"Hey, dig this ashtray," Art shouted to Sal in the living room of the Jameson house. He was holding a porcelain ashtray from Austria, a delicate painted piece that was one of Susan's favorite objects. "Pure shit!"
He slammed the object against the wall and the distraught young housewife shuddered miserably as it smashed to bits. The living room was a complete mess now, bits of shattered china and broken knickknacks scattered everywhere. After the long orgy, Sal, Tanya and Art had continued their drinking spree and run through the house, completely naked, searching through drawers, scattering belongings everywhere, while Susan watched them, not permitted to raise even the feeblest protest. Art had forced her to continue drinking also, and for awhile she had lost all consciousness of her old identity, laughing drunkenly, dancing obscenely at their commands. But now, as twilight faded into early evening, this latest wrecking spree initiated by Art had begun to sober her up quite a bit. Her house, her beautiful house that she had taken such pains to decorate, was being destroyed. This had been her sanctuary, where she hoped to obliterate the ugliness of her childhood and the haunting memory of Miss Whitfield and the others, but now, thanks to Art and his corrupt friends, her cozy retreat was being ruined.
"Hey, Susie, look at this," Art crowed as he entered the living room from a brief sojourn on the upper floor. The young wife and Sal, who had stayed in the living room to keep an eye on her, glanced up in time to see Tanya prance into the room with a long piece of white lace wrapped around her firmly rounded young body. Susan recognized the material at once – it was one of the long curtains that hung on the bedroom windows, gossamer white lace. Now Art's blonde girl friend danced around the room with the fragile fabric clutched around her curvaceous form. The material had obviously been ripped down crudely, for there were large holes and tears in the cloth. Tim's young wife felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she sat dismally in the armchair and watched the crude spectacle taking place before her.
"The bitch is cryin', Art," Sal remarked with a sneer. "Look, she's all uptight 'cause we're fuckin' up the house."
"Yeah, well cry your eyes out, cunt, 'cause we ain't through yet. I guess you don't know what it's like to have to scrape your life together like a beggar, huh? Livin' from hand to mouth. We never had shit like this, big beautiful palaces that you pampered bitches live in all day readin' magazines!"
Suddenly Susan felt a flash of anger welling up inside her, a torrent of violent resentment that suddenly tore loose like a raging hurricane.
"It's not true!" she shouted, suddenly rising to her feet, shaking with fury. "I wasn't born into this, I was an orphan, I lived without a penny when I was a child, and all I had was a wooden bed! I never had anything until I got married! Never! And now you and your filthy friends are ruining it! You think you're the only ones who've had it hard, but you're not! And I hate you! I hate all of you!"
There was a momentary silence in the room, as the others listened to her unexpected angry speech in open-mouthed awe. Tanya let the material fall from her tanned body, and glanced at Art and Sal. Susan's vicious reaction was completely unexpected and took them all by surprise.
"Well, well, well," Art said calmly after a long silence, "so you've got some guts after all, bitch. Good for you. Guess you ain't such a mealy-mouthed chick as I thought. In fact I'd say you got as much anger inside you as we got, maybe more, I don't know. But I tell you one thing, sister, you got to let that anger out! All of it, and all this furniture and crap won't mean a thing 'til you do. Take it from me, Susie, I got more anger in me than any fifty people I know. You think I'm a pervert, maybe a criminal, nuts too… and maybe I am… but I got a right to be! Oh, baby, believe me I got a right to be. My old man was a junkie – he made my mother whore for him to get bread for smack. And when I got old enough he made me pimp for her. Sal here got sent up to prison when he was twelve for stealin' some food so his family could eat."
"I never had nothin' either," Tanya said, looking directly at the young wife. "All my life I've been treated like a piece of shit. Art here's the first guy to take care of me nice. Guess you can't believe that, seein' how we are. But it's true. Sure he knocks me around now and then…"
"Yeah, but you like it, bitch," her boy friend reminded her.
