Chapter 8
The pictures sent by Mr. and Mrs. Harley Duke, first-class mail and registered, return receipt requested, were superior to the clear but small Polaroid color shots of the Malones and the Fredericks. Obviously taken with professional skill and equipment, they were beautiful eight-by-tens, showing great depth of focus, excellent if simple composition, and the most meticulous detail. "What beats me," John said, "is how he ever found someone--some professional photographer--to print these up."
Even without John's magnifying glass, it was abundantly clear that Christine's cunt was as devoid of hair as if she were only nine years old. And that wasn't all. Pam had seen some crotch-shots in the magazines known as "split beavers," in which the subject's twat had been shaven. But on a mature pussy, shaving, or even the use of a depilatory, leaves the surface of the puffy flesh coarse, puckered in appearance almost like a mature nipple, not Christine Duke's pussy!
Pam sighed as she studied the shots, a delightfully bothering sort of itch-heat teasing her pussy. She ran her pink tongue out unconsciously, licking her lips. The bald cunt was as pinkly smooth as if it had never worn a hair. The similarity to extreme youth came back to haunt Pam's mind. And, as if to compensate for it, or complement it, the lushness of the body that harbored the hairless cunt! Those strongly rounded thighs, the wide flare of the hips, the gorgeously jutting breasts!
She turned to John, leaning over her shoulder, his cock touching her bare arm. He had a happy, dog-like grin on his face.
"Sort of gets you way down here, doesn't it?" he asked, reaching down to touch Pam's crotch.
"And here," she giggled, clamping her hand on his prick. "I'm hot to meet them. Why don't we set that date with the two kids from Anaheim, and Carol and Jim, and call the Dukes?"
John sat down beside her. He picked up a letter from the kitchen table, where better light had made the pictures more enjoyable. "Listen to this," he said. "You've heard it before, read it before. It scares me. What does he say? 'I'm in a hard knot waiting to fuck your wife--fuck, fuck, fuck her! Hope she's game for all my games--I like to shove it anywhere it will go--and I hope her asshole can take it!' And then he says: 'My wife digs that cock of yours, prof. She's been going around the house, drawing circles around the dates on the calendar, and drawing cunt hairs on the circles. And shouting FUCK, SUCK, BUGGER, like a crazy woman. We dig to fuck, baby, and if you don't dig it like we do, now's the time to find it out!' You can see," John added in understatement, "he's very frank."
Pamela smiled. "It's funny how you run into social obstacles even in the swapping scene," she said. "We have reason to know that Carol and Jim and Del and Marina are pretty far out. And they aren't exactly prissy with their language. But we're in a flutter over this guy's earthiness. Well, I like his looks, and his wife's looks, and I even like the things he says." She turned and looked at John's cock, rearing so redly at her side. "He's the only one that can match equipment with you, dear. Look!"
She showed the chubby little man, innocent-looking, going bald on top, holding his cock with finger and thumb. His smile was cherubic, the size of his prick terrific.
"Okay, Pam, let's put them on top of the list. If we like them, the others will. Look up their number--I'll make the call."
But their telephone rang as Pam was searching the Santa Vaca directory, and she listened in anguish as she took in the nature of the call.
"They want it for their October issue?" John was saying. "I don't think it's possible! Oh, they'll hold the forms open until late August. Oh, sure. You know, Dr. Witter, that I need more time than that. I'm just beginning to gather facts--haven't done any evaluation at all! Let me do some thinking--talk to Mrs. Lam--I mean, Miss Marsh! Yes, haha! A Freudian slip. If you say so, Dean Witter. Okay, I'll call you back."
His face was a study in pleasure and annoyance.
"That was Dean Witter," he said unnecessarily. "The Journal wants my article for October--want to feature it, put my name on the front cover. They have some new art director who's already bought some art--four naked people in a revolving door, reflected in a sidewalk made of mirrors. But I can't go to press this early! Oh, Pam, this is terrible!"
Pam's heart went dead, or seemed to. "Does this mean we have to leave here?" she asked. Her voice was like a child's, just informed that Christmas had been canceled. "All our plans shot? How can they ask this of you? How do they expect you to finish the article?"
John knew the depth of her disappointment. He took her hand. "I have to cheat a little on the conclusions," he said shamefacedly. "They'll give me a battery of secretaries, unlimited use of the school's computers, their collating equipment. I know it hurts you, Pam. It hurts me, too!"
