Roger Carmel slumped dejectedly at his desk. The papers in front of him were all a blur to him, their words and diagrams so much confused jumbles of print before his weary, agonized eyes. He hadn't slept well the previous night; hadn't really been to sleep at all, in fact, for too much preyed on his mind, too much kept eating at him, and his infrequent dozings had been more light, dream-filled slumbers between his tossing and turnings.
Martin Oliss had implanted a bomb in Carmel's brain, a ticking time-bomb of dread and agony and suspicion which Carmel would have almost preferred having it explode and get it over with. As it was, he was tortured by the passage of time before Oliss' private detective either confirmed or denied whether Carmel's wife, Lonnie, had fallen into the clutches of this blackmailing Lothario Oliss' own wife had become prey to this evil perverter, whoever he was, and it had taken Martin a great deal of courage to admit the defiliation of his home and marriage – and Carmel was sure that the only reason he had finally broken down in the El Mecca lounge last night and told him anything was because Martin Oliss held the terrible secret that more than just Cylvia was involved, that now Lonnie was also part of the vile plot to corrupt and destroy Roger Carmel.
And Roger had absolutely no idea how he was going to handle the threat if and when the blackmailer came to see him, as he had Oliss. No plan of action, negative or positive, in defiance or in acceptance, had come to the miserable vice-president all of last night or this morning. He was stymied, thoroughly confused and wretched, unable to fathom the situation, much less how to handle it. The whole affair was so damned alien to him – so utterly foreign to anything that he'd ever had to encounter before in his entire life! All his whirling mind could dwell upon was the sordid, despicable picture of his wife, his lovely, black-haired loving wife and mother of his beautiful child, in the arms and bed of another man.
His brain had continually swirled with lewd pictures of Lonnie and the animal-like unknown lover… his wife's curvaceous and alabaster naked body displayed abandonedly before him, her svelte, tapered legs spread and her rich, warm, moist thighs pulsing, her once sacrosanct vagina and breasts maddened and demanding, the unquenchable fires of her lust making her cunt spasm with excitement as her lover hovered over her… the pagan debaucher was a faceless lover, for all that Carmel envisioned was his hard, erect, blood pounding cock standing out from his loins, his sac of sperm bloated testicles swinging down between his once faithful wife's open thighs as she ground her squirming buttocks up and reached out to grasp his great throbbing penis and lead it to ward her soft pink-rimmed pussy lips… and then the wet sluicing sound as the no-name man wormed his virile cock inside the quivering bearded mouth between her widespread legs, her cuntal tunnel clasping it with its own volition… The deep throbbing… the incoherent babblings as his desire-convulsed body reached for the magical apex of her climax… and then the lewd cascading of their subsequent cummings… and the pool of the man's white hot semen pooling in his wife's belly, mingling with her own sexual secretions…
With a piteous moan, Roger Carmel sunk his head to the desk, once more overcome by his lurid, treacherous vision, more vivid in his imagination than if he was actually there, seeing it all… and the horrible part, the thing that really made him feel sick, was that he wasn't sure he had reason to think such depravities. Oliss had emphasized last night and this morning over breakfast, that he could be wrong. The detective could have made a mistake… it was too soon to tell… wait and the phone call will tell all. So Roger, unable to stop the suspicions running rampant through his mind, was doubly damned for he could be doing his sweet young wife an injustice, a terrible slap against her purity.
But the thoughts just wouldn't go away – as Oliss well knew and had counted on. Carmel fought back the waves of nausea, ashamed at him self for being so weak of character to allow himself to fall apart this way, of condemning his wife in his dreams before he had the evidence. He wanted a drink, two drinks, perhaps a whole bottle to help him forget. He'd become quite drunk last night, but not drunk enough… and today it was plain impossible to do any work. Not until this matter was cleared up one way or another. Thankfully, today was Saturday, and the factory was only open until noon. He would spend the afternoon by himself and get thoroughly drunk, so damned drunk that the lashing, whip-like images in his mind would go away…
A knock on the open door of his office brought him upright. He saw a girl standing in the door way, the secretary to Larson, the personnel manager. He didn't know the girl's name, wasn't especially interested at that particularly moment, and said in a brusque manner, "Yes? What do you want?"
Kim Copeland smiled tentatively. Demurely she clasped her hands in front of her clinging blue shift, and in a small, hesitant voice, she said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carmel, but…"
"Well? I'm very busy," Carmel snapped.
You son of a bitch, you're going to pay for this. Kim's brain looked at the muscular, handsome man who was frowning at her, and she felt the blood boil in her. Kim knew the best way of worming her way into the soft underbelly of a naive and preoccupied man like Roger Carmel, and long practice she judged that this was not the time to be seductive, bewitching, alluring; that was for later, after he had become friendly with her and his guard was down, and perhaps a couple of drinks was warming his stomach and dulling his thoughts. Now she had to be all sweetness and angelic helplessness, and although inside her beat the heart of a carnivorous feline, outwardly she trembled like the mousiest of retiring people.