"Sure, I like it. I like it the way you do it, honey. But that ain't all… sometimes… when I'm real scared… he'll cool me out… and I don't feel so scared no more. It's crazy, but nobody gave me so much as a pot to piss in before. Art made me somebody, somebody I like bein'."
The young wife found herself listening to their stories with rapt attention. She even experienced a certain amount of… of sympathy toward them. They had humiliated her beyond measure and were now destroying her home, yet there was an odd kinship between them all, for all four of them had struggled up from the very bottom of society's depths. It was ironic, bitterly ironic, but true.
"So now you got a husband and a fine house," Art continued, "and all we got's a fleabag existence runnin' from cops. But you're like us, baby, you got a real big anger inside you, you got to let out. I know it, I know it from the way you start howlin' like a dog when I fuck you, like you ain't never had nothin' so good in your whole life. You're startin' to let it out… let it out all the way!"
"What… what do you mean?" the young wife stammered nervously.
"I mean you got to let go of that anger like you mean it," the young man replied. "That is, if you got the guts to do it."
Suddenly Susan understood something that she had struggled for years to comprehend. No matter how she had tried before she could never let go, particularly sexually. But with Art she had finally broken through her resistance, and found, strange as it seemed, that she had begun to experience her real self for the first time in her life, her real sexuality. She knew now, knew with unshakable certainty, that it wasn't her fear that had kept her locked up, but her anger. Anger at the world for giving her a hopeless childhood, anger at Miss Whitfield for twisting her mind and making sex a thing to be ashamed of, anger at herself for letting herself be such a willing victim to so many lies and injustices. Maybe Art had hit the nail right on the head, maybe the heart of the problem lay in her anger, not her fear.
"But how… how can I let it out?" she asked curiously. "I don't know how to do it."
As if from nowhere, her youthful tormentor produced his switchblade knife and snapped it open, making Susan start with fear.
"Don't worry, baby, this ain't for you. Watch." He went over to the sofa, motioning for Sal to leave it, then plunged the knife into the soft thickness of the upholstery on the seat and made a wide gash. At once cotton stuffing erupted from the wide hole he made and steel springs shot upward, ruining the couch.
"Don't!" the young wife shouted angrily.
"You see," Art said, turning to face her, "all this shit means more to you than getting yourself straightened out. You're too scared to let it out. Here. Take this knife, baby, and stick it in that armchair. Rip it to god damn shreds and see what happens."
"Don't give her the knife, Art," Sal cautioned.
"It's okay, she won't do nothin'."
Casually he sauntered over to Susan and extended the knife to her.
"I… I can't," she murmured. How could she destroy her own furniture, how could she?
"Go on, baby, get mad. Just be careful you don't try nothin' fancy with the knife on any of us. That wouldn't be too cool, not if you want to stay alive. You're angry, real angry. Take it out on the chair. Go on."
Susan took the knife in her hand, trembling from head to foot. This incomprehensible young man was asking her to plunge it into the armchair. The cold instrument felt odd to hold. The young wife sensed a certain feeling of power – cool, icy power as her fingers closed around the knife handle. She felt almost sure she couldn't do as he asked, yet there was something about the feel of it that almost gave her the courage she needed. For a brief moment she thought of thrusting it at Art's naked body in a dramatic attempt to free herself from their subjugation, but she knew that was impossible. Even if she could bring herself to hurt another human being like that, she knew the others would soon grab the knife away and maybe even use it on her. She stared down at the armchair.
"Go on, honey," Tanya said, encouragingly, "go on and do it. You'll be surprised how good it feels.
The nervous young wife glanced at each of them, and with a weak gesture, she plunged the knife down into the arm of the chair and felt the blade sink into the soft padding. She pulled it out.
"Again," Art said. "Harder, rip the goddamn thing up."
