The Gandydancer was Morriston's most expensive and most well-known restaurant-night club, catering to those among the population who could afford two dollars per drink during the thrice-nightly shows and boned squab at ten dollars per plate. It was plush and dark, with beautiful young cocktail waitresses in sequined halter-and-panty outfits holding forth in the lounge – and maroon-uniformed waiters hovering quietly and obsequiously in the upstairs dining salon.
At nine o'clock the following evening, at a reserved table in the restaurant balcony overlooking the dance floor and performer's dais, Cindy and Howard Jamison sat across from Ralph and Norma Taylor, sipping champagne from cut-crystal glasses. The remnants of four thick Porterhouse steaks smothered in fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with sour cream sauce, and green beans with pearl onions covered the table in front of them.
Ralph, in his usual jovial, expansive mood, raised his glass as he peered down at the performer's dais, where the orchestra was assembling and the prominent female vocalist who was featured at The Gandydancer this week was preparing for her first show of the evening. "Entertainment will be getting underway any minute now," he said. "We have time for another glass of champagne before they start. You want to do the honors, Howie?"
"Well, shouldn't we wait for one of the waiters?" Norma asked.
"Nonsense," said Ralph, smiling. "Pour the bubbly, Howie, my boy."
"Sure," Howard said, extracting the bottle of imported French champagne from the silver ice bucket at his elbow. "Glasses, everybody."
He poured the four glasses full, and then Ralph raised his high. "To you and Cindy, Howie," he toasted. "And a long life of happiness – in and out of bed." He chuckled, and Norma laughed musically at his elbow at the comment.
Howard grinned, turning to click glasses with his lovely blonde wife. Cindy, as she had been all evening, was silent and seemingly distant; she hadn't spoken five words since they'd arrived at The Gandydancer. In fact, Howard reflected, she hadn't said much of anything all day; she'd been quiet and uncommunicative at breakfast that morning, and the only time she'd really spoken to him was when he'd called from Auto Circus to tell her that Ralph and Norma were taking them out dining and dancing that night at The Gandydancer, a gesture on Ralph's part that was more or less a corollary to the gift of the Polaroid for the Jamison's third wedding anniversary.
Cindy had not wanted to go. In fact, she'd been snappish and irritable at the suggestion, saying that she didn't care to go anywhere with Ralph Taylor. Howard had immediately surmised that her reaction was on account of the pictures and the copy of the Polaroid Club News; she had obviously opened the manila envelope the night before, just as he'd planned, although she was surely not admitting the fact to him. It was only natural, he thought, that she would blame Ralph for the content of the photos – that was to be expected. So he'd carefully set about calming her down, telling her that it was important to his job at Auto Circus that they accept the Taylor's invitation, that the cultivation of Ralph was a vital factor in his plans to advance to Assistant Manager and yes, maybe even to Manager, Ralph's position, when he retired or became a board member of the firm. Cindy had come around finally at his soothing, logical words, just as he'd known she would, and agreed to come tonight. He'd thought everything would be fine, but thus far the evening hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped; she was acting like a child, sitting there and picking at her food and barely touching the expensive champagne and not joining in the conversation – and studiously avoiding Ralph's eyes across the table. He would have to have a talk with her, first chance he had to get her alone; tell her to open up a little, for God's sake, this was an important affair.
Now, he smiled at his sweetly innocent wife and touched his champagne glass to her's.
"Happy anniversary, honey – again," he said.
"Happy anniversary," she said automatically, taking a very small sip of her champagne and putting the glass down again.
Ralph said, "Ahh, that's good stuff, all right. Best they've got here and damned expensive, but what the hell? This is an occasion, eh, Cindy?"
"Yes," she said non-committedly, still not looking at him.
Norma looked at her concernedly. Her black hair was carefully coiffured tonight, and she looked radiant and sexy sitting next to her husband; to Howard, it seemed as if she somehow radiated pure animal musk, a female animal born for one reason and not complaining at the singularity of her purpose one iota. "Aren't you feeling well tonight, dear?" she asked solicitously. "I'm all right," answered Cindy distantly.
"Sure she is," agreed Ralph. "A few more glasses of bubbly and she'll be right in the spirit of things."
Anxious to get the subject of the conversation away from his wife, Howard said, "We really do appreciate this evening out on the town, Ralph. I mean, after your generosity towards us the other night…"
"The Polaroid, you mean? Why, heh heh, that was nothing at all, my boy."
"We're just glad you could make good use of it, Howie," Norma said. "I mean, taking photos of Cindy and all for your private photo album is something no husband should miss out on when he has such a lovely wife."
