The offices of Skopos, Incorporated were on the fifth floor of the old Antler Building, along Second Avenue in downtown Rapier City. Roger Carmel parked his Ford stationwagon in the basement garage of the building across the street, and then walked down the street to the Antler Building, hurrying because he was late.
Not that he could really mind that he was late… the interlude of loving with his wife had made him feel better than he had in the last couple of weeks. No doubt about it: sex was the greatest tranquilizer in the world. He needed the eager arms and hot body of his lovely wife more than he could tell her; he needed her understanding and warmth and support, especially in these final few months before the coup was realized that was going to put Skopos on the tongue of every person in the country. He was sorry that he wasn't able to be around her much these last weeks, but it couldn't be helped. A little effort now, a little sacrifice, and the whole Carmel family would be able to retire with ease, and he could start making up the lost time.
Roger frowned as he thought of his beautiful young wife, Lonnie, pouting. He was doing all of this for her, couldn't she understand it? She wasn't very understanding about what was necessary, always demanding more of his time and attention than he could afford to give, as if the future didn't matter. It was always now, now… but that was like a woman, he consoled himself.
The morning fog pulled up its skirts and dissolved among the tops of the buildings. The street was full of ten o'clock businessmen hurrying and stenographers dawdling and women shopping. Roger paused long enough to buy a package of cigarettes at the counter in his building, and then he went to the elevator. The elevator operator eyed him sullenly, then carefully avoided his return gaze.
Roger pictured himself as the Provider of the family. The stalwart guard between Us and Everybody Else. As he rode up the elevator, he almost felt as if he was going into battle for Lonnie and Jennifer, that his suit was of armor, his attache case a sword, and Skopos, Incorporated the arena. In a way, his vision wasn't too wrong, if a bit romantic. Lonnie didn't work, and Jennifer was too young – it was up to him to be the link between the close-knit family unit and the cold, different, potentially brutal world beyond their doorstep. It was he who wore the two hats of Husband/Father and of Mr. Carmel. It was he who shouldered the responsibilities to see that both hats were worn skillfully.
Lonnie had but one role, that of mate and mother. Sometimes it's difficult for a person who's committed to only one position to see that another person who must straddle two or more positions is constantly having to compromise. Roger was being pulled by the requirements of his career just as hard as he was being called upon to be with Lonnie. She wanted him home all the time – Skopos wanted him to be on the job all the time. The men he was going to meet this morning were going to pout in their own way just as forcefully as Lonnie had done, with the same cry: "Spend more time with me!"
"What?" The elevator operator turned to Roger, startled.
"Nothing," Roger said, a little shaken. He realized that he'd suddenly burst out loud with his thoughts, a sure sign that the pressures, were getting to him. Just a little more, though, he thought… hold on for a little more; you can do it, Rog. You have to do it…
Skopos' downtown offices were actually for their sales force, though all of the upper executives were there as well. It was handier and a better area to live around than where the plant was. Roger, as chief engineer and vice-president in charge of development, was in the unenviable position of being liaison between the plant in Kirsten, Nevada, and the main office. He had moved from Kirsten when his promotion to vice-president had happened; Rapier City was much nicer and more varied than the smaller Nevada town; and he'd figured it really didn't matter at which end of the business he lived. He had to be at the other end half of the time, and his family would still be five hundred miles away. Here, they had a nicer home, a better neighborhood, and more things to do. For him to have turned down the promotion or shirked the duties and stayed in Rapier City all the time would be tantamount to quitting. Roger felt it was the best compromise under the circumstances.
Especially now, especially when his invention was at the brink of success. He went into the reception room, nodded to the PBX operator, and walked briskly to his office. His secretly, Agnes Goodfall, was all but wringing her hands.
"You're late," she said timorously.
"I know. Everybody in the board room?"
"Yes, Mr. Carmel. Including Mr. Quarran. He said…"
"I'm sure he did, Agnes," Roger said, cutting off her whine. He took a few papers from his desk and added: "See you later."
The president and chairman of the board of Skopos was sitting at the head of the board room conference table, leaning back with a cigar in his mouth like some despot. Not so benevolent a despot though; Jerome Quarran was a ruthless shrewd manipulator who'd taken over Skopos when the electronics engineer who'd started the company five years ago went broke. A scientist does not a businessman make. Quarran looked up with his thick, heavy, watery eyes as Carmel entered and took his usual chair on the left band side. He didn't say anything, merely brushed an invisible cigar ash off his plaid vest with that quick flick of annoyance superiors sometimes use on underlings.
