Cindy Jamison performed her prosaic household chores like a mechanized robot on Friday, just as she had on each of the other two days since that drunken, hazy party on Tuesday night. Her mind seemed to be in a perpetual state of half-torpor, as if she were filled with some kind of deadening drug to ease the pain of the knowledge she carried within her.
She finished the cleaning and sweeping and laundry shortly past four, and made herself a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Then she sat with it in the living room of their cottage, drinking but not really tasting the strong black liquid. It was going to be a long day, an even longer night; at least on the past two days she had had Howard home to talk to her, to comfort her, for he realized she was still in a highly agitated state. He had asked her repeatedly to tell him what was wrong, to confide in him, and she almost had on more than one occasion – but then her guilt and shame, her strong desire to protect him from the terrible consequences of her actions with the Polaroid photographs and from the knowledge of her infidelities, became too strong and she was unable to speak.
But tonight, Howard would not be home at all. He had called her from work shortly past noon, to tell her that Ralph had invited him to go to Monterey for some kind of dealers' meeting later that day as Auto Circus' representative. The meeting would last well into the night, so he would be spending the evening in Monterey, to return to Morriston early the next day, Saturday. She hadn't wanted him to go, did not wish to be alone for a single night, but what could she tell him to stop him, short of confessing all that was troubling her? Nothing, nothing at all. And so he was going, probably had already left by this time.
Cindy took another sip of her coffee and set the cup down. A small tremor passed through her rigid young body. Dear God, what a nightmare she had been living these past few weeks! Everything had been going so beautifully – and then the evil postal clerk, Steve Samuels, had come into her life and forced her to defile her marital bed and to perform countless perversions with his wizened, deformed body. He had left her after that single, orgiastic night and had not contacted her since… but she knew it was only a matter of time, just as she had known it all along, in spite of what Norma Taylor had told her. He would be back, demanding more from her, more disgusting and lewd acts which made her want to vomit just thinking about them. But that wasn't all; there had been the party… her agitated mental state… all the sangria she had drunk… the foggy moments with Ralph… going out to the Volkswagen Variant… drinking that bourbon… the kaleidoscopic, filmlike flashes after that, moments of lucidity to be followed by moments of complete blankness… Ralph spreading her legs, putting his penis inside her, she powerless to stop him, him heaving and bucking into her, cumming with his burning hot semen; another, shadowy figure replacing him that to this day she couldn't identify, another penis, more heaving and bucking, more torrents of hot sticky cum pouring into her tender, ravaged vagina… what she suspected had been her own crashing, spiraling orgasm, though her mind had since refused to admit such an actuality…
A low, involuntary moan escaped the soft, pink lips of the mentally tortured young woman and she put her head in her hands. All the thoughts she had suppressed the past three days came rushing into her conscious mind, bringing with them the terrible humiliation and guilt of her actions. What had happened to her innocent, well-ordered little world? Why had things suddenly seemed to turn completely against her, slowly but inexorably destroying her? What had she done to deserve all of this?
She didn't know, had no idea. She felt as if she was on a merry-go-round, forever spinning, which she could never get off of. She had never been so alone, so helpless, in her life – there was no one to whom she could turn, nowhere she could go…
Norma? Norma, who had listened and advised her before? No, no, of course not… it had been Norma's husband, Ralph, whom she had allowed in her drunken stupor to claim her body. How could she tell that woman, whose husband she now hated with a full and overwhelming passion, what had happened? No, there was no one, no one at all.
What am I going to do? she asked herself silently. I'm so afraid… afraid of that terrible postal clerk, afraid of Ralph Taylor, afraid of what has happened to my own body for I think I enjoy any sexual act – no matter what kind, and even with another man – completely and totally now. I'm a different woman, a woman I don't understand anymore, and I'm so frightened…
The sudden ringing of the telephone completely shattered her reverie and brought her off the couch in a convulsive jump, her heart hammering crazily in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she identified the abrupt sound, and willed her trembling body still as the bell sounded again. She walked stiffly to where the phone was located and, biting her lip, lifted the receiver.
"H-Hello?" she said in a strangely quavering voice.
"Hello, Mrs. Jamison," a familiar, terrifying wheeze answered her, and the young wife felt a bolt of sheer terror shoot through her body like an electrical charge. She almost dropped the phone, and her heart threatened to burst through her chest cavity. Her tongue was thick with fear, and she couldn't make words come.