As shy as she seemed to Roger, she still couldn't hide the fact that she was a beautiful sensual woman. She was proud of the thick coils of burnished copper hair, her soft, small hands and smooth white shoulders, of her ripe, up-lifted breasts and her large, round green eyes with their luminescent flecks of gold.
"Gee, Mr. Carmel, I didn't mean to…" She blinked her eyes sadly.
Carmel felt sudden pangs of guilt. For Christ's sake, pull yourself together! No reason to jump all over this nice, lovely girl… My problems don't have anything to do with her, and she's only trying to do her job. Roger had no way of knowing that her attitude and his reaction was exactly that – part of her job, the job that she was doing for Zeigler. He said in a contrite voice, "I'm sorry, Miss… ah."
"Copeland," she replied eagerly and stepped into his office. "Everybody calls me Kim, though. That's short for Kimberly."
Carmel managed to smile. "All right, Kim, what can I do for you?"
Hooked. The sucker is as gaffed as a salmon… "I came to tell you that your friend, Mr. Oliss, has already left the plant. He asked me to tell you that he won't be able to see you this afternoon." True enough… after I called that silly fool and told him Carmel was unable to meet with him. Kim rubbed her hands nervously. "I… I could have called you on the intercom to tell you but, well…" She lowered her eyes, as if afraid to continue.
Now I've frightened the wits out of her. Look at her shake! "Come on, Kim," Roger said softly. "But what? Don't worry, I won't bite."
"It was just that… that my car broke down, and… and if, if you were going to your motel in a little while…" She let the suggestion dangle.
"You want a ride home, is that it?"
"Oh, could you, Mr. Carmel? I'd be so grateful. It isn't far from the El Mecca, and otherwise, I'd have to take a taxi, and they're so expensive, and…"
Roger held up his hand, cutting off her explanations. "Of course I can, Kim. I'd be glad to." Least I call do to make up for the bastard way I first treated her. "Let's see," he said, "It's nearly eleven-thirty now. Do you get off at twelve?"
"Well, to be honest," she said, smoothing her dress front, seemingly unconscious of the way the thin material clung to her rounded thighs and dipped into the hollow of her pussy, "I can leave anytime you're ready, Mr. Carmel. My work is finished and Mr. Larson didn't even come in today."
"In that case, get your coat and your purse, and we'll go right now." Carmel was glad for the excuse to leave.
He stood, smiling. "And for heaven's sake, if I'm going to call you Kim, then you should call me Roger. Okay?"
"You know the rules about being too familiar with executives, Mr. Carmel – Roger," Kim said coyly, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. "I wouldn't want anybody to hear me call you by your first name."
"Nonsense," Roger said expansively. "I'll take full responsibility. Besides, as of right now, we're both off work. Right?"
"Right!" And Kim Copeland left with a swirl of her dress and a brief flash of her lovely, slim legs.
The Chevrolet which Roger had rented at the airport was a large, two-door business Impala which almost steered itself as Roger cruised through the downtown Kirsten traffic. For a small town, it sure had enough people, he thought as a car cut him off, making him swerve into the next lane, but then this was Saturday and all the locals would be shopping, he supposed. Kim Copeland was thrown against him, and she gasped with a startled cry as the softness of her breasts brushed against Roger's shoulder. Her touch made him acutely aware of her presence, more than all of the laughing and pleasant conversation they'd indulged in since leaving the Skopos plant. Kim, he had found, was a smart, sparkling woman, and the rapport between him and her was easily established. He realized in that sudden moment of physical contact that she had allowed him to forget his deep-set troubles, and for those few minutes of grace, he was eternally grateful to her. The lurid green-with-jealousy mental picture of his wife being fucked senseless by another man became more remote as the miles passed, and by the time he parked in front of her apartment house, he was almost sad to see her leave him.
Nothing sexual, he hurriedly told himself. Nothing like that at all. Just because Lonnie was – he snapped the sick reverie as a hot coal began to burn once more in his belly. He turned to the stunning beauty of Kim Copeland and felt the tingle of her provocative physical aura and the relief from his bitter depression. He said: "Well, this is it, Kim. Glad I could be of service."
"Won't you come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked, her wide eyes dispelling any salacious intentions such an invitation might arouse. Roger felt torn between the natural hesitation of a married man to be alone with so alluring a female as Kim and the reluctance to once more be alone. She purred through her slightly moistened lips, "Or a drink? It's a little of that old Indian Summer today, and sort of hot. I could use a gin-and tonic, and I don't like drinking alone."