The scientist who'd begun the company was across from Carmel. Wilfred Krocklin was in his mid-fifties, but looked older and emaciated. Unlike the arrogant and fleshy-jowled face of Quarran, Krocklin was gaunt and lined with doubt, with large, ever-frightened eyes like those of a tarsier monkey. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his collar turned up, his tie askew. His sparse white hair was uncombed where he'd run his fingers through it for one reason or another.
Sitting at the end of the table was Martin Oliss, V-P for sales. He was sharply dressed in the latest style as usual, a natty robin's egg blue suit with a slight Edwardian cut to it, and his long, wavy blond hair was perfectly in place. He looked imperturbable and slightly amused, like a cat with canary feathers caught in its mouth. That was his way, constantly cool and a little condescending.
Roger was sometimes piqued by Oliss; that supercilious air rasped his nerves after a while, and the ever-present preening of the fashion-plate image made Roger wonder if Oliss wasn't a near egomaniac. If anything personified Martin Oliss in Roger's mind, it was the way the man was always smoothing his thin mustache as if it was a waxed objet d'art. It was to Roger little more than a milk stain on Oliss' upper lip, the blondness being hardly visible. Nevertheless, Oliss was invaluable, a long-term employee who grasped what Quarran wanted, and did it. He was to the others at Skopos the emitomy of dedication and hard work. So Carmel took what he considered Oliss' personality quirks in stride, saying nothing.
"Hello, Roger," Oliss said, fingering his mustache. "We were wondering if you'd missed the plane."
"No," Roger replied. "No, I took an earlier one." He smiled as if sharing a common complaint with the others. "Have to see my wife sometimes or risk a divorce, you know."
Oliss was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Carmel knew. Lonnie had told him that Cylvia had the same problem as she had when Martin went out of town.
Quarran made a noise in his throat like coal rattling down a chute. He was married to a dreadnaught of a wife, and while Roger had no way of knowing, he suspected that Quarran stayed away from the home and hearth as much as possible. There were office rumors about a little sweetheart stashed in a high-rise apartment on the other side of town…
"How's the Min-miniskopos doing, R-roger?" Krocklin stuttered. He was referring to the invention which had made Carmel the vice-president. "W-we're most anxious about it-t."
Oliss came forward and put his hands on the chair beside his boss. "Yes, Roger. Is it about ready?"
Carmel opened his attache case and brought out a sheaf of papers. He spread them on the table. "I can announce that by this time next month, we'll have a working prototype."
"Excellent," Krocklin said, beaming.
"You said it would be done by now," Quarran grumbled. He chewed on his cigar and glared at Carmel. He was never pleased.
Carmel replied: "I also told you that with the aluminum companies on strike, I couldn't guarantee it. All we're waiting for is the extruded panels, which have to be made up special. If the president puts a Taft-Hartley injunction against the strikers and there's the 90-day cooling of period, we'll get the paneling and…" he paused to shrug slightly, "and then it's only a matter of putting one together. While I was down at Kirsten we tested one that was in sections, and it works fine, but you know how the government is – they have to see shiny new boxes, not a mess of wires."
"Damnit," Quarran snorted, "we don't have the time! We have to have your miniskopos ready in time for the Fall Appropriations convention in Washington. You know that, Roger."
"That's…" Oliss consulted his mental calendar for a moment. "That's fifteen days from now."
"I don't know what you're going to have to do to get that blasted invention in presentable shape, Roger, but you're going to have to come up with something!" Quarran twisted into something of a smile, and looked levelly at Carmel over his glasses. "We can't afford to wait another year."
Carmel groaned and sat back in his chair. He was afraid of this. Skopos, Incorporated was in the video tape recording business, had been almost from the time of the market's inception. Krocklin had named the company after the old Greek word which eventually became the English word, scope; apt enough title, but Krocklin hadn't been able to meet the changing demands of the market as wisely.
