do not rise with the sun, it must surely be a weight on his mind that holds them down.

John Lamberson's amorphous guilt pressed in on him as he thought of the difficulty in facing Pamela this morning. Unlike his spirits, his cock had risen, and he looked at it dourly, blaming it for all that had happened the night before.

He had kicked the covers off, and this pole of manhood, stiffly angled toward the redwood beams above, seemed to point toward his face like an accusing finger. In his waking daze, the idea that Pam might have looked in on him, might have seen this unruly member of the group in its tempestuous display, added to his disturbance.

In spite of himself, he thought of his face buried in the ripe lips uncovered as their haired flaps had split with a sucking pop--he remembered that Pam's spread thighs had worked this little miracle. The thought of those lips, swollen with heat and blood, slicked by the stream from that clutching little hole, inevitably suggested that the taut prick, so grossly waving, might never fit that tender, tiny opening.

There was a muted mixture of sounds from the kitchen--the metallic clang of a pot, a shuffle of softly shod feet, the scrape of a chair. Another sense told him that coffee was brewing, that bacon was hissing and crackling its unheard invitation to appetite, spreading its smoky incense through the angled route that led from the stove to his nose.

He heard her soft voice. "Are you up, John? Breakfast's ready if you are!" He leaped up, fearing that her body might well follow her voice, snatching up his trousers, heading for the bath.

A good piss removed all but a token swelling from his cock, and he found it surprisingly easy to face Pam, since she obviously found it no strain to face him.

The eggs, scrambled with such skill, that they were neither dry nor runny, the buttered toast, the bacon not too crisp, inevitably reminded him of the breakfasts which he had had with Helen. Never like this, he thought, remembering the unimaginative meals she had served--when she had bothered at all. He ate with polite attention, beginning to feel better.

Helen must not have cared a damn for him, he thought, looking at Pam's interested and friendly face. This girl, only a colleague, at best only a friend, fed him as though she loved him, as though this were not an impersonal matter of research.

As the word "impersonal" flashed on the bulletin board of his mind, he blushed, recalling the depth and breadth and warmth of their communication on the living room couch. He realized that Pam was speaking, and said: "Hunh?"

The blonde girl laughed. "I only said that conversation before coffee is deadly," she said. "Unless, of course, it takes place in bed."

He noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing a blue robe of some very light material, and that it had no belt. Dimly, he remembered her laughing comment as she had gone to her bed the night before. "Well, thank God, all I have to do is brush my teeth--I sleep raw!"

If that were so, then that generous expanse of pink he saw in the opening of the robe was her own warm flesh. As she reached to pour more coffee in his cup, he realized the truth of this conjecture--a breast appeared momentarily, the nipple small and quiescent.

A question tinged with regret entered his mind. If he and Helen--Helen was not unlike Pam, except that she was as dark as Pam was fair--if he and Helen had been as he and Pam had been last night--they might still be together. But that was the same as saying if everything was different, everything would be different. Helen was Helen. And Pam was Pam.

He was not so sure that John was John. Or at least, that today's John was the same as yesterday's John. Some of his guilt had left him, just about the same time that he began his second cup of coffee. Which would mean, just about the same time as that firm and girlish tit had bloomed momentarily in the sagged opening of Pam's robe.

He decided to forget Helen. It was natural that he should have her on his mind--this very area was where she lived--or where she was living when she had filed for separation, a legal move which demanded support for herself, with nothing in exchange. His attorney had advised him to forget it. And he had.

Pam's voice called him back to now. "I'll clean up," she was saying. "You can recheck the microphones and the tape recorders if you want. I think we got them all right yesterday afternoon. I think we have our first meeting tonight--with the Malones--and you want everything to be right."

She was moving about, picking up dishes, all the time she was talking, and John's eyes were rewarded with glimpses of rounded belly and lush thigh and blonde crotch as her quick movements swirled the unbelted robe around her.

Pam felt a great deal better. She knew that John was a man. Last night had proved that. Her early surmise--that he had been, somehow, bullied into an unnatural hands-off attitude toward woman and her lively parts-seemed to have been correct. She hoped that the Malones would be easy to get along with. A wrong move, just now, would not only douse project, cheating her out of a simply marvelous ten-week vacation, but might jar John's scholarly and shrinking nature back so far that nothing would reach him.

She moved around the table and stood by him holding his head against her waist, his brow just touching the lower edge of her boob. His sudden tension alerted her, and she let go with a light laugh. "Don't be afraid, John," she teased. "I'm not going to apply any therapy like I did last night--unless I'm sure you need it!"