Susan began to plunge the knife into the chair as if stabbing a stuffed dummy, and as she did a strange thing began to happen. She thought of Miss Whitfield – and the endless torment she had endured because of her and the anger came, wild raging anger. She began to plow the knife harder and harder into the chair, venting her rage on the lifeless object, stabbing it with all her heart. As she thrust the blade in, more memories, horrible memories of her childhood rushed up from her subconscious, and her rage increased, extending even to herself and her contemptible fear and terror that had made a mockery of her marriage with Tim.
"Yesss… yesssss!!" she suddenly found herself crying as she began to rip the seat cushion to shreds. Bits of cotton stuffing began to fly all over the room and she went on and on, letting her roaring, repressed anger free at last. And a great weight seemed to lift from her naked body, as if a thousand-pound stone had been suddenly taken from her back and shoulders. She knew in that moment that Art was right, she needed to do this! She had to do it!
"Look at 'er go," Sal commented, his lips split in a wide smile. "Looks like she never had so much fun in her life."
With a cry of revenge, Susan rushed to the sofa, her eyes wild with excitement and began to tear at it with the knife. The others looked at each other with astonishment, then laughed. At once Tanya turned on the radio, and raunchy rock and roll music blared forth, almost in perfect accompaniment to Susan's angry rampage. Soon the others were joining her, ripping pillows apart, scattering material and padding everywhere, smashing everything in sight.
The young wife was breathing heavily, sweat was pouring from her forehead, as she let herself be enveloped by the torrential release of her pent-up anger. There was an almost savage, sensual quality to it that made her realize that her sexual terror was, as Art suspected, totally bound up with her repressed hostility. She glanced around momentarily, watching the others turn her living room into a complete shambles, and a strange perverse smile crossed her contorted face.
"Good," she murmured to herself. "good! Good!"
"Where to, buddy?" the cab driver queried as Tim Jameson slipped into the back seat.
"Green Woods," he replied, "61 Risely Lane."
"Quite a ways out."
"Yeah, I know. Could you hurry please?"
"Keep your shirt on buddy, the traffic through Chicago's real bad tonight. It's gonna take awhile. Ain't no way I can hurry. And in this heat, Christ, ain't it somethin'?"
"Yeah," the young husband mumbled as the cab crawled slowly out of the congested airport ramp. It had been more than an hour now since his arrival in Chicago and he was hot and tired, anxious to get home to Susan. He still hadn't called her, and by this time he didn't care. All he wanted to do was get home, take a hot shower, and fall into bed.
The driver had been right, of course, the traffic was incredible, worse than he had ever seen, and with a deep sigh the young husband leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
Christ, he thought with irritation, it's gonna take me about as much time to get from the airport to the house as it took me to fly from Boston. Couldn't even find a phone in working order at the airport to call home. What a joke.
The house on Risely Lane was bursting with activity now. All four of the wild orgiasts were drunk again, having polished off the Scotch and made a solid dent in the stock of gin. They had raided the ice-box and made sandwiches to give them enough energy to combat the wearying effects of all the alcohol, and now they were sprawled naked amidst the wreckage that had been the living room. Susan was nearly delirious from all the drinking and the wild vengeance she had taken on her belongings. Her light brown hair was a tangled disarray, and her eyes glittered with a bizarre kind of satisfaction. Her life had become a total nightmare during the past two days, and yet out of the abyss of her degradation, she had experienced many overwhelming discoveries, not only sexual, but psychological, particularly in her enforced realization of her bottled-up anger. She gazed drunkenly around the room, shocked to see the extent of damage that the four of them had wreaked on the furniture and walls. Huge purple stains blotched the white walls where full bottles of wine had been hurled against them. Tables, chairs, and pillows were broken and destroyed. The carpet was heavily stained with the cum of their sexual excesses, and bits of shattered china and porcelain lay everywhere from broken vases, ashtrays and other objects.
"Say, man," Sal slurred drunkenly from his position on the floor, "what the hell time is it? I'm supposed to be at that goddamn family gathering tonight."