"Are you there, Mrs. Jamison?" Steve Samuels asked in his oily, insinuating tone. "Do you hear me?"
"Y-y-yes," she finally managed in a strangled whisper.
There was a soft, evil laugh from the other end of the wire. "You know who this is, don't you? Of course you do. Have you been thinking about me, Mrs. Jamison? Have you been thinking about what happened between us the other night? About how I put my hot thick cock far up into your asshole and fucked you and fucked you and…"
"Stopppp iiitttttt!" Cindy Jamison screamed in a voice fraught with the pinnacle of sheer mortal terror. "Oh, shut up, please shut up, oh, God don't talk to me like that!"
More high-pitched laughter, and then the venereous government employee said softly, "I want you again, Mrs. Jamison. I want you again – tonight!"
"Noooo!" wailed Cindy.
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Jamison. Tonight, at my place, at nine o'clock."
"No! Oh, dear God, no, I can't! I can't!"
"You can, and you will," Samuels told her, his voice turning harsh and ugly, as ugly as he was. "You'd better be there, or you know what'll happen to you and that husband of yours. Nine o'clock, Mrs. Jamison. Or else!" And with those sharp, threatening words, Steve Samuels slammed the receiver down in her ear.
Cindy flung her own handpiece down and fled into the living room, throwing herself prone on the couch to sob out her fear and torment and helplessness. She couldn't go through another ordeal like the one the depraved clerk had put her through ten days ago – and yet she had to. There was no alternative, short of defying him and thus relegating her and Howard to possible prison sentences. That, and…
Murder.
The single word echoed and re-echoed in Cindy Jamison's mind, and she sat up abruptly with the force of it. But, just as quickly as it had come, it vanished. She was not a murderess, could never take the life of another human being – even if that human being was the animalistic Steve Samuels. The torment, the horror, would be magnified tenfold instead of banished by such an act. No, she could not kill Samuels, much as she would like to see him dead, and she could not defy him, either.
She would go to him tonight, then, as he had instructed. Go to him in body, but not in spirit or soul.
And somehow she would endure the degradation and lasciviousness which was sure to then ensue – for Howard, for the man she loved…
Ralph Taylor arrived at the weed-choked, slumlike house of the postal employee Steve Samuels at eight-thirty that night, carrying a huge case which contained his Polaroid camera, timer, and tripod.
The venereous civil servant let him in with an expression of excited anticipation, and led him down the hallway into the living room. Samuels had made an effort to tidy it up somewhat, but the room still had an air of musky staleness, a look of cluttered squalor. He offered the automobile executive a drink, which Taylor promptly refused. Then Ralph said, "Did you make all the arrangements?"
"All of them, yes," Samuels answered quickly. "That bitch Cindy Jamison will be here at nine. The other one, Sally Reagan, will be along a little later, around nine-thirty. Oh, Christ, she was really upset about coming here tonight, that one was. She cried and begged and pleaded with me not to make her, but I said…"
"I don't give a shit what you said, you little weasel," said Ralph Taylor shortly, obvious distaste for the postal clerk on his normally jovial countenance. "Just as long as she's coming here tonight. And just as long as Cindy Jamison is coming; she's the one I'm really interested in."
"Don't worry, don't worry, they'll be here. Just like I promised they would be."
Taylor nodded, set his case down, and began to take the photographic equipment out of it. He looked up at Samuels as he was doing so. "Have you got a screen or something I can set this stuff up behind?" he demanded.
"Yeah, I think so," retorted the clerk. "But what for?"
"Never mind what for, Goddamn you! This is my show, and we'll run things my way or not at all! Understand?"
"Sure, sure, don't get uptight."
"Just do as you're told, Samuels, and everything will be fine."
The wizened clerk nodded, licking his lips, and left the room to locate the screen Ralph Taylor had asked him for.
The taxicab let Cindy Jamison off in front of the run-down home of Steve Samuels at exactly nine o'clock.
She was weaving just slightly as she walked up the path to the front door, her hands tightly clenched around her handbag. She had commenced to drink straight vodka immediately after the call from the postal worker, trying to work herself into a stupor so that, as on the first occasion, she would be too drunk to be totally aware of the horror of her situation. She had succeeded in getting intoxicated only to a point, beyond which she couldn't seem to go, no matter how much she drank. Now, she felt light-headed and nauseous as she rang the bell, trying desperately to blank her mind against what was soon to happen to her.