She placed a friendly, warm hand on his leg – not too low, nor so high as to warn him, scare him off, just at the place mid-leg where a hand might touch innocently. But Roger felt her electric contact, and his mouth went dry. "I… I really don't know if I should."
"Do you have anything planned for right now?"
"Well, no, not really. I…" he looked at her, weakening, and bit his lip. "I don't know if it would be right, that's all."
Kim laughed lightly, like a spring nymph enjoying the morning dew. "Oh, you men, always thinking about your wives!" She chuckled again with a lilting, teasing manner. She moved like a lithe cat, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her dress. "As you told me, Roger, I won't bite."
The reference to his wife, if only in a passing, allegorical way, made Roger jerk on the car seat. His heart trip-hammered. "What about my wife?" he said in a halting voice.
"Nothing, Roger," Kim said innocently. "It's just that so many nice men like you place their wives in ivory towers, and stop considering them flesh and blood. Sometimes," she added with a rueful almost ironic smirk, "it can be a rude awakening."
How true. How Goddamned true, Roger glumly thought. Kim hit the nail on the head. And what the devil, why shouldn't he go up and have a drink with this delightful, young woman? Surely no harm would be done… certainly nothing like the harm his own black-haired bitch of a wife was doing to him. If she was, he had to keep reminding himself, if she was…
"All right, you convinced me, Kim," he said, and his heart suddenly felt free, for in the sixteen years of marriage he hadn't so much as looked at another woman much less been with one alone and socially.
It was just like Kim said, he had placed his wife in the realm of the Gods, and she wasn't. His entire concentration on Lonnie had been unrealistic, and now that there was the possibility that she didn't consider her husband as the be-all and end-all of creation, and was unfaithful to his dream-like image of her. His ivory tower of devotion was crumbling rapidly now that its inherently impractical, sand-like foundation had been cracked by Oliss' lewd and evil lies. And Kim Copeland, amoral whore that she was, had been tipped to this by Zeigler, and with callous disregard or sympathy, started the final razing of Roger Carmel's idyllic world, coldly and calculatingly using her feminine and lurid wiles with all the effectiveness of a master game player. Roger Carmel never really had a chance.
Her apartment was facing the rear garden on the third floor, and was a spacious and attractive one-bedroom flat. Roger was a little surprised that a secretary could afford the obviously fine quality of Danish modern furniture and hand-rubbed walnut lamps and fine prints on the walls. There was a heady scent of musky perfume in the air – not unusual for a woman's apartment, but it nevertheless tickled Roger's nostrils, making him quiver with unexplained lightheadedness. He grinned as he sat down on the comfortable couch, thinking of candle-light and old crystal decanters and violins. Hell, there was no use denying it, for all of Kim's apparent shyness, she was a very sensual, very passionate woman. Her modesty was all the more appealing to him, for that meant she wasn't just a promiscuous bitch in heat, but considered the men in her life as important and desirable for their minds and affections as their prowess in bed.
May God! Stop thus kind of lewd thinking! Roger felt ashamed as Kim talked innocently from the kitchen while making the drinks. How wrong he was about her character never entered his head; the setting, the actions the whole web she had designed to lure and capture were too cleverly done; the stage backdrop was authentic, only the woman who starred in the leading role wasn't. Roger chastised himself for harboring lewd thoughts about Kim Copeland's love life – for all he knew she was a virgin. Hell, the next thing he knew, he'd be getting half-way romantic intentions about her, and just because she invited him up for a drink certainly didn't give him the right to entertain overheated and wicked notions. The shock of realizing that he was contemplating what she would be like in bed was enough to scare him…
"I see you made yourself comfortable, Roger," Kim said, walking in from the kitchen with two full glasses. "Slip off your shoes if you want."
"Oh… no, no this is fine," he replied and took the proffered glass. "Mmmm," he said after tasting the gin and tonic.
"You like? I make them strong, because that's the way I like them."
"Excellent, Kim." He looked around the apartment in obvious appreciation. "You certainly have a fine place here."
"Thanks to my husband," she said with a touch of girlish sarcasm. "He left me flat, with no money and no warning. All I had after he skipped was what you see here." A complete fabrication – she'd never married any of the men she'd lived with.
"You were married?" he asked inanely.
"Too long," she replied. "And never again. Couples lie to each other more than strangers do, I think."
Her comment raised the intangible devil of Lonnie again, sweetly cooing her affection for her husband, while Roger was kept blissfully unaware of her adulterous relations while he was gone. He shook his head and drank heavily. Well, one thing was clear; Kim was no virgin, not having been married, and Roger bet mentally that this sweet young secretary-divorcee was one holy terror in bed. Just watching how she walked and smiled and smelled was irrefutable testimony to that…
"Excuse me, will you, Roger?" Kim asked, jumping up. "I want to get cleaned up and out of this old stuffy work dress. Do you mind!"