When video tape first started, there were any number of companies, each with different systems. Unlike audio tape recorders or record players, there weren't any standard speeds or tape widths, and as a result, Ampex was out with an inch wide tape running at faster speeds than the Sony machines with quarter-inch tape. Panasonic and Concord came in with half-inch tapes at still another inches-per-second speed, and others loaded the market with their attempts. Nothing was interchangeable, and if a customer bought one brand, he sometimes found that six months later not even the same company was producing the same gear.
It was a guessing game as to who would come out on top, the developments in the industry outstripping any possibility for inter-company cooperation and standardization. Krocklin found that although his machines and cameras were of excellent quality, the average consumer was leery and often bought from the Big Boys out of fear of obsolescence – and the still high cost of manufacture had effectively stopped mass home consumption which would make the whole venture profitable.
Quarran had come in and under his guidance, sales improved a hundred percent. Then its chief engineer came up with a revolutionary development. A year ago Roger Carmel had approached Quarran with nothing more than an idea down on paper. Out of the discussions and negotiations, Carmel became vice-president with a hefty increase in salary, plus a percentage of the profits. In return he gave Skopos exclusive marketing and production rights.
Where current models were weighing sixty to eighty pounds, his miniskopos weighed less than twenty – and it was a tenth of the size as well. Instead of bulky and expensive reels of tape, it used cartridges, 8-track music cartridges like the automobile stereo players. A person would slip in a cartridge, costing less than five dollars per hour of recording time, and depending on whether the unit was plugged into a camera or a television set, it would record or play. It could do both at once, if a person wanted to monitor what was being recorded. The whole unit was eight inches high, a foot wide, and a little over fifteen inches deep. It could fit on top of a television set. Or so it would, when the aluminum casing arrived.
And if that wasn't enough, it could also be used for color as well as black-and-white.
That was a year ago. Since then, the concept had been transformed into test units. There were bugs, of course; tape had to be specially made and the cartridge feeder mechanism designed from scratch. The components weren't available, and companies building field-effects and integrated circuits had to be talked with and their samples tested. It had been one long headache and fight – and the man who ran the whole she-bang was Carmel, for he alone understood what it was all about.
Oliss, a born huckster, skillfully let the news of the pending miniskopos "leak" out. It had set the industry on its ear; everybody was talking about it, everybody wanted to buy it. The home entertainment market would have at last a dirt-cheap way of showing video tape, of transcribing favorite television shows, of making "home movies". The schools and the government would have the perfect teaching aid, which could be bought en masse without wrecking budgets.
The Carmel miniskopos was worth a fortune.
But the time hadn't arrived when Carmel could rest on his laurels. That final effort to get them over the top and the units into the hands of buyers had to be made. Quarran was right; the miniskopos had to be ready to be shown to the government in two weeks, for with contracts in hand, the high cost of production and tooling could be weathered. Later would come the home markets, which were never over-night, but took advertising, negotiations, and the slow grinding of public acceptance. Later it would be Martin Oliss' turn to work his tail off from the marketing end.
"I hate doing it," Carmel said after listening to Quarran reiterate the obvious. "I hate doing it, but I suppose we could fashion one out of sheet metal. It won't look as well as the stamped paneling, and probably won't work as well, either. It sure as hell won't be as light."
"I can talk around that. Once those bureaucrats get their mitts onto a working prototype, they'll be too blinded to nit-pick." Quarran tapped his cigar ash into the large ceramic bowl beside him. "They'll specify aluminum and weight requirements, and by that time we'll be able to supply them."
"Y-yes, that s-sounds alright to me," Krocklin agreed.
Carmel sighed. "Then sheet metal it is. I'll call the plant and…"
"You go to the plant," Quarran said forcefully.
"But I just got backs!"
"It can't be helped. There's not enough time to make more than one, and that one has got to be right. I don't want you to merely hope that the men down there will know what the devil you want; I don't want you to assume they can read your plans – I want you to be sure that every detail is perfect."
Carmel looked at Quarran witheringly. "I suppose you want me to leave today?"
"I'm sorry."
Under the circumstances Carmel realized that he would have to go. Not that he couldn't argue with Quarran, or even flatly refuse; it was the inherent realization that he was needed in Kirsten to supervise the fabrication. He glumly considered the inevitable scene with Lonnie. There were times when he wished he was still a bachelor.