The door opened almost immediately, and the malformed features of the government employee peered leeringly out at her. She shuddered involuntarily with revulsion, averting her eyes from that terrible, sweating face. Her stomach churned sickeningly.
"Well, well, right on time I see, Mrs. Jamison. Good, good," said the clerk in his husking voice. He reached out his talon-like fingers to take her arm, and Cindy imagined that it was the touch of something incredibly alien on her coat-covered flesh; but she didn't have the strength or the inclination to resist his hand. She allowed him to lead her down the hallway and into the living room.
The room itself was little more than a blur in the mind of the tortured young wife. She was aware of a musty smell, of a jumble of old and ragged furnishings, of a large screen which had been set up on one side of the room – but details escaped her brain completely. It might have been some medieval torture chamber, complete with iron maiden and thumbscrews and the rack, for all she knew.
Samuels said, "Sit down on the couch, Mrs. Jamison. Here, let me take your coat. Make yourself comfortable." He snickered evilly. "It's going to be a long wonderful night."
Cindy shuddered again at the implications of this depraved postal clerk's words. She hurriedly shed her coat and moved robot-like to the sagging sofa and sat down stiffly, her eyes staring glassily ahead. I have to do this, she thought numbly. I have to do it for Howard, for our future, for Howard, for our future…
Samuels hung her coat up in a hallway closet and came back to the living room, sitting down next to but not touching the soul-sick young wife. "Have a cigarette, won't you, Mrs. Jamison?" he invited unctuously. He reached out to the coffee table in front of the couch, to where a wooden cigarette box lay, lifted it and opened it, presenting the contents to the eyes of Cindy Jamison.
She knew instantly this time what the brown, crudely made cigarettes were, but instead of being further repulsed, she was almost grateful that he wanted her to have more pot, more marijuana, just as she had had the last time. Commingled with the liquor, the pot would once again put her in that half-netherworld of semirationality and the pain, the degradation, would not be as acute as it could be. Almost eagerly, she reached out and plucked one of the rough brown sticks from the box and placed it between her soft, warm, moist lips. The wizened government employee lit it for her immediately, telling her as he had before to hold the smoke in her lungs as long as she could before releasing it. She obeyed, drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly… drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly…
The first roach butt was no more than ash in her fingers, and then Samuels was handing her another, lighting it, and she was repeating the process yet again… drawing deeply, retaining, exhaling slowly… and her head began to swim and she could feel herself weaving slightly on the couch, though she was powerless to cease the movement of her body. The agony was lessening in her mind, she could feel it; it was being replaced now by that same gloating, suspended feeling of the previous encounter. She was ready to take whatever he would mete out, now, as ready as she would ever be…
She opened her mouth, forcing thick words out with careful enunciation, "Do you want me to take my clothes off now? I'm ready to take my clothes off, if you want me to."
"Ah, that's the attitude, Mrs. Jamison!" snickered Samuels. "That's the way to talk, you little bitch. But not yet, not just yet…"
"Why…?"
"Because we're expecting another visitor shortly."
The drugged young wife tried to grasp the significance of that statement, but it seemed to elude her. She frowned, trying to speak again, to ask him what he meant – and in that instant, the doorbell rang.
"There we are, she's here," Samuels enthused, jumping up. "And right on time. Don't go away, Mrs. Jamison. I'll be right back."
Cindy sat dazed for what seemed like interminable minutes, then Samuels reappeared leading a tall, black-haired young woman whose face was streaked wet with tears. The young woman's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open in shock as she saw Cindy sitting on the couch. "What…?" she began.
"Sally Reagan, meet Cindy Jamison," cackled the government employee, pushing the dark-haired girl forward.
Cindy managed to struggle up off the couch, to stand just a few feet from the new arrival; the eyes of the two women locked on one another. And in that moment, complete – if momentary – lucidity returned to the mind of young Cindy Jamison.
She knew, just as Sally Reagan knew, that they were both the same, trapped in the terrible web of Steve Samuels' depravity. Cindy's whirling brain instinctively became aware that the dark-haired girl had committed much the same type of transgression as she had, perhaps sending private photographs through the mail which Samuels had intercepted. And her brain became aware, too, that this evening would be worse, much worse, than the other – that what the venereous clerk had planned for tonight was the apex of perversion: an orgy, an impossible flesh circus of which she and Sally Reagan were to be the main performers. She began to tremble with renewed fear and trepidation, seeing that the dark-haired girl had realized the same inevitability as she just had and had begun to tremble as well.