She was so gay, so sure of herself, that he laughed. "About last night," he began, and paused. He had to be careful.

Pam prompted him. "Go on," she said. "About last night. What were you going to say?" And then, as he remained silent but smiling faintly, she said: "I'll give you multiple choice, like college entrance exams. Horrible, satisfactory, fair, good, excellent. Which?" She winked at him, and suddenly he felt free, free as he never had been before in the presence of a woman. He would have risen and reached for her, but his hard-on had come back as he had watched her clear away the dishes, and embarrassment held him seated.

He was shaping his thoughts to tell her that she had left out the right choice, "delightful", when the door chimes sounded, and Pam said: "I'll bet it's the housekeeper--I didn't know it was so late!"

"I'm Melissa Darnell," the luscious redhead said, her face bathed in a smile of pure friendship. She liked the fact that Pam was obviously fresh from bed--certainly not dressed yet, anyhow--and hoped she hadn't interrupted a morning fuck. It could be so wonderful in the mornings! She had, in deference to her mother's needs, eaten her breakfast alone, and she yearned for Jim's big cock, thinking of it stretching her mother on this lovely day.

"I'm Pam Marsh--I mean Pam Lamberson," Pam said blushing furiously at her error. "I still get mixed up--we've been married long enough so I shouldn't--I guess I'm not really awake yet!"

The billowy girl--mighty young for a housekeeper, it seemed to Pam--was completely satisfied with the explanation.

She gave the older girl a quick and surprising hug, laughed at some thought of her own, and openly looked along Pam's belly and breasts, where the robe had swung open again. "You're beautiful," she said surprisingly, and kissed Pam on the cheek. "And a real blonde!" She patted her own crotch, a satisfied look on her face. "I'm a real redhead," she declared. "It never fails to get a little comment."

Pam, delighted at this easiness, said dryly: "A conversation piece," and Melissa hugged her sides in laughter.

"Come on Mrs. Lamberson," she said. "You're not paying me to do songs and patter--but I sure hope you people like me and like my cooking. I know, already, that I like you!"

As Melissa moved easily through the house, making the beds with professional speed and skill, turning on the dishwasher, discovering broom and dustpan, vacuum cleaner and dust cloths without help, she endeared herself to both John and Pam with her friendliness and frankness.

"My Mom found herself unable to take this happy little job for a few weeks," she said, avoiding the need for a lie. "But I've been winning prizes at the County Fair for cooking since I was eight--about the same time I started winning footraces with horny little boys--and if you don't like it, you won't have to fire me. I'll see the food left on your plates, and I'll just not come back, okay?"

She gave them a list of what to get at the store. "I'll do your shopping after today, if you want," she added.

Melissa's mind was as busy as her body. It wasn't that she was any snoopier than anyone else, she told herself, giggling--she liked the people, knew they would soon be swapping pussies and pricks with her folks--"among others," she muttered--and had a warm interest in them and she didn't neglect her work.

She noted the microphones and the tape recorders as she swept under the beds, and thought little or nothing of them. Everyone had his own quirks--if the Lambersons wanted to make tapes of their fucking conversations, it was nobody's business. It wouldn't hurt anyone. Nobody got in bed, opened their thighs and said: "My name is Carol Malone, and I live on Vickers Street in Sonar Beach." So, what difference did a few delighted squeals, a few admiring comments make?

The pictures were something else again. They must have fallen out of that little case of the professor's, since they were behind the low chest, against the wall. She had seen the ones her folks had, anyhow. Pretty much the same as these, she noted, and then, coming to the last one, she whistled, long and admiringly.

It wasn't so much the size, the shining colors of John's cock. True, it seemed to be bigger than Jim's, and his was by far the biggest she had ever seen. It was the white and curving stream of semen, the savage look of lust on the shy, quiet professor's face. It didn't add up. It troubled her.

She hastily replaced the photos exactly where she had found them as she heard the Lambersons' car, and helped Pam put the groceries away. But her obviously dampened spirits had their effect on Pam, who hated mysteries of temperament.

Because Pam was the person she was, Melissa quickly confessed her own puzzlement. "I did something wrong, Pam--" she had been ordered to forget the Mrs. Lamberson bit--"and I'm maybe not as smart as I might be--but I like you so much. I like John, too. At least, he certainly seems nice. But--oh! I guess I'll have to show you--I hope you won't hate me-or fire me!"