"That's right," enthused Ralph. "What better way to keep the ties that bind tautly bound than to take intimate little snaps of the wife for future enjoyment?" He laughed heartily.
Cindy, who had only been half-listening to the conversation going on around her before, jerked her head around to stare across the table at the Taylors. They were both smiling with elaborate innocence, and yet… hadn't she detected an under-current of personal knowledge in their words just now? Why, it was almost as if they knew about… about the risque pictures she had allowed her husband to take of her on their Anniversary!
But that couldn't be… she and Howard were the only two people who knew about those pictures, and surely he wouldn't tell anybody, least of all Ralph…
Or would he?
She looked at her husband, and Howard seemed to be as elaborately innocent as the Taylors, smiling happily. He sensed Cindy's gaze on him, and turned to beam at her, raising his glass slightly. She turned away, feeling a growing sense of anger and shame take hold of her lithe young body.
He must have told the Taylors about the photos, she thought wretchedly. But why? What possible purpose could be served in relating such an intimate, and personal fact? Howard seemed somehow different to her since that Polaroid had been given to them, as if he were up to something, as if new and strange thoughts were circulating in his head. She had sensed that this morning, after they had awakened. She had been quiet, filled with guilt, and certainly not open to conversation, that was true; but she hadn't been unobservant. She had looked at Howard over the breakfast table, and it seemed to her that he had changed somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose, and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen in them before.
Oh, God, she thought miserably, it isn't possible that Howard has… has been influenced by Ralph, is it? It isn't possible – or is it? – that Ralph with his dirty pictures and dirty newspaper has somehow managed to completely corrupt her husband? A week ago she wouldn't have thought so, but now, – with all she had seen and felt and experienced in the past few days she wasn't so sure that such a thing hadn't happened…
Sitting there, with her tormented thoughts she had the odd sinking feeling that her perfect well-ordered little world was about to come crashing down around her ears. Everything was too jovial tonight, for example, too gay and happy – as if it was the proverbial calm before the storm. She hoped against hope that she was wrong, that it was simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while looking at those filthy photographs, that was making her feel so morbid and depressed.
She hadn't had a good day at all, feeling low, morose, and Howard calling to tell her about the party tonight here at The Gandydancer hadn't helped matters any. She was going through an emotional upheaval, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out dining and dancing. But his arguments had seemed so reasonable and sincere that she had at last acquiesced; now, with the Taylors making snide, pointed remarks, she wished to God that she hadn't.
The distraught young wife reached out and picked up her champagne glass, an almost reflexive movement for she needed something at the moment to still the torment which raged inside her. She drank the effervescent liquid in a single swallow, amid half-heard comments of encouragement from the others present; the warmth of the wine settled in her stomach, making her feel glowingly flushed for a moment. Then she moistened her lips as Howard poured her another glassful, blinking at the smiling faces of Ralph and Norma.
"Now Cindy's joining in," Ralph said to Howard. "Look at her sitting there, pretty as a photograph."
"And an intimate one at that," agreed Norma, laughing.
Cindy groped for her refilled glass, drained that too. Then she stood abruptly, looking at Norma, at the woman she had considered a good friend. Norma was no better than Ralph. The young wife had no one to turn to, no one who would understand, not even Howard it seemed, not even her husband… She spun on her heel, hurrying off through the tables toward the restroom, her yellow, full-skirted cocktail dress rustling as she moved. Tears stung her flaming cheeks.
The other three at the table looked at one another, and Norma stood immediately, straightening her expensive party gown in lime green. "I'll go to her," she said to Howard, smiling, and hurried off after the departing Cindy.
When she was gone, Ralph leaned across the table almost conspiratorially. "She'll be all right, Howie boy," he said. "It just takes a little time for a woman to get used to the idea of change. Once she accepts it as inevitable, she'll be just like Norma."
"I hope so," said Howard, who had been having a moment of compassion for his beautiful young wife. He felt a little uncertain now about what he was doing, about the effect of his actions on the innocent Cindy; in spite of every thing, he still loved her deeply. In the back of his mind, too, was a small but persistent pang of guilt at his actions with Ralph's high-priced whore, Bonnie, the previous evening, his first excursion into marital infidelity.
Ralph, seeming to sense this hesitancy and indecision on his salesman's part, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a small envelope. He leaned forward and pressed it into Howard's hand. "Here are those additional pictures you asked me for today, Howie," he said. "Some real good ones showing all kinds of oral love, just like you wanted."
Howard looked down at the envelope, then picked up his champagne glass and drank deeply. "T-thanks, Ralph," he managed.