"Too late now," Art said, laughing. "Looks like you're stuck here for the night."
"Shit, I can't do that. I gotta get goin'."
The muscular dark man made an attempt to get up, but was too tipsy with alcohol to manage it. He slumped back onto the floor with a heavy sigh.
"You can't make it, man. So just relax," the younger man remarked. "Besides, the night's still young. You can still get your pecker up, can't you?"
"Sure man, but hell, this room's so full of broken glass we're gonna cut ourselves to ribbons."
"We'll go to another room, that's all. There's a real nice bedroom on the second floor we ain't even touched yet."
At once Tanya got up, picked her way delicately through the chaos, and started up the stairs. Sal rose too, though with difficulty, and stumbled toward the hallway stairs.
"You too, Susie," the young captor said. "We ain't through with you yet."
Wearily the young wife pulled herself to her feet and made her way through the cluttered living room toward the stairs. By the time she entered the bedroom, she found Tanya lying there, her young body sprawled lewdly across the bed. Sal lurched across the room and threw himself down, burying his head in Tanya's eagerly proffered pussy, and began to suck at her glistening cunt-lips with drunken abandon while the curvaceous blonde squealed and wriggled excitedly. Susan stood numbly in the doorway, watching them, as Art came in behind her and embraced her, clamping his hands on the firmly resilient mounds of her breasts and rubbing them harshly, at the same time grinding his pelvis against her smooth white buttocks.
"Gonna take you up the ass now, baby, the way Sal did," he whispered in her ear. "I ain't had my prick up there yet."
Susan was too exhausted to protest, although her heart sank when she realized she would be abused yet again in that still-aching rectal passage. As the cruel young man rotated his hips behind her, she could feel his penis begin to stiffen as it rubbed the tender place where her buttocks met her thighs, and despite her weariness, she began to anticipate the excitement she knew she would experience when he entered her and began to saw away at her anal canal. Suddenly her alcohol-clouded brain began to crave having the bestial young man fuck her from behind. Her lush young body quivered from head to foot as she began to wriggle her ass-cheeks lewdly back against his rapidly hardening cock-shaft. Her conversion had been so total in the last two days that she now greedily welcomed the possibility of yet another explosion of animal sensuality, longed to have Art's thickly distended cock rammed up inside her loins, whether from the vagina or the rectum. What did it matter now?
Suddenly Art pushed her forward so that she fell onto the bed next to Tanya and Sal, and yanked her legs wide apart so harshly that a stab of pain shuddered up through her entire body. But she didn't resist. She had come not only to endure but even to love the pain for it wasn't pain in the purest sense of the word, but a pain mixed with a torturous kind of pleasure that she desperately wanted, desperately needed.
"Oh give it to me, Art, shove it up into my ass! Hurry!" she found herself moaning.
The young drifter smiled triumphantly to himself, knowing his perversion of the formerly innocent young bride was now complete. Yesterday she had fought like a tiger to resist him, and now, now she was pleading for him to hurt her, fuck her, torture her, anything he wanted! He had done it again, and his cock was stiff as steel with desire and jerking frantically straight out from his dark tangle of pubic hair, aching to thrust into the tiny brown opening between Susan's undulating buttocks. With no further preparation, he suddenly threw himself on top of her and snaked his hand down to position his obscenely lurching shaft at the puckered anal entrance. Then, with a vicious flick of his hips, he bored into it, forcing his gigantic penis through the tiny ring without so much as a drop of spittle to lubricate the way.
"Aaaaaaieeerrrgggghhhh!!!" the young wife screeched in utter torment. She hadn't expected it would hurt this much! At least Sal had prepared her somewhat for his sodomizing, using his finger and some spit to ease the way, but Art was knifing into her with no lubricant whatsoever. His massively swollen cock was already halfway up her hot rectal channel, and even the remains of Sal's cum that was still lodged deep in her anal passage did nothing to soften the burning torture of his entry. Her violated anus felt as if it were on fire, or as if a red-hot poker had been thrust up inside! It was horrible, and this sudden explosion of raw pain made the young housewife cry in agony. "Pleeeeaasseeee!!! It huuurrrttttssss!!!"