The girl was almost in tears, and Pam waited while the young redhead crouched to dig the white envelope out from its place. Her heart turned over---with those Polaroid shots, with a semihysterical small-town girl to spread the news, their project might turn into a nightmare.

She looked at the photos, fanned out in her hand, and said sharply: "Well, what's the matter with you, Melissa? What are you, some kind of censor? If my husband and I are nudists, how is it anyone's business? What's wrong with a few nude pictures?"

But the girl looked at her and said: "No, it's not them--look at that last picture--there, that one, where the professor is jerking off!" She mouthed the earthy phrase without hesitation, and Pam felt better. This was no prude, just a puzzled kid. And the picture gave her the shock of her life, plus a rending pain of compassion.

Poor John! That magnificent cock, that sweet and frightened spirit! To be reduced by whatever causes to the ignominy of beating himself off! When millions of women would drool at the chance to stroke it for him, to suck it, to fuck him.

She did not hear the footsteps in the hall, she was in such a strain of gathering her wits. She managed a laugh.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Melissa," she said, not unkindly. "That's a little family secret. I guess I'll have to tell you."

The younger girl already looked relieved, and she smiled conspiratorially at Pam, who prayed for inspiration. And also for something to distract her mind from the painful spasm of need which kinked her vagina painfully. My God, to have that rampaging cock in her! Had she swallowed such streams of gism last night? Only one spurt looked like a mouthful--she had taken jet after jet. Twice. No wonder she hadn't needed a bedtime snack!

The thought of those two mighty hard-ons, those two copious comes so close together gave her the theme she needed.

"You see," Pam whispered, "John's just too much for me sometimes. He can--you don't mind earthy language, I hope--he can fuck all night. And I just get so tender!"

Melissa's eyes were shining. "You mean he jerks off to, well, spare you, Mrs. Lamberson? Pam, I mean. How about when you get the curse? It must drive him right up the curtains!"

"Oh, no," Pam replied easily. "We fuck then, of course. Right through it. What's a little blood between friends, John says. Mush less man and wife."

Warming to her fiction, she said: "After an hour or so, I usually have to suck it--my pussy just collapses."

The young redhead's eyes were moist, her lower lip sagging. "My God, Pam," she said, "I'd give you a whole week's work, free, for some of that!"

Pam looked for a brake pedal to halt this conversation.

"Hmm," she said, pulling at her lip. "John's rather tired--the long trip, you know. I'd have to ask him. Let's let it go for a few days."

Melissa gripped her arm and wailed. "Shit! Pam, listen to me! It's not fair! He's that kind of a stud, what's a trip? Anyhow, I can't stand it! You can't believe how hot I am! Here, feel me!"

She pulled her shift up and jerked Pam's hand down to the fat mound of haired flesh. "No, I mean really feel me! Push in a finger!"

The child was near hysteria, Pam saw. It was weird, but her finger had been in a hundred friendly cunts. She easily found the way to the streaming void, and gasped at the convulsive pressures. It was like a toothless mouth, wetly gnawing at her finger, Fantastic!

"Take it easy, baby," she admonished. "I'll see what I can do."

She heard a thunderous snort in the hall, just outside the bedroom door, and the angry stamp of feet. Melissa began to weep. "Oh, he heard us!" she cried. "He'll hate me!"

"No, wait here," Pam directed. "Don't undress--not yet!"

She faced a furious John in the kitchen. And for just a moment, considering that he and his saving of that weird picture had caused all this, she was equally angry.

To his query: "What in God's name got into you?" she gave him a frosty glance, so disapproving that he gasped.

"Keep your voice down, damn you!" she hissed. "You've got a make-or-break problem in there. It's not my problem, either--it's all yours! Why did you keep that stupid picture?"

She made her voice harsh, although her heart ached at his crumbling pride, and followed with a cut even more unkind. "It's bad enough to waste all that--that come power--in jerking off! But to leave pictures around! I think you've blown the entire project--and I must say, you deserve it!"

"Now, just a minute," John protested. "What's she got to do with the project? And anyhow, you told her I'd--fuck her!" His voice was shrill. "You know I don't want to get involved! I've got to stay objective!"

"You fool!" Pam said wearily. "You don't know small towns, I guess. If that kid goes out of here the way she is, it'll be all over town before tomorrow. They'll send sightseeing buses by here--'see the summer home of the jerk-off king'--we might as well call it off right now! And who are you to be so afraid of a kid? Involved, my ass! You're already involved with her--she's seen the picture! I gave you all the best of it--too much of a man for me, I said. Nuts! You're not enough of a man--or enough of a scholar--to make a sacrifice for your life's work! Honestly, John, I'm ashamed of you!"