"Not at all, my boy," Ralph said. "Anything I can do, you just let me know. Remember, I'm looking out for your happiness, son. Yours and Cindy's."
"I know, Ralph, and I appreciate it. It's just that… well, it's not easy doing things this new way. Not at the first, I mean."
"Sure, I know, Howie. But it's all worth the momentary upheaval in your life, you'll see."
Howard nodded gratefully, sipping from his champagne again. He was becoming a little drunk now. He poured more, drank it down under the approving eye of Ralph. Yes, now he felt a little better. Cindy would come around, just as Ralph said she would; and when she did, they would have happiness neither of them had ever thought existed before. He was doing the right thing, all right, there could be no doubt of that.
Cindy – his beautiful, passionate, warm Cindy. He moistened his lips. She was better than that whore, Bonnie, any day of the week. Or she would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would learn – soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Howard's prick gave an excited little dance in his trousers as he thought of what would happen when he got Cindy home later on.
Could he talk her into more picture-taking? Well, not in the mood she was in now. But if he could get her a little high – downright drunk would be even better – he could convince her that it would be all right to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left for her to see the previous night (that was apparent by her actions today), she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what was inside. That meant she had to possess, deep within her, curiosity as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, he reasoned, just waiting for the drilling to begin. He giggled inwardly at that image – the drilling – and knew that he was now more than a little bit drunk. But what the hell? He was a new man, wasn't he? He had to celebrate his new-found way of life, didn't he? Sure he did. And he had to celebrate Cindy's soon-to-be-emancipation – perhaps as soon, he told himself again, as tonight. She loved him and she wanted to please him, had always told him that; yes, by God, maybe tonight would be the night after all! In more ways than one…
A few moments passed while Howard continued to think of what would transpire later in the evening, how he would talk his lovely young wife into taking pictures with him of an erotic nature, how he would show her these new acquisitions from Ralph, how he would suggest oralism again and again until she submitted to his every whim. He was growing excited thinking about it, and he didn't know that Cindy and Norma had returned to the table until Norma said chidingly, "Aren't you going to let Cindy have her chair back, Howie?"
"What?" he said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh. Oh, sure, I'm sorry, honey," he apologized to Cindy, taking her arm and guiding her to her chair.
"That's all right, Howie," she said, and she seemed to be composed now.
He sat down, smiling at her, his eyes bright. "More champagne, baby?"
"Yes," his young wife replied. "Yes, I think I will."
As Cindy accepted another glass of the effervescent liquid, she reaffirmed in her mind what she had told herself in the Ladies' Room: even though she felt wretched and miserable, there was no use letting the others see her condition – especially Ralph and Norma. When Norma had come in and asked if she was all right, if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, Cindy had answered that she was fine now – drying her eyes with a tissue and forcing a smile and that there wasn't anything to talk about, really. Norma had seemed to understand; they had washed up, chatting about something Cindy couldn't recall now, and then come out to the table again.
Determined to affect a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature of her inner self Cindy had decided to have a few more glasses of champagne, just enough so that she became a little high – not so that she got drunk. That way, it would be easier to pretend that everything was all right, that nothing was troubling her; she might even, with a slight tipsiness, be able to join in the conversation that went around the table, might even be able to laugh at Ralph's sly innuendoes and comments and Norma's ready agreements to them.
She drained her fresh glass of champagne and extended it to Howard to be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing completely the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he began to slur his own words, the smiling all-knowing endorsement of the Taylors as they exchanged glances across the table…
The rest of the evening, to Cindy, seemed to be a blur. She had vague remembrances of an endless succession of fresh bottles of champagne being brought to their table; of the four of them moving down to the lounge area; of dancing with Howard and pressing close to him, feeling the hardening bulge of his penis in his pants as he whispered intimate words in her ear; of Howard saying, in a pronounced slur, that it was time. "He and the little woman wen' home to bed, yessir, time to take the bull by the horns an' bring her around you unnerstan' Ralph."
The next thing she was fully cognizant of, after that, was sitting beside Howard in their car with the cold night air blowing in through the opened windows. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her head light, airy; she licked her lips experimentally, and then leaned against her husband's shoulder.
"Howie, where are we going?"
He, too, had been sobered considerably by the chill night breeze. He was still nice and tight, though, just tight enough so that he was on edge with anticipation. In spite of its bad beginning, the evening had turned out very well; he had gotten Cindy drunk, as he had planned, and she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and tacitly forgiving Ralph for the set of photos of the night before, of that he was almost certain. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next to him, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much to convince her of the rightness, the propriety, of allowing him to take more intimate pictures of her with their new Polaroid. He just had to be very careful how he went about it…
"We're going home, honey," he whispered. "Home."