"No… no, of course not…" Roger blinked, for her "old work dress" was anything but stuffy – not with that second skin look it had as it clung to her voluptuous young body, and the way it stretched around her firm pointed breasts and ripe thighs. But he knew how women love to get rid of the reminders that they have to work; when Lonnie had been a salesgirl in a local department store during their first, poverty-stricken years of marriage, she'd been the same way.
Kim kept the door of her bedroom open so that she could continue to talk to Roger as she changed. He could hear the zip as she took her dress off, and he quickly drowned his imagination of her standing naked in there, a few feet away, by swallowing his gin and tonic. He looked down at his glass again, embarrassed. How stupid he'd feel if the lovely girl in the next room knew he was thinking such things? He drained his glass, and as the gin swirled in his stomach and fused through his blood, a strange confidence that he'd never possessed before seeped through him. He was a man, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he be excited by the lascivious thoughts of a pretty young girl naked?
Across from him, between the living room and the bedroom, was a narrow door, which Roger subconsciously assumed was for a closet. It was – in a way. A special closet in which a man sat in darkness, between two windows, both two-way mirrors. On the living room side the mirror was an ornate framed decorative piece which matched a credenza and small table next to it. The man, named Harry Saunders, was not looking out into the living room through the two-way glass; he was busily watching through the other mirror, into the bedroom. On the bedroom side the glass was the dresser mirror, canted at a slight angle so that it overlooked the full expanse of the double bed. The man was moistening his parched lips and trying to stop the heavy sound of his breathing, for in the clear glass was the lovely and lust-enticing sight of Kim Copeland dropping her simple blue sheath on the floor. He felt a jerk in his pants as his cock began to throb with desire, and kept his beady eyes leveled on her beautiful body as she moved slowly around the bedroom, fully aware he was there, for she had hired him and put him in the closet and told him to be ready with his camera for another job of blackmail. He'd done this kind of work for her and some of her other whore friends before, and did it well – his fee was moderate, and all he asked was the added bonus of fucking them when the sucker left. His testicles ached with the lewd thought that in a couple of hours he was going to possess that desirable, soft young cunt as he had many times in the past. She was one piece of ass he had never grown tired of!
Saunders felt another slight jump under his pants, his prick hardening as Kim turned from the mirror and bent over to pick up her dress from the floor. The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing view, and she couldn't have been more than three feet from him, and she gave the camera man a full, unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm full thighs as they tightened into her vagina as she bent over. He watched her with bated breath as then she stripped them off along with her bra and stood running her hands up and down her satiny smooth skin, cupping her firm, molded breasts for a moment, then dropping down to rub her soft pubic hair and tease her pink-edged vaginal slit before opening a dresser drawer and selecting a pair of sun shorts and halter. He almost groaned as she slipped the tight clothing on, looked around once, winked directly at him, and stepped freshly into the living room.
Saunders quickly moved around in his stool, saliva forming at the corners of his pudgy mouth. Old Zeigler was going to get a set of photos, by damned; one hell of a hot set – for Kim was in rare form today, and when she got like this she could fuck a man to death! Saunders didn't know why Zeigler wanted the pictures, or who the sucker in the living room was but he knew that when they got down to nakedly writhing on the couch or in bed, he was going to have his hands full snapping the shutter of his camera.
Roger Carmel was stunned by Kim Copeland's change into "something more comfortable". She wore short-shorts of bright red, so tight that her pubic mound and its teasing little cuntal cleft was impressed on the cloth between her white thighs. Her long, statuesque legs, bronzed from the sun of Nevada, were bare and curvaceous, and her belly was just as tanned and nude between the band of her shorts and her strained halter. Her breasts quivered, barely concealed by the thin halter, and Roger could almost make out her nipples. Her sparkling green eyes sparkled vivaciously and with a hint of fire.
She moved panther-like to the couch. "You finished your drink. I'll make you another." She seemed to catch his wide-eyed stare for the first time. "What's the matter, Roger? I plan to go out and suntan after you leave. I hope this isn't too much for you." She smiled slyly as she undulated toward the kitchen. "Don't forget, I won't eat you."
She didn't add the word she was thinking: "Yet."
Before he could protest, Kim she was back out of the kitchen, gin bottle in hand, glasses full of ice and tonic. "I thought it would be better if we made them out here from now on, don't you?" She didn't wait for his strangled reply, but sat down very close to him and crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, tightening the material of her shorts until the pulsating slit of her pussy was sharply defined, and as she mixed his drink and handed it back to him, she leaned forward so that a good deal of her creamy, globular breasts were exposed to him – with just the bare hint of her ruby colored and rock hard nipples. He felt a flush creep up his neck. Yet he was unable to take his eyes off her provocative lushness. Like it had a life of its own, his cock gave a tentative spasm against his underpants, and his testicles contracted with a lewd spark of excitement. Quickly he took a long pull on his gin and tonic.