He stood stock-still, staring at her with genuine fear.

"My God, Pam," he said huskily, "don't be so angry with me. I'll try it. If you say it's vital. But such involvement! And suppose I don't do it--well, as I should?"

Pam's breath came back, and with it, her sympathy. She noted with pride that his prick was straining at his slacks.

"Look at this," she said encouragingly, patting the bulging mass, feeling its warmth through the fabric. "You'll be great. And how can you be 'involved' with a housekeeper? One good fuck and she'll be our slave. Come on!"

It had to be the toughest chore she'd ever tackled, Pam felt. Helping Melissa unbutton and unzip and unclothe John. He stood it well, trying to smile, which came out more as a death-mask leer. She hoped Melissa took it as a grin of lust.

Thank God, his hard-on stayed put, and she saw the red-headed kid's eyes glaze as she looked at it. If it doesn't get out of sight soon, I'll eat it myself, Pam thought desperately, with a deep twinge of envy and want, thinking of where it would be placed out of sight.

And that gorgeous kid! She traveled light. No panties, no bra, and no need for one, either. Those bouncing jugs of hot, sweet meat, with the broad, pink aureoles, the big nipples already as taut and hard as tiny pricks! And that fine, crisp red hair on her cunt--deep pink, really, but dark-red underneath, where the creamy flow, now tracing zigzag patterns down the lush thighs, had soaked everything. Melissa was gorgeous!

Given a choice, Pam would have taken the prick. But my God, how she'd love to suck that overflowing flower of flesh! Or better yet, to have John rooting into her while she sucked Pam! Her guts ached, her mouth puckered.

"Here, you two," she said brightly. "Must I do everything for you?" She shoved Melissa backwards onto the bed, the young girl's heavy thighs opening in welcome, and pulled gently at John's cock, smiling at his dazed face.

"Come on, husband baby, look at the treat that our little housekeeper has cooked up for you! Health food, too," she said. "All natural! No preservatives!"

John seemed to topple forward, as though his cock had taken charge of him. He was on his knees, his cock reaching between the spread thighs, but far above the split target. For a moment, Pam remembered a day on her uncle's farm, a bull languidly mounting a willing cow, and her uncle's earthy help.

Groaning at the lust which shook her, she took the rigid cock in her hand and said: "Lift it up, baby!" to Melissa, who heaved her billowy ass a foot off the sheet, and shoved the broad red head of John's cock between the turned-out lips, into the slavering hole which was visibly writhing in need. That was all she needed to do.

John had been happily surprised at the nip he had gotten on his tongue as he had delved into Pam's little orifice. Now, reluctant but hot, he felt an electric thrill of action that seemed to pull his cock deep into a solid maelstrom of runaway suction.

Once committed, he stoically plunged in, not expecting the surge of pleasure which ran through him. His balls slapped and pressed into the deep cleavage of Melissa's buttocks, and her big breasts, flopping along her rib cage, drew his hands like magnets. Bigger than Pam's, and some male weakness made them seem, because of their size, better. But he had no time for analysis.

One thing he did feel--that he, not exactly experienced, seemed to be performing well. His cock, with hardly any help on his part, was coming out and slamming in, twisting, striking, coming in, coming out, banging against something slick and hard inside. Dimly, he was grateful to Pam for forcing him into this charade--it was what he needed before the real test came. Experience. If he fucked this well, his ego would not be scarred. And having the insight to see that this had been his real hang-up, and not fear of involvement, he relaxed and fucked into the incredibly slick, unbelievably powerful young cunt, as unselfconscious, for this moment, as the bull in Pam's memory.

Somehow, Pam found herself naked, too, and shivering with excitement at the perfection of the tableau on the bed. In her lust, she straddled John's writhing calf, rubbing her screaming slit up and down its hairy surface, pressing her aching boobs against his smooth back.

The itching heat in her clitoris and vagina loved the roughness of her cuntal contact, and she whooped in pleasure long before Melissa's first burst of orgasm.

One of her hands found its way down between the two under her, and she squeezed John's balls so hard that, in a quieter scene, he might have fainted from pain. But his towering lust made him impervious--he plunged in and out of the lush pussy wallowing in the hot feel of silken skin as her thighs clutched him, surging with pride at his held-back climax.