Martin Oliss had other thoughts on his mind. Just as gloomy, perhaps, because he didn't know what he was going to do, but a great deal more dark, because of their subject. In less than two weeks he'd be handed the job of selling the finished product – not that it needed any selling. He'd just take orders, the way the miniscope was exciting the public. In less than two weeks, any chance that he had to steal the miniscope for his own use would be gone. In less than two weeks…
Oliss fingered his mustache, sighing inwardly. What had ever gotten him into this two-faced industrial spying anyway? Greed, pure and simple. The greed for other women, enhanced by his own wife's insatiable lust for strange cock, had introduced him to the swinging element in Rapier City. He had been a devout member of the wife-swapping club for some time; it was their use of Club Royale and its private shows and still more private "rooms" for viewing and fucking which had allowed him to become acquainted with Sam Zeigler, Club Royale's owner and operator.
That Goddamned gangster Zeigler. Oliss conjured up a swear word for the cynical member of the state crime syndicate Mafia connected, though not controlled – who catered to the greedy vices of otherwise respectable members of the community. Greed, always greed. Greed had gotten Cylvia Oliss into the dog show there, a more than willing participant on the round stage when the club had rented the whole second floor for one mass orgy last Spring.
Greed had made Martin Oliss go after and lay Zeigler's ex-chorus girl playmate; the only one who had balls enough to try, Zeigler had said afterwards.
And greed had made Oliss an enthusiastic partner when Zeigler had outlined his plan to take the secret of the miniscope and let one of the syndicate fronts – the outwardly legitimate Vantage Electronics Corporation – have it. The promise of a cut which would put Oliss on easy street overnight had put dollar signs in his eyes, and his wife had thought the scheme perfect.
The trouble had been that the miniscope was in Kirsten, and Oliss was stuck in Rapier City. He'd approached Carmel with under-played, implied suggestions that there were greater riches to be made if Carmel "sold out" on the sly, but it had failed dismally.
"I bet you've been approached secretly by other companies, eh, Roger?" had been met with open, naive shock. Carmel couldn't believe that the competition could stoop so low.
"You know, you could have tripled, quadrupled, your profit if you'd considered others before or Quarran," had been met with a frown and a patriotic spiel about company loyalty.
"I'd sure like to see your drawings, Roger," had been met with a shrug and a vague answer that the blueprints were in short sections, constantly being revised, and that they wouldn't make sense to anybody except Carmel himself.
Oliss had finally come to the conclusion that Carmel was an innocent in the affairs of business manipulations, and that when it came to ethics and morals, he was as flexible as a glass rod.
Oliss was frustrated, and now the eleventh hour was here. He was going to have to do something fast, something desperate and a gamble, but then won't all business a gamble? The meek shall inherit the earth – not to Martin Oliss! The meek inherited dirt after the good stuff was grabbed by the ruthless.
Well, then damnit, start thinking of a way to grab! Oliss' brain churned with nefarious plots. He thought about blackmailing Carmel with a girl, but he realized nothing short of doping the man would get him under the covers with another woman. But what about Mrs. Carmel? Oliss suddenly grinned. Sure… there might be the answer. It might work… he recalled what Cylvia had told him a couple of times as she'd laughed over the weepings of Roger's sexually starved wife. "She's too much like me, Martin," she'd said. "She's as ripe for plucking as I was ten years ago."
And then with only the unadulterated viciousness of a human beast of prey, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel daughter. She was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera had told her father two weeks ago. She'd really got him hot describing in minute detail how she had finger-fucked the little teenager in the high school shower room, bringing Jennifer to a climax which made her scream. And when he'd been hard, his penis jutting out of his bathrobe like a muzzle of a rifle, Tamera had let him screw her on the floor of the livingroom, which was a different way than they usually did. Cylvia had thought it was hysterical when she'd walked in from the kitchen. Thrashing around on the carpet with the TV on beside them, the sound of gunfire and horses coming from the old cowboy movie.
Jennifer would have to be dealt with, Oliss figured, or the plan for Lonnie Carmel wouldn't work. Jennifer had to be out of the home, preferably for the night or the weekend. He'd have to talk it over with his wife later on. Maybe Tamera could lend a hand, her and her boyfriend. Who knows? Maybe she'd like it!