Kim chuckled to herself, knowing the effect that Roger Carmel's emotional upheaval was having on his normally cautious, unassailable character as well as the liquor. Drinking when under the mental anguish which was wracking Roger, always hit the mind harder and faster than at other times, when a person was relaxed, as Kim knew from her experiences with married men with marital problems. She drank from her glass, savoring the juniper taste of the gin and the bitterness of the tonic; alcohol increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could control herself if she was so inclined; now that she was with Roger Carmel.
Yes, she mused, Mr. Roger Carmel was hers, no mistake about that, even if he didn't know about it yet. She felt the initial droplets of her lubricants begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her vagina as she considered what would be taking place within the next hour. Brother, was she going to have this guy fuck her… it would be one fuck he'd never forget!
Roger felt a warm lethargy overtake him as he drank his third gin and tonic. The quickly swallowed drinks were doing exactly what he had hoped the liquor would do – help him forget his troubles, and if he got drunk, all the better as far as he was concerned. And of course it wasn't every day that a man had the opportunity to get looped with a young vivacious girl as lovely and sensual as Kim Copeland. She was really some thing, he thought admiringly. How could any husband ever leave her? She exuded pure animal sex dressed in that tiny halter and shorts; a sudden change from the demure secretary to a teasing, alluring woman of the flesh, with a miasma of sexual fire encompassing her as she walked, talked, breathed…
What he'd like to do right now, right this very minute if he wasn't married, was to take Kim in his arms and kiss her, touch her firm, proud breasts… oh, nothing more than that, he hastily added to his thoughts; he wouldn't fuck her or anything – but God she was so damned desirable, so… so damned hot-looking! He moistened his lips with the cool liquid of his drink, already mentally kissing her soft, coral lips, caressing her vibrating white breasts and tweaking the pink rimmed nipples he could almost see…
Roger's lust-provoked cock spasmed with hunger and strained for release against his restraining band of cloth. He tried to banish the lecherous thoughts which were overheating his mind, but in spite of his anguish, his rigid penis remained hard and blood swollen. His eyes went to Kim's face… In turn, the provocative, lurid little prostitute lowered her eyes and focused on the bulge at Roger's loins. She grinned again, this time more forcefully. "You like me," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I can tell."
"I… well, that is…" Roger stammered, knowing instantly what she was referring to: the unquenchable erection burning his pants.
Kim laughed throatily. Now it was time to be the feline, now was the time to cast aside her chaffing role of the modest secretary and become the uncontrolled hedonist, the lover of passion and sex. "Don't be ashamed of your hard-on, Roger. I've been married, remember? I know how it is with a man."
"Kim, I'm sorry. Really I am. I better leave."
"No! Don't!" she demanded in a husky voice, her mouth and eyes so close to Roger's face. "You think that just because we girls don't have penises, we don't get excited? We show it differently, and maybe not so obviously as your stiff cock…"
"Kim!" Roger gasped, shocked at the lewd words.
"Cock, Roger. You have a big hard cock, and it's because you want to fuck me, isn't it? That's why you're breathing as hard as I am and squirming in your seat and are all red in the face. You want to take your clothes off and fuck me!"
"Oh, God!" Roger groaned, gasping for air like a stranded fish. His penis was palpitating wildly, and his brain reeled with the heady combination of gin and sex. Had he heard her correctly? Had this sweet, publicly modest secretary been telling him that he was wanting to fuck her with his cock? And what was the matter with him? He was thinking the same filthy words! Lord, his testicles were aching with the pressure of his sperm as if he really was that crude and debased as to take advantage of her. Didn't she know what her obscene use of the words were doing to him? He took another swallow of his never-empty drink and found that he could hardly hold the glass in his trembling hand. He must leave… get out before they were both sorry for what he might do in a sudden impulsive move. But he was rooted to the couch.
Kim leaned closer, her breath a white-hot fire brand on his cheeks and she touched his thigh lightly, her fingertips seething with desire, searing the cloth. "I can tell you're married, Roger. What's your wife like?"
Roger was taken aback for a moment. What was there to say about himself and Lonnie? What could he tell this teasing vixen about how he suspected his wife of cheating on him, of letting another man fuck her… Before he could gather the semblance of a reply, Kim went on. "It doesn't matter, Roger," she said, "but I can tell by the way you reacted that you've got problems at home. It your wife untrue to you or just no good in bed?"
"Lonnie's a very capable sex partner," Roger said, stiffly.