Pam's hand came up dripping from the stream of juices pumped from Melissa's flowing body, and she sucked her fingers in delight, returning for another generous helping. Her cunt, now partly calmed by two big orgasms, throbbed happily, and she thought of riding John's muscled back--some dim dream of opening her cuntlips so wide that his back would be an enormous cock, straining to get into her.

At this moment, a low, keening wail of intense feeling was forced out of the girl pumping herself back and forth, up and down, on John's cock, and Pam, bemused, dropped down to watch the interplay of cock and cunt.

She had heard of serial orgasms, and had often, in a blissful moment, had flown high into three, even four hard comes in a row.

But this upheaval in the tender heat of Melissa's cunt was awesome. There could be no mistaking the physical evidence. The terrible clench of muscle in the girl's buttocks, shaking for a moment and releasing, the clutch and quiver of the vaginal sphincter, holding John's prick prisoner, unable to push in or pull out, all these told their story. And more than these, the siren-like wail that accompanied each flow of released passion, the clenched fists, and the shuddering swell of the nipples on the big breasts--all were proof that one orgasm followed another like blasts from an automatic rifle. And Pam, her face now ducked between John's legs to see the driving prick and the clasping cunt, now up to study Melissa's tautly drawn face, locked in a blind smile of delight, was caught by a new heat as she saw the nearest nipple seem to grow before her very eyes.

It was the sight of that nipple that gave Pam her big idea.

John had never lain down on Melissa, never kissed her. Supported on his outstretched arms choosing to look at the juggling breasts, the rolling white belly, he left plenty of room between himself and his fucking partner.

With a little plea not to be banished, Pam turned on her hip, thrust her leg between John's chest and Melissa's, and used her hand to stuff the silken breast, especially the hardened nipple, between the streaming lips of her cunt.

The pressure of John's thigh between her asscheeks provided exactly the help she needed--her grip on Melissa's big tit, now slick with Pam's flow, might have slipped, but John's driving thrusts, piston-like in their force, and the heat of his hard muscled leg so tight in the sensitive crack of her ass, gathered the fire in her vagina so that, at one final scrape of the nipple against her clit, Pam soared off into a heaven of her own, falling limply on her side, her relaxed leg still on Melissa's quaking belly.

They had to lift Melissa up and support her in a sitting position after John at last fired the explosive charge from his nuts deep inside the barely moving belly.

Pam, her fires quenched, looked up at John, wondering how he would react to this fantastic scene. With intense joy, she saw maleness, good humor, easygoing confidence. And something else--pride. His chest was heaving, his body was bathed in sweat, but he showed no sign of anything but a happy workout.

"Oh, my," Melissa began to whisper. "Oh, my! What have I done? Oh, Pam," she wailed, with tears streaking her cheeks, "I'm such an animal! I made you do this! And John!" She stole a look up at the strong, kind face. "I heard you out there in the kitchen. I don't blame you, but I was so hot!"

Pam winked at John, who surprised her by returning the wink, and pulled the girl against her breast. "Tell me," she asked curiously, "do you always come like that, Melissa? It's a thing I've never seen before."

"Not really," the girl said, her voice gaining normality. "I tell you, I was dying-really dying--for a cock. And that picture--oooh! It nearly killed me!"

"Especially since it shocked you, right there at first," Pam insisted gently.

"Oh, it did!" gasped Melissa. "It seemed so weird! But I see what you mean. You could only take so much of that--then you'd go under! What happened to me?"

"You had what they call a serial orgasm," Pam replied. "One after the other, literally without stopping. And you say it never happened before?"

"Well, no," Melissa said after some thought. "Not exactly. Once, when I was younger, Daddy Jim--" and here she broke off, burying her face in her hands and blushing all over. "I never meant to say that!" she cried. "Anyhow, he was just an older fellow at high school--we used to tease him by calling him Daddy Jim!"

The girl's confusion told Pam that there was some deception inherent in the garbled statement, but she was still interested in the apparent change in John. Instead of a shamefaced retreat, instead of a hangdog look, or pitiful remorse, the cautious scholar seemed to enjoy his part as the principal member of a naked threesome.

Standing directly in front of the two women seated on the edge of the bed, his tool, come-slicked and still menacingly fat from his fuck with Melissa, drew Pam as instinct urges the spawning salmon.

Without a thought that she might be denied, she simply leaned forward, raised the still formidable cock to her lips, and sucked it in, all the way, clogging her throat with its bulk, enjoying the sweetly mixed tastes of man and woman.