Chapter 5

The impossible, so-called, happens every day. Confidence, killed by years of error and psychic torture, can sometimes be resurrected by the simplest treatment. So Pam reasoned, secretly filled with pride at the new John. He was so dominant, obviously unafraid of sex or involvement, easily accepting the responsibilities of initiative, yet cool and considerate.

In deference to some old habit, he and Pam had dressed, but only partially. He wore an Indian headband, a long-tailed blue shirt, sandals, and nothing else. His male appendages, swinging free, were a sort of badge of a deeper freedom, and Pam felt that decorations for courage were never more proudly earned nor artistically fitting. "The prettiest set of cock and balls in California," she said sincerely.

Pam's costume was far more conventional. She chose one of two bikinis she had packed for the vacation, the panties so scant that blonde pubic hairs pushed out at the top. But she added an original touch to the tiny halter, wearing it around her neck like a large bow tie, leaving her breasts unfettered.

Nowhere equal in quantity to Melissa's, they were superior in lovely shape, creamy texture, and jouncy firmness, and Melissa herself had said so, daring to give each titty a kiss as she said her warm good-byes. It had seemed a perfectly natural act, considering the close bonds which had been forged in John's bedroom. But there was a quick tension in Pam's loins as Melissa had put her arm around the older girl's naked shoulders and some extrasensory perception had made her nipple suddenly warm to hard and sensitive life. The kiss had been intense, a hard suck, really, and Melissa's tongue had rasped in a quick swirl around the sensitive flesh.

Now their girl-housekeeper had gone, but the warmth remained, deep in Pam's belly, and she carried a sweet image--of herself and Melissa alone, nakedly and hotly entangled. Later, she told herself. It's John I must think about, now.

"My project--our project, really--is underway," John said as they sat together on the big couch. "Even before our first real contact with our swinging group. And you know something, Pam?" He was teasingly superior. "It's already working out as I mentally projected--the male's role is becoming less dominant."

Pam laughed. "You're a long way from having enough material for a conclusion, John. You know it and I know it. Clinical studies demand thousands of tests. Even Gallup takes projections--inaccurately, in my opinion--from more than a thousand subjects. And what have you got? One girl--just one--and she has no connection whatever with what we're studying, which is the swap syndrome. So don't be silly!"

He laughed. "You're forgetting my other subject. Not one girl. Two. You and Melissa. And both of you are aggressors. Two out of two. Not conclusive, of course. But it's a trend!"

Pam looked at him seriously. "You're only half-joking," she said. To reassure herself of the validity of his change, she quietly reached over to rest her hand warmly on his thigh, letting her fingers barely touch his quiescent cock. The reaction was good, she decided. No flinching, no removal of her hand. He was coming along.

"You really can't count me, you know, even in fun," she said. "I acted objectively, as your assistant, to avert a sleepless night for you."

"Oh, quite," he answered with broad irony. "But it was still sex. And it was fun. And you started it.

"Oh, shut up, professor," she replied with great good humor. "Of course it was fun. But who was lying in the tub, with a double handful of hard-on, needing help? I wonder what Freud would say about who started it?"

It was John's turn to laugh. "Okay, you aggressed because I had an erection--I mean a hard-on! I aggressed by having it. I had it because you came in on me, half-naked. See, it's the woman who starts things!"

She gave his cock a sudden squeeze. She had never felt more at home with a man, nor in a better frame of mind.

"Sophistry!" she laughed. "And worse. You start with the wrong conclusion and then try to make the linking facts fit. You can't even include Melissa in your evaluation. She's simply a hot little kid. A very, very hot little kid!"

John suddenly looked stricken. "Maybe she's pathological," he said worriedly. "Do you think I did something wrong? Did I have a right to take advantage of her?"

Pam's heart twisted with the pain of sympathy. In spite of a brief move to pull back, he allowed her to draw his face to her breasts, where she held him firmly. Realizing that she had lost her detachment where John was concerned, and not feeling it was any loss, she let herself go for a moment in complete rage against whatever had warped and sickened a mind obviously capable of the best attitude toward sex.