"Then it must be my first guess. She's being very capable with somebody else." Kim shrugged, her breasts in marvelous profile. "Join my club Roger, honey. My husband was fucking around on me all the time, too." She was almost nuzzling his cheek now, and her voice was sugar in his fevered ears. "We've both been lashed by the same whip. So let's lash back and have a little fun in the bargain."
"Kim… for God's sake!"
"You want to fuck me… and I want you to, only I don't have a big cock to get hard to show you. I just have to show you anyway I can!" Her breasts pressed hotly, softly against his arm and her lips found his jaw line and traced a pattern upward along his cheek, leaving a trail of molten fire along his skin. She let her hand on his thigh slide up higher…
Until she touched the throbbing bulge of his penis.
Roger almost leapt off the couch in convulsive reaction. Kim stroked his encased but sensitive penis, and though he tried to pull back, she was sliding closer, increasing the rhythm of her strokings. Guilt welled up in Roger, engulfed him in a wave of nausea at what was about to transpire, and he tore himself free, standing up and trying to control his trembling, nerve-blistered emotions.
"What's the matter, Roger?" Kim asked casually, standing beside him, slipping her hands over him and running freely over his lithe, rippling flesh. "Attack of the conscience? Thinking of your wife?"
"Yes – yes," Roger managed, averting his eyes from her lustful figure. "What we were going to do is wrong, Kim. It was crazy, and… all wrong."
"I don't think so," she purred. "If your wife is fucking around on you, why can't you fuck a girl if you want to? And she's willing? Like I'm willing to let you. Willing? Christ, I've got to have you! I want your big, hard cock fucking up inside my cunt, Roger." Her lewd salaciousness seared a path of lust across Roger's mind.
"I love my wife," he moaned.
"Sure you do. And you'll go home to her and be very happy. But that doesn't have anything to do with her, with now, with fucking."
Roger's heart hammered violently in his chest and his prick was granite hard and seeping hot smears of his male seminal fluids. In gathering panic he told himself that he had to get control of the situation, that he couldn't bear to hear any more. That no matter what, he couldn't do it! No matter what Lonnie was doing, he wasn't justified in fucking this woman, as hot and lustful and desiring as Kim was…
Kim's voice whispered huskily from behind him. "Roger, honey…"
He turned, gathering his courage to say what had to be said, but when he saw her the words froze in his throat. She stood before him, completely nude. She had unhooked her halter and stepped out of her brief shorts, and the clothing made a brilliant puddle at her bare feet. She stood with her legs spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, and her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, bronzed hips. She was smiling at his shocked expression, her teeth slightly bared and the pink, wet tip of her tongue showing. The moist, petal-like lips of her now naked vagina were presented in all their pink-tinged loveliness, and the soft light of the apartment splashed across the perfectly round, white breasts which jutted from her like inviting, ruby-crested mountain peaks.
"Well, lover? What do you have to say now?"
He couldn't speak, only stare at her lewd, wanton pose – and his cock returned to its maddening pulsations in his pants. He was transfixed, captured totally by the strange, fascinating allure of this purely sex-oriented female in front of him and the absolutely lustful sensuality of the scene he was part of.
Kim slid her fingers, slowly, teasingly, down from her hips, her hand grazing her soft resilient pubic hair and the wet, glistening slit between her thighs. She began to stroke her thin, young vaginal slit, baring her writhing clitoris, and stroked her whole helplessly contracting cuntal channel, sending rivulets of her sexually aroused lubrications to dampen her white inner thighs.
"I want you to fuck me Roger," she crooned in cadence to her rubbing fingers. "I want you to put that wonderful male cock in my pussy and fuck me until I scream… and then I'll suck your cock if you want… I'll milk your balls dry of all the delicious white cum you've got building in them. I want…" On and on she intoned and her words were perverted obscenities which made Roger more frenzied than ever. Her fingers in the gaping crevice of her wet, pink cunt excited him to a peak he'd never known existed. As much as Lonnie loved sex, loved to have him fuck her… she never once allowed herself to be so completely abandoned, so void of modesty or shyness. She never said such things, never stood before him in depraved splendor and played with her female genitals. Never!
"I can't help myself," Kim moaned objectly. "You're too much a man for me… and it's been so long, so damned long…" She trembled and her eyes clenched shut and hot breath hissed through her clenched teeth. "Ohhhh, how can you stand there and not want me? What more do I have to do? Please… tell me you want to fuck me…"
Her last appeal, couched in the kind of girlish innocence which drove him wild, was far more exciting than a blatant, crude splash of sex from an over-experienced harridan. He saw Kim without a husband to soothe her inner cravings, as being driven to embarrassing and almost hysterical actions, and not realizing that he was the victim of a finely-tuned act on her part to use all of his emotional aspect, put out his heart to the girl and cried: "Yes, Kim, yes I want to fuck you!"