"Mmm, that's good," she murmured. "I… I think I drank too much tonight, Howie."
"No you didn't, baby," he assured her.
"I… I'm sorry I was so… so bitchy the first part of the evening," she said softly. "It's just that I was… well, that I was upset about… about a few things."
"It's okay, honey, I understand."
A few moments later they were pulling into the driveway of their small, middle-class cottage in one of Morriston's older sections. Howard parked the car in the garage, and they got out, arms about one another, and went into the darkened interior. He switched on one of the low-watt lamps on an end table as Cindy took off her coat and put her purse down on one of the chairs.
"How about a nightcap, Cindy honey?" he suggested.
"Oh Howie, I don't know. I've drunk so much tonight…"
"Just a little one," he said quickly.
"Well… okay. But a little one, now?"
"Sure," Howard said eagerly. "Sure, baby."
He mixed two gin-and-tonics in the kitchen, spiking Cindy's liberally with gin and enough fresh lemon juice to conceal the oily taste of the liquor. He carried the glasses into the living room, handed his young wife hers, and then sat down beside her on the divan.
She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, and then took a larger swallow. "Mmm, good," she said. She felt safe and secure, now that they were back in their own home, and a little contrite for the way she had behaved tonight. But, as she had told Howard, she'd been upset and everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time, crushing her under its weight. Now, with the liquor to take away the sharp edge of her problems, she wasn't as sure as she had been that things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. After all, Howard still loved her – there was no doubt of that in her mind at all. What, then, could be terrible enough to override that abiding love? Especially since she loved him as deeply as he did her?
Still, though, there was one nagging question permeating her mind. If she had been fully sober, she would never have broached it aloud to Howie – but the drinks had loosened her tongue enough so that, now, she did; she had to find out the truth.
"Howie," she began, "Howie, did you… well, did you say anything to Ralph about those… those pictures you took of me the other night?"
He frowned slightly, looking at her. "Why do you ask that?"
"The way he and Norma were talking tonight," she replied. "It was as if they… they knew all about them."
Howard moistened his lips. "You're attaching too much significance to those photos, honey," he said. "There's nothing wrong in them, you know. Just some harmless intimacy between a husband and his wife, that's all."
"Howie," she insisted, "did you tell Ralph about them?"
"All right, if you must know – yes, I told Ralph about them. I couldn't help it; he kept asking me and I… well, I just blurted it out."
"Oh Howie, how could you!" Cindy looked as if she were about to cry.
"Hey now," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "There's nothing to get upset about, for God's sake. Here, drink your drink."
Obediently, Cindy took a deep swallow from her glass, shuddering a little as the strong liquor raced hotly into her stomach. He had told! She had known he had, of course, but his admission brought a renewed sense of anguish to her. He had no right telling about the photos; they were a private thing between the two of them, something personal, something exciting and…
Cindy sat rigid. Exciting? Had she just thought that the photos he had taken of her were exciting? No… no, she couldn't have… and yet, there was no doubt that she had thought that self-same thought. But why? Did she really think they were exciting? Herself lewdly displayed like… like those women in the other photos she had seen last night, Ralph's photos – displayed in an obscene provocative pose before her husband…
Exciting? No… no… and yet Howard had obviously been excited by them at the time, just as she herself had been undeniably excited by the lewd carnality displayed in those other snapshots. Oh God, oh God…
She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it came the need to unburden herself, to tell Howard that she had looked at those pictures of Ralph's last night – but not that she had fingered herself while looking at them, never that. Still, she had to tell him that she had seen them, that she had been aroused by them…
"Oh Howie," she blurted out unable to hold it back longer. "I opened that envelope you brought home last night, the one from Ralph. That's why I was so upset tonight, because I opened it and I saw those terrible pictures, and I… I was excited by them. I was, Howie, and that's the reason I was so upset. Howie, I actually got turned on looking at those dirty pictures!"
She flung herself against his chest, and Howard held her tightly to him. He could scarcely conceal his elation. So she had seen them, just as he had expected – and, as he had hoped, been aroused by them! Good, good; now he had to proceed carefully, carefully, lest he cause more shame and guilt inside her, break the thin shell of sexual freedom which was beginning to construct itself around his lovely young wife's old-fashioned and ingrained moral ethic…
"You mustn't feel bad, baby," he soothed, kissing her hair. "There's nothing wrong in wanting to make love after looking at other people doing it; it's a natural reaction. A perfectly natural reaction that almost everyone has."