When she felt the anger subside, she said softly: "John, I can't reach the people who've lied to you, but I can try to cure the sickness the lies created. Who told you such a stupid thing--that there's such a possibility as 'advantage' between a man and woman? Was it Helen?"

She felt him grow tense, ready for denial, but her soft and succulent breasts were mashed against him, their perfumed warmth opening his mind.

He said in a slow, wondering way: "I don't know. I don't think so. Farther back. Mother taught me, I think."

"Then, Goddamn your mother!" Pam cried. "Don't you know there's a latent incest in everything a mother teaches her son about sex? The dirty, jealous bitches!"

John jerked free, his face angry. "You're crazy!" he said. "My mother? Incest?" He laughed shortly. "Hell, she hated sex!"

"She never told you that, not in so many words, did she?" Pam asked quietly. "What was it? A sly little innuendo here and there? Deep sighs? 'My boy, only a woman can know'? That sort of shit? And Helen, being of the same breed, let you think she didn't like sex. It's true, isn't it?"

John looked at her with keen interest. "How could you know?" he asked. "Oh, I know, you're a woman, too--but baby, you're not the same kind of woman. What's the difference? You like sex. And aren't ashamed of it."

He reached between her thighs, wide open as she sat cross-legged, and tenderly pried between the furred cuntlips, touching her glowing core, wetting his fingers in the generosity of her fluids. The softness, the feel of the warm film of juice, sent scrambled messages through his brain and down to his crotch, so that his prick began to extend, to swell. But he still felt shame.

"Maybe it wasn't my mother's fault," he said. "Or Helen's. Nobody can help being what they are. Can they? Maybe man must feel guilty where sex is concerned. It seems to me that the Bible says so. Not that I'm enslaved by religion," he added hastily.

Pam had a soft grip on his rising cock. "John, you've been destroying yourself--taking your own life, or at least the best part of it. Why are you still screaming to be punished? Why do you think you've been a naughty boy? Don't you see--the weak woman, the woman cowardly enough to withdraw from life, is like the maharajah who wants his wives burned on his pyre! A woman too scared to live doesn't want those she loves to live, either. It's the Goddamnedest selfishness possible. With a mother, it's slavery. With a wife, it's murder!" She was jerking at his prick for emphasis, and his prick was enjoying it, getting harder, longer, thicker.

"Go back to the incest," John ordered.

Pam bent to kiss the swelling red head in her hand, looking up with a smile. "A mother plays with her little boy's tiny prick, sees it hard, like a stiff little finger; sees it soft, like a small acorn. At some point, she has the horrid thought: 'Some day, this tender little thing will go into some dirty vagina!' It sickens her. From then on, every girl her son likes becomes suspect, a tramp, a dirty, conniving whore. Think back--isn't that so?"

John grinned. "You're fantastic," he said. "But-incest?"

Pam tossed her head. "Oh, most mothers haven't the courage to admit it, let alone do it," she said. "But who are they saving their son's prick for? Away down in their subconscious minds, they see that pure little prick, now grown big--bigger than their husband's, and much too pure to be handled by some dirty, strange woman--they fantasize it in their own cunts. They're protecting their little boy. Mommy loves him, mommy won't ever let the real world get at him. Do I make sense?"

"You can't cram ten years of analysis into ten minutes of diatribe, Pam, dear," he said. "Let's say that I get the general idea. And that I believe it's true. I said, a while ago, that you like sex, and aren't ashamed of it. Melissa likes it, and isn't ashamed of it. I have the feeling that the women we're going to meet in the project are the same way. What's the difference--honesty?"

Pam felt disinclined to accept such purity of motive as the reason for her own urges. Besides, the conversation was becoming more personal than she liked. "Maybe it's a difference in nerve sensitivity," she laughed. "Every woman has the same body temperature. So, call it hot pants. Maybe the ability to have thunderous, gut-busting orgasm makes the difference. No, that's not it exactly. Every woman who isn't deformed has that ability. But some of them get frozen up--complete anesthesia of the cunt. Pitiful!"