He groaned inwardly at the exciting image of the two beautiful and provocative women in Carmel's life bowing to Oliss' debauched whims, crying for more… more… He placed his hand beneath the table and attempted to push his burgeoning cock down, without too much success. It was too provocative a dream! Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-daughter combination in the swap group – at the Club Royale, on the stage, fucking and sucking and sucking and fucking… He groaned inwardly and shifted his thoughts to the immediate. He had to if he dared to stand up when the meeting adjourned.
"Excuse me," he said in his silky voice when there was a lull in the conversation, "excuse me, but I'd like to accompany Roger on this trip."
"Why?" Quarran asked warily, always watching the expenses.
"Well, for one thing because if I've got to promote the miniskopos in a couple of weeks, I'd better bone up on what the unit will do. Not just any one, or what we hope the production models will do – but the actual one we demonstrate. Also, I'm going to have to take pictures of it, metal cabinet and all. And I've been thinking that some copy and shots about the plant would be very impressive, especially in a little throw-away pamphlet. Give the company an image, an identity. After all, we're selling the name of Skopos as much as this particular product, aren't we?"
"Damned fine thinking, Martin," Quarran said. "You're about due for a trip to Kirsten anyway. You haven't been there since we expanded the east wing." He nodded. "All right, you go, too."
"Great to have you along, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if relieved. He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way. The two wives could console one another.
The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, Carmel was supposed to be aware of, but which he had no direct interest in. He mulled over his own problems; those of the inventions and those of his household while he chain-smoked a series of cigarettes and tried to look attentive. As usual, the meeting broke up in time for lunch, and he went with the three others to the dimly-lit cocktail lounge and steak house around the corner of Second. A couple of martinis helped – but when he got back to the office, his depression was deepened when his secretary told him, "I was very lucky, Mr. Carmel. I was able to book you on a flight leaving at three-forty-five."
"This afternoon?" he cried.
"It was either that or tomorrow night. Everything else is taken. I'm sorry."
"God almighty," he groaned going in his office. "Agnes, get my wife on the phone, will you, please?"
Lonnie was mopping the kitchen floor when the phone rang. She was in a very good humor, had been all day after her tremendous frustrations had been taken care of by her loving husband. She hummed softly to herself, following a song on the radio. She let her mind wander as to the pagan orgy awaiting Roger when he came home that evening. She was going to tear his legs off, she was…
Her thoughts were broken with the ringing, and she turned the radio down before answering. When she heard Agnes' voice on the line, asking her to hold on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across the saddle of her back.
"Hello, honey," Roger said. "I, uh… that is…"
"Let me guess," she said darkly. "Another trip?"
"It can't be helped. It'll only be two weeks, and believe me, I tried to get out of it, but…"
"I'm sure you did," she interrupted sarcastically. "I bet you fought tooth and nail."
"I did! Please don't be this way. Oh – and Martin's having to accompany me, too. Maybe you and Cylvia can get together while we're gone."
A frustrated hiss slipped from between her teeth and tried to hide her annoyance he'd heard through the phone. "When are you leaving?"
"I'll be home in an hour, honey. Pack some clothes for me, will you?"
"When?" she repeated more firmly.
"Ah… this afternoon. Three-thirty, to be exact."
"Three…!" Her face blossomed with anger. "Do you know what's in the oven, Mr. Carmel? Do you know what I have slaved to the bone preparing for you, you bastard, just as a special treat for tonight and which Jennifer and I detest? Do you?"
"Now, honey…"
"Don't honey me," she stormed and slammed down the receiver. Another trip! Tears of humiliation and pride welled up in her eyes as she thought of his leaving her again.
Damn… damn… damn… she wasn't enough of a woman to hold a man, she was unable to satisfy her husband enough in bed to hold him at home for one day. Was there any reason why Roger stayed married to her other than to screw her now and then when he was around? What did he do the other six months? Have other women?
Oh no! The crazy idea that he was unfaithful to her crept insidiously into her brain, once unleashed by her torment of anger and frustration. If she could only go with Roger on his trips… but no, she had to stay home with their daughter, Jennifer. All she could do was wait and sit until he got back from wherever he went, never knowing what he was up to.