"But the… the people in those photos were doing such… such awful things to one another…"
"There's nothing awful about giving pleasure to your husband or wife," said Howard wisely, tenderly. "It's the whole foundation of a marital relationship, honey. If it pleases the one you love, then it can't be wrong. You believe that, don't you?"
"I… I guess so."
"If, for example, I was pleased taking pictures of you with our Polaroid, pictures of you in the nude, you'd want to do that for me, wouldn't you? You'd want to take off your clothes and let me photograph you, wouldn't you?"
"But… but you couldn't be pleased doing such a thing, Howie! You're not that kind of man…"
"Honey, I like to look at you, at your naked body. It pleases me, it excites me tremendously. I like to look at you in photographs, look at you there in full-color; any man would, any real man…"
"Howie, what a terrible thing to say!"
"It's true, honey," Howard said, feeling pressure building in his loins as he spoke, knowing he was going to win, that his strategy was working. "I like to look at you in the nude, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like to look at other women in the nude, too. Not to touch or anything," he added quickly, "just to look at and get excited by, that's all. And you're not any different than I am, not really; you're just like other women in that respect, too. You got excited looking at those photos of other couples making love and I did, too. When I saw them, I got so excited I thought I was going to have an orgasm right on the spot. But it wasn't them I was thinking of loving, Cindy; it was you, you my darling. Looking at those photos of other people doing it made me want you even more than I ever did before!"
Cindy could hardly believe her ears, hearing her husband's confession. He had felt the same as she last night, as hundreds of other people did every day if what he said was true. Why, then, did she feel so much guilt about her own photos and the ones she'd looked at the previous night? If he was right, then she shouldn't have any guilt at all with her own husband. And yet… Oh, she didn't know what to think now; if only she were sober, if only her brain wasn't spinning, spinning…
"I'll prove it to you, sweetheart," Howard was saying in his mellifluous voice. "Ralph gave me some other pictures tonight. I didn't want them, but I took them anyway; how could I say no to my own boss? We'll look at them together, honey, you and I sitting here right now. We'll look at them together, and what will happen is that we'll both become very excited. You'll want me more than you would otherwise, and I'll want you the same way."
"Howie, no! We can't!"
"Why can't we?"
"It's… it's wrong!"
"No, it isn't wrong, Cindy. I've told you that. Now trust me, baby, just trust me."
"Howie…"
But he was already taking the envelope of pictures Ralph had given him in The Gandydancer from his coat pocket, opening it, taking out the richly colored, glossy photographs inside. "Here," he whispered, holding them and pulling her head away from his shoulder, "here, honey, look with me…"
Cindy didn't want to look. She was trembling and she didn't want to look, she kept telling herself that – and yet her head turned and her eyes focused on the picture, and a small cry burst from between her moist, pink lips.
"Howie, oh God!"
"Look at it, Cindy darling. It's exciting, look at it, it's exciting, look at it…" His voice droned on, mesmerically, and Cindy found herself staring at the photo in his hand, staring at the young, fresh-scrubbed-looking, collegiate boy and girl performing a sixty-nine – her moistened lips locked tightly around his hardened, lust-swollen penis; his lips pressed firmly, tongue extended, to her glistening pink vulva; lips on penis; lips on vulva…
A low moan of commingled desire and perplexity burst from the young wife's throat, and she felt the soft, warm area between her tightly pressed thighs flower wide with the building secretions of her arousal. Beneath the cocktail dress, her nipples hardened into turgid buds, the way they had hardened the night before. She could not seem to take her eyes from the photo, and her breath began to become labored.
"You like to look at pictures like these, don't you, darling?" Howard's voice droned.
"Yes," she heard herself reply in a half whisper, unable to control the mounting flood of passion which threatened to consume her in fiery lust. "Yes, yes yes!"
Quickly, Howard shuffled the photos, bringing another into view. The same couple, the same oral love, a somewhat different position. Cindy could see all of the young man's masculinity, his sperm-heavy testicles, the wide girth of his great penis half-buried in his beautiful young companion's ovaled mouth. She gasped, drawing close to her husband, her hand sliding down involuntarily to rub almost spasmodically along his thigh.
Howard shuffled the pictures again again – again. The same couple in each, the same pagan rites of fellatio and cunnilingus. But the positions, if such a thing were possible, grew more bold, more provocative – seemingly impossible positions: standing, with the girl turned completely upside down, her legs locked around his neck; sitting, with the man's head buried far up between the wide-spread, alabaster thighs of the girl, his legs locked around her neck and she supporting him with her hands and arms…
Cindy was breathing heavily with her intense arousal now, proof positive to her panting husband that she was as acutely excited by these photos of others enjoying sex as he was. "Darling!" she mewled. "That's enough, that's enough! I want you, Howie, honey, I want you to love me, please, please!"