John's fingers were still softly exploring the juicy pink depths beyond the padded outer lips. At each tiny movement, Pam involuntarily shoved forward. The urge to lie back, to spread herself, her labia, her legs and cunt, to draw his cock into her, was overwhelming. A steady, pulsing warmth extended all through her belly. The narrow strap of the bikini bottom, moved aside by John's hand, suddenly seemed intolerably enclosing, the top, around her neck, was a silly and banal symbol. But her hunger would last--her cock hunger, at least--and her first fuck with John would be better for waiting.

She squirmed away and swung her feet to the floor.

"From the smell, I think dinner's ready," she said.

John licked at his cunt-slick fingers. "It doesn't smell as good as this," he said. "But maybe I'll need some strength!"

They ate the simple, delicious meal that Melissa had put in the oven an hour or so before. "Creole steak" she called it. Strips of flank steak, browned in flour, fresh tomatoes, green pepper, onion rings and carrot strips, all simmered to tenderness in a red-brown gravy. Served on a bed of rice, it was superb, and the ripe pears and Liederkranz cheese made the perfect dessert.

John looked at the kitchen clock and sighed. "I guess the Malones will be here in an hour or so. Somehow, I feel a little less anxious to explore Mrs. Malone--exploring Mrs. Malone's mind, I mean." He looked meaningfully at Pam's breasts, then to where the minimal scrap of clinging cloth barely hid her pubis.

Pam grinned at him. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm afraid I took a liberty, just after Melissa, you might say." At his raised eyebrow, she continued. "I called them this afternoon, told Mrs. Malone that you were still tired from the long drive. Begged off, to cut it short. We see them in a few days, exact date not specified. Okay?"

John beamed at her and spread his arms. "I need some more training and guidance before I stick my sweet little prickie into the dirty vagina from the outside world. Eh, Mommy?"

Pam came toward him, thumbing down the bikini panties, her face lighted with an ancient, non-maternal smile.

"I have to say that that girl has more personality and sweetness in her voice than anyone I ever talked to," Carol said to Jim and Melissa. "Of course, I'm disappointed about tonight--especially if you're telling the truth about his cock, Lissa. Don't you think you just got carried away?"

Melissa's voice was sober, almost worshipful. "God is my judge, Mom," she said, "and Jim, you know I love you more than anyone, so don't get mad, but I will take oath that it's eight inches long and thick as a rolling pin! Of course I was hot, you understand why." She looked at them both, and they looked back with love and understanding.

"That lovely homecoming bout with Jim just barely kept me from taking to the streets," she clowned broadly. "And this morning, I knew Mom had prior rights, so I took my little hot, pink ass out of here, hoping that a little air, blowing on my little twat, would cool it."

She giggled reminiscently. "You're right, Mom, that girl is wonderful. And I like Dr. Lamberson, he's a nice guy. But that picture shook me up! Wow!" She shuddered as she remembered. "He must have shot a quart of come out, right at the camera."

"Trick photography?" asked Jim skeptically. - "No way," Melissa insisted. "But I didn't buy that shit about him being too much for Pam."

"Mrs. Lamberson, dear," Carol said automatically.

"Not after today, Mom," Melissa giggled. "We're sisters, or anyhow, sisters-in-law. We might be married or engaged or something, for all I know. I was kind of excited, but I'll swear she got mingled with us somehow, and I think she managed to stuff my boob in her crack."

Jim felt of her boob lovingly, and laughed. "No way," he said, mimicking his stepdaughter, and they all laughed.

"Well, I guess I can wait to see all that cock," Carol said, rolling her eyes, hamming it up. "But if he's all that hot and ready, it must be more than just the long trip that put him down for tonight."

"Maybe he needs to recover from our little girl," Jim chuckled. "We'll all stay home tonight and practice."

"I'm glad we decided to stay home, all by ourselves, and practice," John said. They were lying on his big bed, which was pushed against the wall, with all the lights on--"the better to see you with, my dear," he had clowned, spreading Pam's The king size bed was Hollywood style, so you couldn't say that Pam's feet were at the head, or that John's were at the foot. Certainly, they were pointed in opposite directions, and John's face, just level with Pamela's open pussy, was a study in concentration.