She tried not to think about the lovely seaside vacation gone, the planned trips, the fun of knowing new people. After all, it was John's project.
"But what about you, John?" she asked. "What about your integrity--the essential values of your study. You need--you must have--more facts. That is, if you want your work to have genuinely scholarly meaning." She dropped her face into her hands and began to cry, the warm tears dropping off onto her naked thighs, into her blonde pubic hair.
She rose angrily, turning into the living room and sitting on the big couch. John followed, standing between her thighs, his cock gone down into a fat, warm, limp mass. Without thinking, her hand closed around it, squeezing gently as she fought for words.
"John, I'm being selfish," she said, giving his cock a squeeze. "But I'm thinking of you, the human being, rather than of you, the scholar." Another gentle squeeze--his cock was, somehow, a major symbol of this conflict.
"You've changed so much!" she cried. "You've become a--a real man! A living, breathing man!" She began to sob again, and John, bursting with sympathy but mute, placed a big hand on her head. Somehow, it forced her face against his prick, and she opened her mouth absent-mindedly, acting as blindly as Pavlov's dog, her saliva flowing at the beloved rankness.
She sucked him gently, releasing his cock with a sigh as it raised again to full erection. She nuzzled it again, her cheek against his balls, her arms around his muscular buttocks.
"Just as you're growing away from fear and guilt, dear," she whispered. "Just as you've become truly wonderful in sex!" She thought of all the wonderful fucking they had already enjoyed, the group-factor making it even more wild and pleasing, and she turned again to pull his cock down to mouth level, closing her warm, moist mouth on it, rocking back and forth, sobbing again.
Whether Pam pulled or John pushed, neither of them could say afterwards, but there was some magic in their movements. For, as she fell back, he fell forward. Her legs, already parted as he stood between her thighs, flew up in the air.
Without either of them looking, aiming, guiding, or touching, the head of his cock struck directly into the slick opening of her vagina, and all feeling in her body concentrated in the narrow space from the top of her pubis to her asshole, a spear thrust of painful ecstasy.
His weight drove John into Pam just as her buttocks rose as a counterweight, and the cushiony glans, made tender and itchy by her mouth and tongue, drove against the hard ring of her cervix. It glanced off and lunged against the closed sleeve of membrane, and they chorused twin howls of love and agonized pleasure.
For a moment they lay close together, and then Pam, feeling an involuntary throb throughout the hard length of John's heavy prick, hugged him to her tightly, so that no movement, either by herself or John, would launch him into premature orbit. To divert his attention, and because she had a twinge of conscience at having so selfishly opposed what might, after all, be better for him, she began a breathless, whispered monologue.
"We'll do whatever is best for you and your project, John," she said, close to his ear. She moved her face as he sought to kiss her--the warm slide of her tongue against his would surely bring a spasmodic quiver to her cunt muscles, possibly igniting his hair-trigger orgasm.
"We'll stay here only long enough to fulfill our last obligations--with Carol and Jim and Del and Marina." A fly lit on her right thigh as it clutched, with her left, against John's hips. She caught herself before she could make the automatic move to chase it, feeling that even a movement of her hand, or her leg, might provide the friction which would make John come. She was aware that he was laughing and released him so he could pull his head back to look at her. "What's so funny?" she asked.
He kissed her warmly before answering. "You're so sweet, Pam, darling," he said softly, giving his loins a sharp thrust that sent his cock deeper into her slippery, clutching vagina. "It's all right--I'm not about to come. Really!"
He reached under her thigh with one hand, moving his fingers up and down in the crack of her ass, where her leaking juices lay warm and sticky in a wide area.
He touched and prodded at the strong ring of muscle which held so throbbingly against the base of his buried cock, at the smooth inch of living flesh between her vaginal and anal sphincters. In an excess of love, he pushed his long finger into her rectum, laughing again at her squeal of surprise and delight.
He rolled over, placing her on top, and the slipping friction as they changed positions was all she needed. A wet wave of heat rolled in her belly, deeply, almost sickeningly intense, and she closed her eyes and beat her fists on the couch in time to the staccato pounding of her mons against his.
His cock, raised to a controlled heat, felt the spasms in her cunt recede, and he kissed her tenderly, feeling the fat slackness of her tongue indicating the completeness of her orgasm.