But Howard was oblivious to her pleas, for his mind was centered on two main objectives: to get his chaste, enchanting young wife to pose for him for more Polaroid pictures; and to get her to perform the self-same acts of oral love which were depicted in the photographs he held in his hands.
He moistened his lips, thinking that his first step would be to get her to undress and pose for him yes, that was it, she was highly inflamed with desire now and she would be slave to his whim; he sensed this beyond any doubt, knowing that, at last, she was going to be his on his terms…
"Cindy," he whispered in her ear, his right arm circling her shoulder, his fingers gently kneading her soft, resilient breast, "Cindy, I want to take some pictures of you, darling, some pictures like I took the other night. They excite me, honey, just like these photos excite you. You want to please me don't you, honey, you want to please your husband?"
"Yes… yes, I want to please you, Howie, but… but I'm so excited! I want you to make love to me, Howie, please…"
"Afterward, baby," he breathed in her ear. "After we take the pictures, afterward…"
"Yes… yes, afterward…"
Howard was trembling with his own arousal now, partially brought about by the pictures he had just viewed with his wife and partially because of what lay only moments ahead now. His cock was a thick, quivering fence post in his pants as Cindy stroked his thigh, stroked it higher and higher. He began to unbutton her dress, whispering the whole time, "I'm going to make you naked, baby. We'll take some pictures and then we'll make love, slow and easy and then hard and fast. Will you like that, honey?"
"Yes! Oh yes!"
His fingers worked feverishly, pulling the dress down to her waist, baring her rich, cream white breasts with their ruby-capped nipples and pulsatingly dark areolaes. He squeezed them lightly, his prick jumping now, and then he could stand it no more. He leapt to his feet, picked up what was left of his drink, and pressed it into Cindy's waiting hands. "Drink this, honey," he instructed. "I'll be right back…"
He ran into the bedroom, urgency controlling his every movement now, and located the Polaroid camera and all its accessories. As an afterthought, he also removed the copy of the Polaroid Club News from the envelope on the nightstand. Then he carried everything back into the living room, made sure Cindy was still on the couch, her bare breasts reflecting the pale light from the lamp, checked the camera for film, and then peered through the view finder. Again, his cock leaped as he saw what the completed print of the picture he was about to take would look like. He snapped the shutter with fingers that were almost palsied.
Sixty seconds later, he was seated beside his young wife and pulling the finished color print from the back of the Polaroid. His eyes gleamed as he looked at it, at the sharp, defined perfection of the color and detail – the rigidity of Cindy's nipples atop their globular white mountain peaks.
"Look, honey," he droned. "Look at yourself almost naked, look, look."
And Cindy looked, staring at her half-nudity with moistened lips, her pussy flowering yet wider with more arousal secretions. Her brain was a seething mass of alcohol and sexual need; she was nothing more than a slave now, and Howard her master…
With exigent hands, he located the copy of the Polaroid Club News and gave it to his voluptuous wife. "Take your clothes off while I set up the camera," he commanded huskily. "Then read some of the advertisements in here. Read them aloud to me, Cindy. Do you hear me?"
"Yes… yes, darling, I hear you…"
Howard was trembling almost uncontrollably as he set up the tripod for the Polaroid and prepared the fifteen-second timer, watching Cindy strip the cocktail dress completely off and then, as if in a hypnotic trance, slide her panties down so that she stood naked and lovely before him, the soft, fleecy blond triangle of her pubic hair wet with the seeping juices of her passion. "The paper," he breathed to her. "Read the ads in the paper!"
Obediently, the desire-and liquor-drugged young wife picked up the Polaroid Club News and began to read in a voice that was cracked with the heat that consumed her body:
"Experienced couple with knowledge of the mystic Eastern arts desire exotic photos with non-Western or unique poses. Box L563, Polaroid Club News, Los Angeles."
She paused to moisten her swollen pink lips, then read another:
"Want pix you've never dreamed existed? Want poses to stagger the imagination? Send for our special set right away! Replies from couples under thirty only. Hurry! Box N198, Polaroid Club News, New York."