"Good," Art snarled drunkenly, "that's how I like it. It ain't no fun if it don't. Dig it sweetheart, life hurts, too. Like this!"
He shoved the thick length of his cock all the way in to the hilt with a tissue-bruising lunge that elicited a hoarse moan of painful protest from the degraded young bride. Surely he would tear her apart! She couldn't stand it, not a minute more!
Suddenly he began to fuck her, not slowly at first, the way Sal had done, but rough and hard right away, so she felt as if swords were chopping away at her insides. Tears of agony came to her eyes as Art drove into her with jackhammer force, ripping at her seared anal passage with his monstrously impaling cock, driving like a madman up into her constricted anus.
How can he do this, she thought miserably, after all that's happened? He had almost seemed to become human earlier in the evening when they had talked, and he had convinced her to give vent to her anger. How could he do this to her now? But she had no time to think further about her situation, for she was suffering almost beyond endurance from the brutally painful blows her young tormentor thrust into her with his rock-hard cock-shaft.
Next to them on the bed, Sal had suddenly pulled away from Tanya's hotly pulsing cuntal slit. His massive black penis was stiff as a board now, and he scrambled up and knelt with his knees on either side of the blonde girl's face. Then, gripping his blood-engorged cock, he shoved it into her mouth. Tanya, used to such frenzied sensuality, immediately began sucking on the swarthy man's enormously thick rod with great skill, as her throat opened hungrily to encompass its massive bulk.
"Oooohhhhhhh suck it good bitch! Suck it gooodddddd!!" Sal groaned as the voluptuous blonde pulled mightily at his lust-swollen hardness, causing shivers of barbarous passion to shoot through his loins. "Tanya you are one hell of a cock sucker!"
Beside them, Susan Jameson writhed in agony as Art drove his rigid cock up into her tensely resistant rectal channel, slicing in and out of her with merciless fury. The young southerner couldn't get enough rough sex to satisfy him. His throbbing genitals seemed to demand an almost constant daily round of arousal and ejaculation, and the rougher and more painful it was, the better he liked it. He gripped the young housewife's petite white shoulders fiercely as he lunged his hips back and forth with maniacal force, bludgeoning her raw anal depths with sadistic pleasure.
"Uunnnnnggggghhhhhhh!" the ravaged young bride cried in torment, "Nooo!!!!"
"Take it bitch!" he howled back, gritting his teeth as he smote her battered buttocks uncontrollably, "Take ittttt!!!!"
Susan was on the verge of fainting from his savage attack. Nothing in the past two days had been as remotely painful as this. Her entire young body ached fiercely now, and torturous spasms traveled up her back like lead bullets. Yet just as a deep swirling blackness threatened to submerge her in the blessed realms of unconsciousness, an unexpected shudder tore through her body announcing the welcome transformation – and soon it came again, the churning sensation in her loins that she had come to crave, the shivery ripples of pure sensuality, the fantastic sprays of delight that always heralded the release of her baser instincts! Her cries of alarm and pain began to subside, and in their place came low moans of unmitigated pleasure! It had happened again, she had transcended her pain and re-entered the world of radiant ecstasy – brimming with happiness she suddenly threw her head back and groaned in joy.
"Oohhhh yeeesssss fuuucccckkk meeeee goooooddd!!"
A few moments later a cab came to a halt outside the house and Tim Jameson stepped out. As the car pulled away, he glanced up at his familiar home and stared. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong. Every light in the house was blazing, and generally Susan was quite conscientious about using only the lights that were necessary in order to save money on electric bills.