"How!" she mewled, almost staggering from the whipping of her hand in her open, lust spasming, wet cunt. "Tell me how!"
"Deep! Deep and hard like you've never been fucked before!"
"Oh, God, Roger," she moaned. "Let's go in the bedroom and you get naked too before I die!"
A self-consciousness stole over Roger as he dropped his pants and shirt, removed his shoes and socks and then slowly drew down his under pants while all the time Kim Copeland lay on her double bed, her eyes riveted on his loins. As his rigid, frenzied penis stood out, she watched the blood-filled head for a moment and moaned: "I love your cock, Roger. I know it's going to feel good fucking up inside me and twisting deep in my cunt. Oh, God, hurry! Hurry!"
He lay down on the bed beside her, dragging her over him with his arms, and moved one hand down to cup one smooth, white, quivering buttock. Her body was warm and soft against him, and as she raised her face to his and they kissed, their lips locked together tightly and her hand searched down between their bellies and closed around his rigid, swollen cock, making Roger gasp. Kim crushed the whole length of her naked flesh against him and her lips were yielding and yet at the same time demanding, and she ground her pelvis into him until spasmodic chills were racing up and down his spine. Then she twisted and pulled him over her, opening her lovely, glistening white thighs wide so that he could plunge his penis between them and take her…
Harry Samuels sat behind the mirror and clicked his expensive German camera, catching breasts and cock and balls and the splayed wet pink slit in a series of color stills. He felt a slight twinge of jealously as he sighted on their passion wracked faces, and groaned with the desire to be there, on top of her, instead of that man. His own cock burgeoned with hardness and blood-lust as the two naked bodies struggled on the bed, and small beads of sweat broke out on Samuels' forehead as he watched another man about to fuck the beautiful insatiably lascivious young girl…
Kim's hand was still around Roger's throbbing penis, and she guided it between the lips of her hot, desire-moistened vagina while he undulated his loins against her thighs in a slowly teasing rhythm. She moved his cock up and down between the pink lips of her pulsing cunt, parting her soft, wet pussy with his blood-filled, searching cock-head, and her pubic hairs grazed lightly against his sensitive skin, forcing the shaft to greater hardness until it ached excruciatingly. He couldn't hold back any longer; he'd been tantalized to the limit of his endurance – he flicked his hips forward and with a cruel thrust drove his erect penis into the gaping mouth of her defensively clenching pussy, and plummeted his thick, tender shaft up her cunt to the full depth of her quivering belly. Her spasming vaginal orifice was warm and tight around his rigid member, and then as he stroked in and out with powerful surges, lubricating wetness of the passage surrounded it, and his balls slapped hard against the rounded cheeks of her ass when finally he hit bottom.
"Oh, Roger… honey, you feel sooo gooood!" Kim whispered, then smashed her lips against him and writhed the flatness of her belly up against him. Her nails trailed across his back, leaving small red welts in their path, and he in turn pushed his hands back and cupped her resilient, full buttocks in his palms and pulled her open crotch tighter to his expanding cock. He moved harder and faster, insinuating the hardness of his total length inside her widespread slit, sensing her increasing excitement and voluntary response with each passing second. Her hips and thighs rotated desperately against his loins, and she raised her slender legs and locked them tightly around his body, her calves pulling him inside her still more.
Goddamn, he's fucking the hot little bitch good! Harry Saunders grinned as he snapped more pictures as Roger Carmel's lust-hardened cock disappeared to its hilt between the lovely young girl's widespread thighs. An obscene thrill coursed through the photographer, and a half-cruel smile crossed his face as he wondered just what Sam Zeigler's price was going to be, what amount he was going to extract from that writhing, heaving man who was fucking Kim so maddeningly. Zeigler always got his pound of flesh, one way or another, and he must have had a real fine reason behind all of this elaborate set-up. He hoped the man appreciated the truly talented screwing he was getting, because Saunders knew intuitively that it was going to cost him plenty in the near future.
Roger Carmel was no longer the chief engineer and vice-president of Skopos, or the inventor of the miniscopos VTR, or the husband of his lovely wife, Lonnie. He was a wild, untamed beast, tasting sex for its own pure sake for the first time in his married life, the prurience of this immoral, lewd affair was driving him out of his mind, and his body strove to superhuman efforts as he worked to bring him and this animal of woman under him to magical crests of orgasm. He ground his loins into the squirming mass of flesh as Kim strained back, arching her back up and lifting her buttocks inches off the squeaking mattress. She moaned incoherently beneath his pounding cock, chanting the song of intercourse as old as the world itself, and her legs opened and closed convulsively around his strongly pumping thighs, her mouth gaped open, and her head flailed from side to side. Nobody ever accused Kim Copeland of not enjoying her work.