"Oh, John," she said brokenly, "I'm still coming!" Her tongue was hard again as he kissed her, and the kissing sensation around his cock was mounting. "Let me try something new! Don't move, darling--I just want to turn around."
She sat up straight, causing her vagina to bend his cock sharply against her cervix, and he raised his hands to grasp her swollen tits, pinching the hard nipples. The pain and pleasure sent warming ripples through her belly, and she raised one bent leg across his chest, contriving somehow to turn her body so that her back was to him, her knees outside of his, the open cleft of her ass inviting his caresses.
But the friction and twisting inside her cunt, the sudden pressure of the bottom of his cock against her excited clit, were all too much for her, and she collapsed, her arms around his hard and hairy shanks, her face between his feet.
Her position bent his cock painfully, and he could watch the stretched opening of her cunt as it throbbed and quivered around his strained stem, the clear, slick juice running down it in a pulsating stream as the rolling waves in her vagina pumped it out. On each side of the thick base of his cock, her puffy cuntlips looked like a fur collar, and the spasmodic movements as she came caused her asshole to open and close, showing the pink-brown interior of the first half-inch of her rectum.
To relieve the strain on his bent prick, he got the upper part of his body up on his elbows, feeling his shins rasp along her boobs, and she cried out in ecstasy at this new sensation, licking between his toes, nipping at the tender skin on his insteps. In a burst of strength, he rolled them both a half-turn, and, in this position, he seemed to be fucking her almost in a dog-fashion posture, except that he could still observe the throbbing lips of her pussy slip up and down his tool. She seemed never to have stopped coming completely, and her body was moving in steady, small jerks, while her inner muscles continued to grip and ride softly up and down every sensitive inch of his prick.
At last, after one final burst of trembling, she let her body go limp and his cock, now swollen almost to bursting, popped out, riding up and down in the come-slicked crack of her ass.
He was so close to coming that a hair's weight of rub would have sent the semen spurting up and out in hot jets along her smooth back, so he lay still, repeating the multiplication tables in his mind, closing his eyes against the hot sight of her open cunt, which still moved with a life of its own.
They both came to quick life as a happy voice said: "Beautiful! Beautiful!" and the sharp clapping of a pair of hands accompanied the words.
Laughing, they rolled over to see Melissa, two bags of groceries at her feet, pulling her shift over her head, a wet trickle of juice just visible along her inner thigh.
Pam squeezed the younger woman enthusiastically, pulling her down and spreading her big, softly muscled thighs apart as she and John each seized and massaged one of the big tits.
"You got here at just the right time, baby," Pam whispered. "This guy is ruining me! Take him on for a while--I've got to pee!"
She watched with tender amusement as John, laughing and hot, took his time inserting the head of his cock between the red-furred lips.
"Two chicks speared with the same hard-on!" John boasted, putting his mouth up for Pam to kiss. "Go on and do it, baby, and come on back--I've got an idea!"
"And don't wipe it too clean, Pam," Melissa said blushingly. "I've got a craving for the flavor of piss!" She laughed nervously. "No matter what that makes me!" she added.
The wildness of the young fires in Melissa's girlish cunt, the lubricated grasp of her inner muscles, and the clean sweetness of her youthful body gave John a compelling sense of the values in his maleness. Unable at any time to divorce his mind from his body--except in the semiconscious trance of orgasm--the many facets of his study swept through the young professor's mind as lust swept through his body.
The woman-child's zest for life, her forthrightness, the movements in her throat as she sucked on Pam's wide-open cunt--she had insisted that Pam kneel above her face so the three could form a pyramid--made an interesting problem for his logical presentation on the male's role, John knew.
As he fucked deeply and carefully into the hot and writhing young pussy, looking down to see the darker brown of his pubic hairs twined with the red, as he caressed the soft and rolling mounds of girlish tit flesh, with their aroused nipples glowing in red-brown response to his fingers, and especially when he looked full into the warm blue eyes of his fantastic assistant, his thinking changed.
"Pam," he whispered, drawing the blonde's torso closer to him, "don't worry about my research. I realized just this afternoon--your cunt on my cock, in so many ways--each woman is many women. You and I--here or at the university--playing all the roles--can create new routes to research!"
She crowded his throat with her tongue, humping desperately as she came in and on Melissa's lips and tongue and mouth, feeling the girl's wildness as John's pumping jerks brought them to a climax of love and feeling.
And later, softly content, she smiled at John as he called the Dukes. Their appointment was okay. Tomorrow night.