She walked to the closet and half-heartedly swung one of the suitcases she hadn't put away from that morning onto the bed. She began to put fresh clothes out, quickly filling the three-suiter and then put additional clothing in the smaller over-night case. Then, locking the lids, she wandered into the kitchen, her day ruined, and pondered about what the hell she was going to do for the next couple of weeks.
Do what Roger suggested she guessed. See a lot of Martin's wife. It certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding friend like Cylvia. She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than Roger was.
"Oh God, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss moaned. She was writhing on their satin-covered double bed, her own fingers slipping wetly inside her cunt. Her back was arched, and her legs splayed wide, as nude, she masturbated before the lusting leer of her husband, one hand fondling her breasts and the other in her vagina.
Cylvia had short blond hair the color of wheat; it hugged her face in soft curls. She had high, classical features, with blue, cat-like eyes above a wide, bow-shaped mouth and aquiline nose. Her wasp waist was in contortions at the moment, and her full, thrusting breasts danced with delightful impudence on her tanned chest. She was tanned all over, not even with the normal tiger strips around her breasts and hips. Her straw-toned hair was natural, as anybody could see if they glimpsed her furry growth of pubic hair – and many men had not only glimpsed but tongued and fucked their way through the hair.
Now the hair was matted slick with her aroused cuntal secretions. "Oohhh, Martin," she panted. "You're going to be gone for so long."
"Just a couple of days if my plan goes well. No more than three."
"Too damned long for me, lover, and you know that no man can fill me they way you can. Oh… oh… oh, let me suck your beautiful prick before you leave. Oooohhhhh, please!"
Hot damn! Oliss thought as he selected a suit out of the closet. Cylvia is a real talent. She can turn a man on and fuck him every which-way! He'd called her from the office when he'd learned from his secretary about the sudden departure, acting the contrite husband just in case anybody heard. Now he had to be quick about it; couldn't miss the plane and his chances to land the miniskopos. He'd hurried home, only to find no bags packed but his loving mate stretched out with abandoned anticipation.
His pants, already sticky from the little drops of seminal emission caused by the thinking of his plot while in the board room, now bulged once more. He stifled a groan. "No… no, I've got to tell you about what you've got to do."
"Tell me afterwards." She reached up and undid two of his shirt buttons, then returned her left hand to the nipples of her breasts.
"No, now."
"I refuse to listen unless you take your clothes off and sit down beside me." She oscillated on the coverlet, moaning further as her hands sought the warm cavern of her hungry cunt. "C'mon, strip, lover-man. Strip for your wife."
"All… all right," he said, his voice quivering. He had to change anyway; might as well now as never. Have to keep control of myself, though. Too much to set up. He dropped his trousers and threw his shirt and tie over his jacket on the chair. When he pulled his underpants down, however, his cock leapt out to full erection, trembling with lust.
Cylvia stared at it, moistening her lips with her tongue as if she was already tasting its pungent male sperm. "Come on," she whispered throatily, "come on and sit down."
He did, but warned her, "First things first."
Cylvia snaked out her left hand again and closed it around his turgid expanse. She robbed it up and down, her tongue still flicking along her lips, her eyes hot on the huge, granite shaft and bulbulous head and the wrinkled sac of his testicles. "Please, Martin," she crooned, "I'm hot now and I want to suck you. Let your hot-boxed little wife suck you now and then you can tell me all about your plan."
"No," Oliss said firmly. He moved to the foot of the bed, watching her undulate her hips and slide her fingers in and out of her trembling, pink-rimmed vaginal hole. "Now you know Lonnie Carmel well enough so she trusts you. Well, get her drunk tonight or something, and into bed with somebody."
"Who?" Cylvia asked petulantly. She stretched out her leg and began to stroke his thigh with her toes, waggling her big toe upwards so she could reach the fleshy pole of his cock. "Who'll be the man?" She watched gleefully as her strokings made her husband shudder. He never could stay away for long…
"I don't care. Pick any one out of the swap group." He stopped, and then a wicked leer parted his lips. "No… no, get Sam Zeigler to be the straight man for Lonnie. Call him up after I leave and set it up, maybe at his club. After all," he said with a snicker, "he's got a vested interest in seeing that this ploy works."
"And he likes innocent, unwilling cunt," Cylvia said, "tons of it. He's almost as insatiable as you are, my love, when it comes to fucking."