"Christ, it looks like a Christmas tree," he muttered to himself as he made his way up the front walk. Then he noticed that there was a strange car in the driveway behind their station wagon, one the young husband couldn't identify. The instinctive feeling that something funny was happening increased, and he stopped a few yards away, from his front door. Glancing up at the bedroom window, he seemed to see shadows passing in front of the light, shadows made by not one, but two or three people. And the curtains the curtains were gone. All he could see were the venetian blinds hanging crazily as if some drunk had tried to lower them in a stupor. The young husband's heart began to beat faster and faster, for he heard muffled moans and cries coming from the upstairs room.
What the hell's going on? he thought anxiously.
He pulled out his front-door key, deciding against ringing the bell. If there was something wrong it would be better not to take any unnecessary risks. His mind was seething with possibilities: Maybe a prowler was in the house, or some teenagers had broken in – hell, anything was possible these days and he knew it. He put the key into the lock with a trembling hand and slowly opened the door. Peering cautiously inside, a shock went through him at the sight that met his eyes. The hallway was strewn with broken china and torn pillows. His jaw muscles tightened and his heartbeat increased as he moved quietly inside, where he saw the wreckage in the living room, and heard again, only this time more distinctly, the strange moans from the second-floor bedroom.
Oh, Jesus, maybe Susan 's been hurt! Oh God!
Somehow he managed to calm the rising feelings of panic, at least enough to continue his investigation with some degree of control, though he now feared the worst and cursed the airplane strike for delaying his arrival. He suspected that whoever had broken into the house hadn't left. In fact the sounds from the floor above indicated that their mad rampage was still in progress, and the chances were good that they were somehow tormenting his beautiful young bride. A murderous fury seethed dangerously at the fringes of his consciousness, and it was only with a great effort that he kept himself from crying out like a crazed beast and lunging up the stairs to kill the bastards.
He started slowly up the stairs, being careful not to make a sound as he ascended toward the bedroom. The sounds increased as he drew closer to the bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar, only they no longer seemed to be sounds of pain. Rather they gave the distinct impression of being sexual in nature, like a female dog howling in heat. He reached the second floor landing and sidled cautiously along the hallway wall, until finally he was able to peer into the brightly lit bedroom without being seen.
The scene he witnessed made his jaw drop open in astonishment, and it was all he could do to stifle a cry of violent outrage. There were three strangers in the room with his wife, all completely naked and in the midst of the most perverse orgiastic copulation that the young husband had ever witnessed. His young bride was crushed face down on the bed, and being skewered roughly in the anus by a slender muscular young man with brown curly hair; an incredibly voluptuous blonde girl was lying on her back so that her cunt was pressed against Susan's mouth; and another man, older, powerfully-built and dark, had shoved his huge cock between the blonde's lips and was thrusting it furiously in and out.
Oh my God, my God!! Tim screamed inwardly as he witnessed the feverish debauch, pressed tightly against the wall to conceal his presence. Susan, what's happening to you!
The young husband was certain that somehow these men had broken into the house and made a virtual prisoner of his ravaged wife and the thought made him tremble with rage, but he knew he had to keep his presence a secret. He had to call the police – this was too big for him to handle on his own yet he was rooted to the spot as he watched the lewd fucking on his own bed. There was something about Susan that riveted his eyes to the sight of her impaled young form wriggling on the bed while her mouth sucked hungrily at the blonde girl's wide-open pussy. She… she seemed to be enjoying it! The young insurance salesman struggled to interpret what he saw differently, but the quality of moans and mewls from his brown-haired wife's throat was not agony or resistance, but pure unadulterated pleasure! He had never seen her like this! She had always been so prim and cold when it came to sexuality, but now she was writhing like a nymphomaniac beneath the bludgeoning anal thrusts of the eagerly fucking youth, and sucking at the other girl's proffered cuntal slit like there was no tomorrow.
He couldn't believe what he saw – it was like an obscene hallucination, a nightmare stag film with his wife as the star! He stared open-mouthed at the lewdly thrashing quartet, scarcely able to comprehend the staggering sight he beheld.