And still the two young wives stared at each other, as if each was seeking solace in the eyes of the other, tied together more closely than the best of friends by their mutual subjugation. A mute empathy, a tight bond, was sewn between Cindy Jamison and Sally Reagan and that bond somehow made things a little less terrifying than they might have been. Now, perhaps, both enslaved housewives would be able to keep their sanity during this longest of all nights…
The next few minutes were a kaleidoscope of fragmented time for the young mate of Howard Jamison. She was told to sit down on the couch, told to have another marijuana cigarette, and she obeyed. Sally Reagan, rid of her coat, sat beside her on the dirty material of the sofa and took pot herself – one joint, two, three. The room was filled with the sweetish, almost cloying odor of the weed.
"Are we ready now?" Samuels called out finally, as if asking permission of someone else to begin, looking in the direction of the screen. Then, nodding, as if he had received his answer though neither Cindy nor Sally heard a spoken word, the evil civil servant moved to the couch, staring down at the two beautiful women who sat with glazed, perspiring faces before him.
Oh, Jesus he thought, this is really going to be something! That big bastard really knows what he's doing, all right. I couldn't have mapped out the progression of events for tonight any better myself! Goddamn, my balls are aching with my cum and the big guy is waiting behind the screen and Ringo is waiting in the kitchen… this is going to be the finest night I've ever spent, I know it! You bitches, you're REALLY GOING TO GET YOURS TONIGHT!
"Both of you!" he commanded in a panting, wheezing voice. "Take off your clothes! Strip down to your bra and panties. Hurry up, you fucking little sluts!"
Like twin marionettes, the drugged and subjugated young women stood in unison and stripped off their outer garments, leaving their underclothes on as Samuels had instructed. They stood there, side by side, staring straight ahead as the small man viewed their vibrant flesh with hungry, almost inhuman eyes.
"Now then, Mrs. Reagan," he snapped. "Roll your panties down, slowly, nice and slowly. Let's see that fine, sweet young cunt of yours. You, Mrs. Jamison. Watch her, look at her cunt. Goddamn you, do what I tell you!"
Through hazed eyes, young Cindy Jamison watched the automatonical movements of Sally Reagan as the other woman obeyed Samuels' orders, slowly rolling her panties down, down, until the curling dark triangle of her pubic hair came into view. Still lower she rolled the thin garment, down almost to her knees, and then the postal clerk commanded her to stop.
"Open your thighs!" gasped Samuels. "Open 'em wide enough to get your hand between them! That's it! Now play with your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Put your finger on your clit, put it inside you! Get it all nice and hot while we watch, Mrs. Reagan!"
In horrified fascination, Cindy watched the black-haired girl move her thighs open, exposing the softly hair-fringed lips of her pussy with its dainty clitoris nestled in the smooth pink folds. Cindy swallowed hard as Sally lowered her hand there, middle finger extended, her face sheened with sweat and torture-racked, and began to slowly masturbate. Her legs bent slightly to allow her massaging fingers more room to slide between her opened thighs, and then she rubbed faster and faster her cuntal valley.
"Mrs. Jamison!" grunted Samuels. "Pull Mrs. Reagan's panties all the way down. No, don't stop playing with yourself, Mrs. Reagan! Do what I told you, Goddamn you, you bitch Jamison!"
Mesmerically, her brain a spinning carrousel, Cindy squatted before the sweating body of the other girl and drew her panties all the way down over slender, perfectly formed legs, letting the garment puddle at Sally Reagan's feet. Then she straightened again, tension rising in her stomach, her eyes glued to the sawing fingers of the blackhaired girl.
"Put one leg up on the couch, Mrs. Reagan! Let's see all of that cunt of yours! Let's see you shove your finger all the way up your sweet little pussy!"
Sally propped one foot up as directed, and the full expanse of her softly glistening cuntal slit was exposed to Cindy's and Samuels' eyes. The black-haired wife's heaving fingers slithered wetly in and out of the wide-splayed vaginal opening, and she began to secrete heavily in spite of her hopeless subjugation.
From behind Cindy, in the direction of the screen, there came a sudden popping sound and a flash of light. But neither of the young housewives were aware of it, completely lost in the miasma of drug and enslavement.