As she spoke, she moved her buttocks down the bed so that she could once more seize his palpitating penis. She stroked it with her fingers as before, and before he was able to fend her off, she rose and pressed her lithe, tiger body against his, forcing him back in a prone position across the with of the bed.
"Damn it, Cylvia, I'm trying to tell you what you've got to do before my plane leaves. I…" Oliss paused as his wife trailed her soft, moist lips along the side of his neck, into the hollow of his throat, down along his bronze chest. She nuzzled the rigid tips of his male nipples, rolling her tongue back and forth across one and then the other. Finally she let her mouth roam down across the girth of his large, well-muscled stomach. Oliss groaned at her expert ministrations, and involuntarily thrust his hips up toward her. She scratched his cock lightly with her fingernails and over his testicles, reaching under his trembling body to probe briefly the puckered ring of his anus…
"The plan," Oliss continued weakly. "We… have to talk… about what… to do with… Jennifer."
Cylvia smiled wryly as she looked up for a moment with half-lidded eyes. "Don't worry about a thing, lover. I'll speak to Tamera when she gets home from school. I think she mentioned that Vic was taking her to one of those pot parties. And you know what happens at them."
Oliss knew; the teen age pot parties were almost as wild and debauched as the adult wife-swapping get-togethers. He still couldn't comprehend at what those kids did. Why at their tender age, he barely had learned that his cock was to piss out of, much besides how to stick it in a girl. Of course, when he had learned…
Cylvia was on all fours now, her mouth hovering over his erect penis. Then her warm lips closed over it, malting it throb with sensitivity. He lifted his head, unable to break away from the suckings, and he was all the more excited as he watched his wife bury his penis between her ovally pursed lips.
"Go-wa, go-wa on-a," she murmured around his cock as she plunged her head up and down in an oral simulation of a warm clasping cunt. At the same time she twirled her tongue around the moist stickiness of its blood-engorged head.
"Uuuuhhh," he panted. "You bitch, you Goddamned bitch… you… know I can't… go on." He gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain on the subject. "C-call me at the El Mecca Motel when… when you've… got her and… and her daughter screwing. I… I've got to plan my end of things from that time on… on… uhhhhh." Damn it, she'd won again, Oliss thought fuzzily, capitulating to the prurient sensations of her mouth and fingers. She always won, always got her way sexually, and she knew all the tricks in the book and some not written yet. "Ahhhhh," he panted. "If I miss my plane…"
Oliss lay back and shut his eyes and pretended that it was the pretty Lonnie Carmel sucking his penis. That it was Lonnie's – or better yet, that it was Jennifer's lipstick-lined mouth puckering as she sawed up and down. Well, if he had his way it would be one of these days. He'd shoot his load of cum deep into the throats of Roger Carmel's wife and daughter, first one and then the other of the females… and they'd love it…
"Suck me, Cylvia," Oliss urged. "Suck, suck, suck my cock!"
The blonde wife slaved above his loins, her body glistening from postules of lust sweat. The pressure grew and grew in her husband's testicles, and he arched his buttocks and strove hard against her face, feeling his curly pubic hair graze her chin and cheeks but not hearing the slightest whimper of protest. His final release of semen boiled inside him, building like a crazy whirling dervish toward its moment of ejaculation. His scrotum tightened…
And then…
Oliss felt the eruption as the first stream of white-hot fire leapt along the passage of his jerking cock. He gasped, his lips pulling back across his teeth. His penis pulsed and flooded without warning Cylvia's maddingly sucking mouth. The burning seed bloated her cheeks until she was forced to concentrate on swallowing rather them milking, and all the while she mewled and crooned and tickled his pounding balls with the tips of her fingers. With one last earth-shattering groan, Oliss emptied the last of his cum, and his penis started to deflate.
Cylvia kept on sucking, and then his cock slipped from between her lips, clean of every drop of his orgasm. Her belly felt warm and filled and she smiled like a contented feline after feeding itself to capacity. She lay with her head on his thigh, nibbling gently on the limp, useless penis in front of her. She had the suspicion as her own unfulfillment started gnawing at her insides, that if they made the plane, it was going to be by the skin of their teeth. She hoped that the plane might be delayed somehow. There was still a long and delicious interlude ahead of them, and the rising moisture in her thighs told her it was about to begin. She smiled silently to herself in anticipation.