"All these goodies I read about, saw in pictures and diagrams, but never saw close-up until last night," he mourned. And then, impishly, "I wonder if Helen had a clitoris? Or my dear mommy?" He kissed the taut little bud in question, getting a convulsive leap from Pam.

"Not like mine, I'll bet," the girl giggled. "You're certainly feeling your oats, professor."

He leaned his face against the smooth warmth of her thigh, sniffing the wakening scents of her cunt. He clutched her firmly around the hips, pulling the pink lips against his sucking mouth. The taste and the slickness were aphrodisiac and wildly sweet, but the sudden warm feel of Pam's lips on his prick touched off a new ripple of lust.

He suddenly had an urge to test his new manhood in a meatier way, and pulled away, heaving up to kneel between her thighs. "Want the lights out?" he asked softly.

"Not me, baby," Pam laughed, reaching her body up, her swollen labia open and pinkly oozing. "I want to see your face when it goes in!"

The clerestory windows showed a jagged black outline against the moonlit summer sky, and somewhere in that shadow, the deputy sheriff clutched the eyepiece of his telescope, pushing his anxious wife away.

"Hold it, Helen," he said. "I know you want to look, and I want you to, later. But this is business-sheriff's business. Damn it, if I could only read lips! Or sneak a bug into that bedroom!"

"You'd have to bug the whole house," his wife quipped. "They were doing that perverted thing in the living room, last night. You should have arrested them right then!"

"No proof, no real evidence," he said, his eye still busy at the telescope. "Oooh!" he groaned, thrusting with his pelvis. "He's got it in her!"

"Big deal," the woman said sourly. "The silly, smirking fool! Unless he's changed a lot in the last three years, he'll shoot his wad on about the third poke!" Her voice was venomous, her hostility expressed in the thinned lips, the frown of disapproval.

"Helen, you're wrong about that," the deputy said. "He's pounding it into her--oh, Jesus, he must have made her come! She's pitching like a bucking bronco!"

"I told you it wouldn't last," his wife said, but he looked at her curiously.

"Don't bet on it, Helen," he said. "He's kneeling there, grinning and laughing, and it's as hard as ever!"

Pam, flushed with a bursting, spiraling orgasm, feeling, as she described it, as if her guts were dropping out, looked happily up at John with love and amazement.

"No wonder that redhead went right out of her tree!" she said admiringly, feeling the inner muscles of her vagina still slipping and gripping around the tremendous cock. "You're hitting places I never knew I had!" She held out her arms and he came down to press her breasts into her ribs with painful satisfaction. He kissed her warmly, pushing his tongue deep into the slickness of her mouth, probing the hard and soft places.

She spasmed again, deep inside, feeling the crawl of her pumped-out juices trickle into the crack of her ass, and let herself go into a smaller, quieter orgasm. John was awed.

"Did you come again?" he asked her. "Can you do it that soon?"

She clung to him, laughing softly. "That was just a little one," she whispered. "I feel like I could come a hundred times!"

"I wish I could," John said, feeling the itching warmth wriggle back, seemingly into his balls, as the gripping and lively vagina still licked around him. "I guess one is all I ought to do, so soon after that wild one with Melissa."

Pam gave him a shake, causing her boobs to quiver deliriously. "You don't have any idea how many times you can fuck, John!" she said. "Don't go back to mommy's knee for old wives' bullshit! The more you fuck, the more you're able to fuck!"

He raised again and grinned down at her, reaching to stroke a breast, its nipple hard with her pleasure. "And my mind will stay clear for the project, I'll have a deeper insight into my work, and no more premature ejaculation," he taunted her. "Send me a bill, Dr. Freud!"

His unconscious movement set up another rub of sweet friction as his big pole dragged her inner lips inside, straining the membrane over her clit, and she clutched his forearms, eyes closed, face happily tense.

Surprised, he leaned back, then pushed in again, feeling the vaginal strength nip at him again, clamping the top and bottom of his prick against the ridges of sheathed muscle, feeling a new flow of warmth around his blood-gorged glans.

"Oh, God!" Pam cried hoarsely. "Pump it into me! Oh! John! Fill me up!"