And he became excited. His long thick cock began to pulse, faintly at first, but then stronger and stronger until finally it jerked completely erect and pounded against his thigh in torrid response to the bizarre scene he was witnessing. For a brief moment he feared for his sanity, for the overwhelming discovery was almost too incredible to digest fully. How could this have happened? Why? Who were these men, and what led them here? How long had they had Susan in their power? And even more disturbing – why was he so sexually excited by what he saw?
But he knew the answer to the last question. His young bride was responding in a way that he had hoped for all during their early days together like a free, erotic, sensual animal, surrendering herself freely to the ecstasy of sexual liberation. Gone were the panic and fear, gone was the sense of always holding back – now she was a tempestuously wanton female gone wild, berserk and groaning with the rapture of eros. The young husband had always known that someday she could be this way, and he had prayed for that day to come. Now it was a reality. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy, for he had always wanted her to discover that aspect with him. Yet this feeling quickly passed as he reminded himself that she had been forced into what he beheld – there was no other answer for it. Finally, he pulled himself away from the door and went quietly downstairs to call the police, then slipped out the front door to conceal himself until their arrival.
Unaware of his presence, the orgiasts continued their frantic copulation, moans and cries of excitement filling the air, mounting frenziedly as the moment of orgasm approached. The anally battered young wife was now lost in a torrent of delight that overwhelmed every tingling nerve-ending in her body, setting her on fire with a deluge of unbridled lust. It consumed her with hurricane force so that she began screwing her rectal channel back more feverishly into Art's bludgeoning strokes, taking him farther and farther into her now greedily clenching rectum with each forward thrust of his huge swollen cock. Excited beyond all reason, she drove her tongue deep into Tanya's hotly moist vaginal interior, whirling and rotating it with complete abandon.
Meanwhile Sal pumped his bloated penis in and out of her hungrily sucking blonde's mouth, clutching her thick platinum tresses and grunting with raw animal passion. The fury of the four-way orgy mounted, and each could feel the approach of yet another climax, even more intense than all that had come before. Tanya ground her moisture-drenched cunt up into Susan's eagerly licking tongue while her hands roved freely over the muscular naked body of the swarthy man who drove his lust-swollen penis deep into her battered throat. Art, at the same time, lunged forward with brutal roughness, ripping up into the young wife's hotly pulsing rectum with maniacal fervor.
It was the recently innocent housewife who reached climax first. As she groaned incoherently into the seething wet furrow of the blonde girl's vaginal flesh, the beginnings of her orgasm came shooting out from everywhere at once. The others were only seconds behind, the two men groaning deep primeval moans of savage pleasure. Art rammed mightily into Susan's receptive anus, jetting his thick white seed far inside, squirting a thick river of cum like a garden hose gone out of control. At the same time, Sal ejaculated wildly into Tanya's gulping mouth, spraying her oral chasm with his hot male essence as her cheeks hollowed and expanded to drain him dry.
Slowly their passion subsided, and one by one they slipped drunkenly, deliriously, out of their positions to collapse exhausted in a disordered heap on the bed. For a long time there was not a sound to be heard as the wearied debauchees sank into a heavy stupor provoked by their corrupt excesses. They did not stir, until, moments later, they heard the ear-splitting wail of a siren careening down the street and the sounds of cars pulling up in front of the house.
Art bolted up, his eyes wide with alarm, and glanced anxiously at the others. Then, jumping from the bed, he ran quickly to the window while the others held their breath in terror.
"It's the cops," he said, turning back to them. "It's the goddamn fucking cops."
Susan gasped with joy as she realized that somehow, some way, she was finally being rescued from her hideous nightmare.
"Oh God…" she moaned in utter relief, "thank you… thank you…" In the next moment she was enveloped by a swirling blackness as unconsciousness took hold of her brutalized mind and she fell back on the bed in a faint.