"Oh, God, yes! Yes! Make me scream, honey! Shove your finger in my ass! Damnit it, do it, do it! Make me scream!"
Roger reached between her rhythmically pumping buttocks as he drove his cock into the wetness of her smoothly grinding cunt and stretched the crevice of her ass wider, searching for the tiny puckered ring of her anus with his middle finder. He found it – and a small trickle of warm moisture running from the clasping warm fleshy glove of her vagina lubricating the sphincter muscle making his probe easier. He pushed against Kim's anus, felt it resist elastically, then with a little pop the nether ring opened, and he wormed his middle finger up to its first joint. Kim jumped forward, almost crawling on her back across the bed from the sudden impalement.
"AAAaaaahhhh! It hurts! Yes! That's it! Ohhh, it's so damned good!" She screwed her buttocks back on his finger in spite of the pain until his palm was flat against her mildly jiggling buttocks. He rotated his finger inside her rectum, and could feel through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages the underside of his cock as he fucked in and out of her. She opened her legs wider to give him still more access to her ravished cunt and anus.
Roger could feel his penis expand inside her until he was sure his throbbing hard rod was going to burst from the exquisite pleasure billowing in his testicles. He began ramming her with longer, harder strokes, his finger skewering her rectum to excite her more, and he could tell that she was near her climax as she gripped him tightly and gurgled deep in her throat from her abandoned spiraling to orgasm, and he continued to mercilessly thrust with all his might.
Jesus, look at her go, Harry Saunders thought in lascivious fascination as he watched the lithely beautiful girl racing for her climax under the wildly fucking body of the stranger – look at that hot little bitch go! No wonder she's popular with so many guys! And she was going to let him ride her that same way in a little while, and at the thought of himself ramming his cock between those long, slim legs, he wished that they would hurry up and cum.
"I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Kim coughed suddenly, and mumbled incoherently until the sounds bubbling from her mouth were a mass of unintelligible syllables whose meaning was only known to herself. A low banshee wail pierced through the sounds of the squeaking springs and the two panting bodies slapping sweatily together, the young girl's nostrils flared, and she pulled back her thighs until the whole of her pink, cock stretched vaginal slit was presented to Roger to batter and crush, while her stomach and breasts jerked spasmodically against his bells and chest. Then she held her breath for an interminable moment and expelled it as though hit in the gut, and her body collapsed limply onto the mattress, still save for uncontrolled quivering of her insatiable pussy which was still locked tightly around Roger's surging prick. He saw that she had reached her release and he pushed deep inside her and then lay quiet, allowing her to rest for a moment.
It was all he could do to keep from screwing her more. God, he'd never seen anything like it, never felt anything like it, before in his life! The muscles of his prick throbbed and ached deep in her belly, hoping to bring her to life again, but after long moments passed, a semblance of sanity returned as the first furious moments of sexual frenzy abated, and he knew that he should begin to feel waves of remorse and shame. But they weren't forthcoming, and strangely, he felt only like a full-blooded, virile male who had satisfied a true, sensual woman and who was still lusting for more. He felt a certain power and a much needed bolstering of masculine pride, his ego having taken a beating with lewd, horrid news that Martin Oliss had told him.
Lonnie… his lovely wife's name echoed in his mind and a small portion of Roger tried again to make the guilt of this sensual orgy with a strange girl appear, but still nothing happened, for his faith in his wife had been torn asunder by the night and morning of devilish suspicions about her potential adultery. Perhaps it would come later, he thought, after he had time to think things out, but right now, all he could do was feel the warm heat of Kim's body, smell the musk of her perfume, and soak in the permeations of their lusts.
"God," Kim said, smiling sweetly, her voice drugged with momentary satiation, "I came but you haven't yet, lover."
"I will," he breathed hard. "Another fuck like that and I'll burst my balls." The ache of his testicles throbbed hotly.
"Roll over, and I'll suck your cock instead. Would you like that?"
"Yes… oh, yes!" He pulled back, sliding both his finger and his hardened cock out of her anus and pussy. He hated to, for he was so near to shooting his load of white, hot sperm up into her belly that he didn't want to stop, but he had to let her have her way. He rolled on his back, thin trails of their sexual secretions following his rigid shaft across her lower thigh, and then he lay tense and expecting, his blood-swollen penis pointing straight up toward the ceiling. As Kim Copeland climbed up on her all-fours and bent her head over his cock and balls, her tongue moistening lips which were wide and trembling, Roger knew that this was going to be an afternoon he would not soon forget.
And behind the two-way mirror, Harry Saunders cursed the additional time before he could sink his own angry aching prick into that hot young whore on the bed, and put more film into the camera. He started clicking away as Kim's mouth slowly closed over the turgid, moist expanse of Roger Carmel's helplessly expanding cock.