She writhed up at him, and he felt the solid bump as her open crotch slammed against his pubis, swallowing his prick in its entirety, so that the end of her sheath pinched the itching head against her hard cervix. He lifted her legs, his hands under her knees, freeing her body to spiral on his cock, watching in disbelief as her movements sawed his prick in and out, showing first a blossom of bunched pink lips as it came out, then closing as he rammed in again, with the thick folds of cuntlips clasping his root.

The spasmodic heaves slowly stilled, the tension of her face relaxing into dreamy sweetness, and she smiled at him from half-closed eyes. "Are you keeping count?" she whispered. "Is that five? Or six?"

"I don't know," he said, grinning his pleasure. "But one more like that, and I'll have to fall back to reload."

She reached up to him again. "Oh, John, do it!" she begged. "Fuck me, real hard, and shoot it all over my insides! Oh, that lovely, rich stuff! I want to eat it, but I want to sprayed inside of me, too! Why can't I have both?" she wailed.

John's smile was rich with love. "Let's fuck, Pam--and I'll show you what to do! Promise!"

He was conscious of the satin warmth of her thighs against his hairy flanks, and the softly muscled legs curving over his hard calves. The wet warmth from her cunt now seemed to hover in a wide area around both their bellies, and he shut his eyes, visualizing how her asshole had clasped and reopened under the shocks of orgasm last night.

With her breasts mashed between them, with his tongue probing for hers, he drew his cock out until he felt the vaginal sphincter lip his cockhead, and drove slowly in, twisting his hips to stretch the tight wall. As he pulled out, she drew back with careful timing, and as his cock started in again, some spring seemed to be released so that her clenched ass, driven by the gathered strength of her back and legs, met him with a jar that drove him deeper into her than before.

The hot grip milking his glans, he felt his load of sperm start bursting up his tubes, painfully hot, with a pressure almost too hotly delightful to bear, and he abandoned all thought of a timed and measured orgasm.

As the transcendent pangs seemed to turn his cock to fire, with jerking thuds deep in his rectum, Pam's body whipped from side to side, up and down, with her cunt sucking at him as if the draw his last drop into her womb. Her final fluttering grip, as the sensitivity of his glans built up and up, brought a gasping cry from his throat, and he rolled off her, gripping her ass, holding them joined so tightly that she could not move.

After their breathing became more normal, and Pam had opened her eyes, he rolled her over on her back, following, keeping his cock buried, still big enough to plug her opening. Without a word, he got to his knees, still gripping her buttocks and raising her bottom to his waist.

"What for?" she smiled, her eyelids heavy with languor.

"So you don't leak," he answered. "Remember my promise?"

Before she could protest, he eased his cock out abruptly, and quickly placed his mouth over her dark-shadowed hole. By motions and tugging, he got her to roll with him, keeping his mouth glued to her vagina, until he was on his back and she was squatting over his face. And then she remembered!

As he sucked, she worked her cunt muscles, forcing out his heavy load of sperm into his mouth, until she felt that, between them, they had emptied her of his gism.

Her face was the picture of gratitude as he came up to press his mouth to hers, and she opened her lips to receive the big mouthful of semen, still with her body warmth to enliven it.

She marched out into the kitchen, then, her mouth pursed, and he heard odd sounds, capped at last by the whir of a blender. When she returned, high-breasted, round-rumped, utterly beautiful, she brought two big beer schooners foaming over with a creamy head, brown-flecked with nutmeg.

They drank silently, and licked the "milk mustaches" from each other.

"Damn it, Pam, that was a sweet and thoughtful idea. Good, too--tremendous. What was in it?"

"Just simple stuff, all of it good for you," she laughed. "Milk, ice cream, a banana--and an idea of my own."

He remembered her pursed lips as she walked out, and with a burst of laughter, he pinned her on the bed, looking down at her with an admiring smile. "My semen!" he cried. "You put that in!"

She looked up at him, marveling at the tremendous changes in his choked-off, walled-in spirit, now soaring free in sex.

"It's very manly stuff," she said, smiling. "I figured it might sort of, you know, go back into the bank!"