Another pause, then:
"The 145th Position – guaranteed! We're not kidding! You've never seen anything like this before! Will exchange for good, erotic poses involving three or more. Box…"
"That's enough!" Howard shouted. "That's enough!" He had the camera ready, and his eyes were blazing with excitement, the front of his trousers bulging hugely with his fully erect cock, the material stained with the beginning droplets of his seminal emission. "Sit down on the floor, Indian fashion, facing the camera!" And as his nude, sculptured young wife obeyed, "That's it! Now lean back a little, so that your breasts are lifted up! Yes! Yes! Open your thighs a little more… oh Jesus, beautiful!"
He activated the timer, then began to undress hurriedly, his eyes never leaving his mesmerically-staring wife sitting there so provocatively on the carpeting. At last he was nude, his swollen prick jutting out like a quivering spear from his loins, the head slickly-red and pulsating. The camera clicked off the picture, and as he waited his hand dropped almost reflexively to the trembling girth of his cock, began to stroke it lightly in anticipation.
On the floor, Cindy murmured, "Howie… Howie, don't do that! Howie, that's… that's terrible! Come to me, baby…"
"Not yet!" he gurgled. "Not yet!" It was time to remove the finished print from the Polaroid, and moments later he held it in his quaking hands. Beautiful! Oh Christ, what an erotic shot! I can see her cunt, spread open and glistening wet… and her clit too, throbbing there… oh, Jesus, Jesus!
"Howie," moaned Cindy pleadingly, "Howie, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, Howie I'm on fire and I want you…"
"Goddamnit, not yet!" he shouted. He was busy at the camera again, setting the timer, his cock shaking as if with some inner vibratory power and his balls aching with the buildup of a tremendous load of sperm. "Get on your knees, Cindy, side-ways to the camera. That's it, that's it! Move your arm up so I can see your breasts jutting down! Good! Now raise your right knee up closer to your tits, honey! That's it, baby, I can see your pussy now!"
"Howie…"
"Just hold it like that, just hold it!" He set the timer and then ran over to her. He had to get in this picture, he had to! He knelt behind her, oblivious to her cries of pleading, and held his cock less than an inch from the full soft entrance to her warm, wet cuntal passage, turning his face to the Polaroid, holding himself still in spite of the oscillations which coursed through his entire being.
The camera clicked off the shot, and he jumped up and ran to it. The picture was every bit as erotic to him as the previous one, more so because he was in it now! He was kneeling there with his great prick almost touching his kneeling young wife's cunt! Oh Christ, never had anything been this exciting before!
Again the timer was set, and again he joined Cindy on the floor. She was just kneeling there now, with her head hanging down, and she was whimpering softly. He went to his own knees again behind her, his hands on her waist. "This is going to be a good one, baby! I'm going to put it inside you on this one now!" He guided his swollen cock to the warm, butter-soft opening of her vagina, inserted the head inside. Cindy moaned, trying to drive her buttocks back against his rod, to impale herself and still the crescendoing passion inside her, but Howard restrained her with his hands hard at her waist.
"No, no," he told her. "We have to wait for the camera, Goddamnit! Now raise your leg a little so the full sight of my cock in your cunt will be exposed to the camera. Goddamn you, Cindy, do what I tell you… ah, that's it! Oh Jesus, this is going to be something… now hold it, hold it…!"
Click.
And then other pictures were taken, more provocative ones, and each time Howard withdrew his cock and ran to the camera again. As the pictures came out, showing Cindy's passion-contorted features and his own, showing his cock pushed into her widespread cuntal passage, he felt his penis leap as if with orgasm. God, oh God, what sights! He was going to blow his wad any minute! But first… yes, it was time to have her do what he had long wanted, and to do what he had long wanted to her; it was time for oral love, for his lips on her pussy and her lips on his prick. Yes, yes! Jesus, what a shot that will make, what a shot, what a shot!
He set the timer, ran back to his trembling young wife. "Turn over," he commanded. "Turn over, Cindy! Lay down on your back!"
There were tears on her cheeks as she obeyed. "Howie…"
He moved quickly up along her body, holding his quivering cock in his hand again, guiding it toward her head. "Kiss me, Cindy! Kiss my cock, Cindy! Hurry, baby, hurry! I want to kiss you, too! Kiss your cunt, Cindy!"
She recoiled. Had she heard correctly? Yes, yes, she had… she realized that even through the fog of passion and liquor. He wanted her to perform the same perversions they had seen in those photos, do what the other people had been doing… but she couldn't! Yes, it turned her on to see the others but to take a man's penis between her lips… my God, even Howie's, her husband's… was unthinkable! She couldn't, she just couldn't!
"Howie, I can't! Please, please, don't ask me!"
"Hurry up, the camera's going to go off!" he shouted, trying to push his moist-headed prick against her lips. But she twisted away, moaning.