Up on the dark terrace, the woman called Helen was now at the telescope, unconsciously rubbing at her crotch. "You can't arrest them for that, Sam," she was saying. "Two consenting adults, especially if they're man and wife--you'd just make a fool out of yourself."

"I know that, Helen," the deputy replied. "But with that kid, Melissa Darnell, working for them, that means that her mom and stepfather will be coming around. And that means swapping. And then, by God, I'll bust them! What's going on now?" he asked, as his wife's body began to weave, and it was obvious that she was pressing her hand deep between her legs.

"Ugh!" she cried, and her voice was thick. "They're back at that horrible, perverted thing they were doing last night!"

She was shaken more than she would admit, and her motives and thought both seemed incredible. There was a burning anger at her ex-husband--he had never been able to stay in the saddle for more than thirty seconds without ejaculation. That was an insult to her. It was a deprivation, too, she thought, knowing that sex, however sinful, was a rich pleasure. But, with her anger at the professor, there was also a maddening, sickening urge--she called it plain curiosity--to try for herself that act which she had just called 'that perverted thing.' With a sigh, she gave up the telescope to her husband.

From the juicy pinkness of Pam's pussy, John, rising on his elbow with cheeks shining from come juice, looked down to where Pam's mouth was stretched around his cock. Her eyes were closed, her face dreamily content, and her sunken cheeks and moving throat muscles showed the concentration of effort as she worked to restore his hard-on. It was miraculous, John decided, and wondered which was the prime ingredient--the flowing warmth, the moving thrust, the taste and smell of her pussy sending messages to his rising prick--or the heady application of her gulping mouth and busy tongue on the tender glans. Whichever it was--and he was aware that there might be still a third factor, the intangible one of their subtle communication of mind and spirit--he felt a swelling pride.

He turned back to the warm cleft and licked deeply, using his hands to pull her asscheeks wide apart, tonguing the deep and fragrant valley where her anus winked its signals of readiness. Remembering her delighted squeals when he had probed there the night before, he made his tongue as hard and pointed as he could, reaming it around the shuddering pink ring, jamming it in as far as it would go.

Her entire body tensed with the surprise of it, and his hidden mouth twisted in a grin as his cock took the wildness of her response. He was far from coming, but his prick, now hard, enjoyed her bobbing head, her clasping tongue and lips. Her groans of orgasm made an electric vibration around his glans, readying it still further for the sensational fuck he would give her in a minute or two. As soon as she stopped coming.

Helen, kneeling in the deeper shadows with her knees wide apart, her guilty hand working desperately between her dripping cuntlips, heard her husband's short oath, his moan of desire. Her eyes were used to the dark, and she saw the sharply defined mound where his cock pushed against his slacks.

Without any conscious thought, she knee-walked quickly to him and knelt, waiting, while he unzipped and brought his tool out into the night air.

She almost gagged at the rank scent of his steamy maleness, but an instinct as old as time shook all her inhibitions out of her mind. Her lips, opening wide to admit the huge cock, writhed around the foreskin, her teeth raking the throbbing glans. Her own fire burned higher, and she rocked her head back and forth in delight, moving her fingers quickly in and out of her sodden cunt, the fork of her hand touching the clitoris.

As his thick clots of hoarded sperm spewed hard against her palate, and her strong throat muscles stroked his jerking glans as she swallowed, the pent-up force of her orgasm blew off in a racking series of waves which would have felled her, except for her tight grasp around her husband's bucking hips.

Ever after his cock had subsided into a meekly limp cartoon of its previous bigness, even after she had let it fall from her come-lathered lips, she continued to clutch him around his thighs, her cheek buried in his crotch, feeling the warm dampness of his sated prick and balls.

Fighting a revulsion that fitted poorly with his recent elation, her husband patted her dark hair kindly, and spoke softly above her in the shimmering dark.

"Oh, Helen," his voice came brokenly, "it may be a dreadful perversion. But I wanted it so! Am I losing my mind?"

She tightened her grip and moved her head so that her lips brushed his cock, soft but still fat. "Sam," she whispered, "don't worry--it's all right! I wanted it just as much as you did!"