"No, Howie, I can't, I can't!"
"Damnit! Don't you want to please me? You said you wanted to please me!"
"Not this way, Howie, not this way!"
Click.
"Oh Jesus, you ruined the shot! You ruined it!"
"Howie… for my sake, please Howie…"
"Damn you, what's the matter with you?"
"I can't do that, Howie, I just can't do it! Please understand! Whatever else you want, but not that! Don't ask me again, please!"
He jumped to his feet, staring down at her. His cock was jerking as if with climax again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before his testicles would erupt his building load of sperm. He had been so close, so Goddamned close… But there would be other nights, he would see to that. He had to content himself with the fact that he had gotten her to pose for the Polaroid for him, in the nude and… yes, with his cock inside her, too! Tonight was a victory, in that sense, the first victory! The second would come soon enough, he knew that. He just had to be patient with her, patient…
"Howie," Cindy moaned, writhing on the floor in both passion and discomfiture brought about by Howard's actions. "Please, love me and make it all right… no more pictures, I beg of you! Love meee!"
"All right!" he shouted. But before he did, he ran to the camera one more time and set the timer. Then he went back to his vibrating young wife, knelt behind her, inserted his cock. She buffeted back against it immediately and he didn't restrain her this time; might as well get a good action shot…
He drove his swollen, soon-to-bursting cock deep inside her, feeling the head slam off her cervix, hearing her moan loudly in pleasure-pain. His balls slammed resoundingly off the moistened slit of her vagina below as he drubbed into her, and he leaned his upper body low over her back, teeth biting lightly into her shoulder, hands finding and squeezing her swaying breasts.
Click.
The sound of the camera shattering seemed to act as a trigger for Howard's boiling desires. He imagined in his mind what the finished print would look like, the eroticism of it, and he could hardly wait until he could pull the print from the camera back. But then the swirling heat in his loins became overpowering, became the only thing that mattered, and he heaved and bucked up into the soft, warm cunt of his kneeling wife with insane vigor, striving to empty his testicles of the great load of sperm seething there…
Cindy felt Howard's gigantic cock thundering into her cunt, filling it, the head ramming hard off her cervix and she knew she was going to cum any moment. She had never in her life been this excited, and the knowledge that the excitement had come as a direct result of looking at dirty pictures, of partaking in them herself with the man she loved, was like a hot knife of confusion in her brain. She wanted Howard, wanted to please him, and yet it was becoming increasingly apparent that she didn't know how; her vagina alone, so moist now and so filled with his masculinity, apparently wasn't enough any longer to satisfy her man. It would take more and more, she thought dazedly as her orgasm spiraled higher and higher, more and more to please him… more pictures… more eroticism… and, oh God, even sucking him with her mouth.
And then all thoughts save for the crescendoing passion vanished from her mind as she buffeted like a rutting animal back against her husband's invading cock, striving for the crest, almost there, almost there, feeling him hard and deep within her, feeling his hands curving down around her back kneading and manipulating her breasts, almost there, and then… and then…
"Oh God, Howie Howie darling, I'm cumming! Howie, I'm cumminnnnnnggggg!"
But Howard only barely heard her wild cry of release, for his cock in that moment had begun to jerk out of control and torrent after torrent of hot, boiling sperm burst along the full length to thunder into her cunt, commingling with the juices of her own release to form a flood-tide of passion that poured out around his spasming shaft and flowed in thin rivulets down her straining thighs as she murmured mindless, incoherent words of delight and he breathed fire-hot breath against her neck.
And then his prick gave one last spurt of his seed and began to deflate almost immediately inside her wet, clasping vagina and they both sank forward on the carpet, spent and in a state of near-unconsciousness.
Oh Jesus, that was good! Howard thought satiatedly. One of the best ever, even if it was so quick. And it's going to be better and better, once Cindy starts to come around fully…
And Cindy, lying there with the full weight of her husband on top of her, his warm sperm flowing hotly inside her cunt and belly, was thinking different thoughts now in the lulling aftermath of her tremendous orgasm. She was thinking about the pattern of her life, and how it was changing, how she could no longer deny that after what had happened here tonight. But changing for the better, or for the worse? She didn't know yet; she just didn't know yet…
After a long time, Howard raised up and lifted his wife in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They crawled between the sheets on their bed, and Howard went to sleep almost immediately; but he did not cuddle next to her as he usually did, did not speak to her except to say goodnight, and she had the ominous feeling that she had failed to please him tonight, in spite of the fineness of both their orgasms – failed to please this new Howie who had replaced the quiet, sexually-conservative old one.