Cindy, watching the masturbating girl, felt an odd tingling begin in her own loins, as if she was becoming excited at the lewd and lascivious sight. But no, no, that couldn't be! And yet, in back of the whirling in her brain, she knew it was true, knew that the words of Norma Taylor had been accurate. She was a passionate woman, and sexuality had its effect on her – even such salaciousness as this. She couldn't fight it, even if she wanted to. She had to submit to the feelings, submit to Samuels, submit to everything or there was no hope…
Deep wetness began to stain her panties as she watched Sally Reagan, heard low mewls of unwanted pleasure begin to purl through the black-haired girl's lips. Samuels saw that immediately, and his prick leaped exultantly in his trousers, jerking to its full erectness as he watched the carnal scene taking place right before him.
"All right!" he snapped. "Now it's your turn, Mrs. Jamison. Roll your panties down, all the way off, and put your leg up on the sofa like Mrs. Reagan. Face her, and play with your cunt like she's playing with hers! Oh, Jesus, hurry up, hurry up, you bitch!"
And Cindy obeyed, beyond all caring now, abandoning herself in her drugged and liquored state to the inevitability of her situation. She rolled her panties down, down and off, raised her leg up on the couch, lowered her hand to her moistened vaginal valley. And then her fingers began moving, began sliding through the wet, warm folds of her pussy, and the ripples of pleasure grew and she was powerless to stop them. Faster and faster her fingers flashed in the sweet softness of her cunt, watching with lidded eyes the black-haired girl doing the same thing directly in front of her. In unison the two young housewives ravaged their genitals, black and blond pubic triangles glistening with the nectar of their passion, faster and faster and faster…
Behind the screen on the other side of the room, Ralph Taylor stood naked, his thick, blood-engorged penis quivering with excitement as he watched the two masturbating young women. The Polaroid camera, with which he had just taken one good shot of the Reagan girl, trembled expectantly in his hands. Goddamn, this was working out even better than he had expected! Cindy Jamison, playing with herself like that, before his feasting eyes – Christ, what an enticing sight! He couldn't wait to get his bulging prick inside that fine, tender cunt of his star salesman's wife again! But first, there were the photos…
Taylor stepped out, holding the Polaroid up, focusing through the viewfinder on the lascivious sight before him. Both women had their eyes squeezed tightly shut… no problem about seeing him or the flash. Yet. He wanted to wait until just the right moment for his own appearance, and he thought he knew when that would be. He had planned it all out very carefully beforehand with Samuels…
He held the Polaroid steady, found the angle and shot he wanted, and clicked the shutter. The flash went off, and he had the picture. He nodded to the venereous postal clerk, who grinned back at him lewdly, and then he stepped behind the screen again. He looked at his watch, began counting off sixty seconds.
"All right, stop playing with yourselves now!" ordered Samuels, and the two young housewives ceased their wild masturbationings. They waited, dreading the command which was to come, whatever it may be, rigid as stone statues.
The depraved government employee laughed high and shrill, and then he demanded, "Play with one another now, you bitches! Step forward and unhook one another's bra straps. Let's have a look at both your sets of tits! Then rub each other's body, play with your tits and your cunts!"
Oooohhhhhh! wailed Cindy's mind at this impossible indignity, but she did as bid. There was no other choice, she knew that and Sally Reagan knew that; this was lesbianism, perversion, but it was not half as bad as touching and being touched by that evil Steve Samuels. At least she and Sally Reagan were drawn close together by mutual need, by mutual pain, and it would not be as terrible as what was surely to come later…
Cindy's arms went around the black-haired girl, even as she felt Sally's arms go around her. Palsied fingers fumbled at bra straps, pulling them loose, drawing them over each other's smooth, soft shoulders, baring their twin sets of high, proud breasts, nipples hardened in spite of their subjugation. Then they were touching one another, Cindy sliding her slick palms up and down the fevered flesh of the other girl, feeling in turn the hot tingling movements of Sally's fingers on her own skin.
Young Cindy Jamison felt her breath quicken as Sally rubbed and caressed her swollen breasts, passing over the nipples with tantalizing slowness, and her mind cried out futilely with the unwanted pleasure of the contact. She could feel Sally's hot breath on her face, knew that her own was thudding against the black-haired girl's. Sally Reagan was as excited as she! Oh, God, oh, God…
Then their hands were sliding down the fevered flesh of one another's smooth, hot torso, over the flat planes of their stomachs, along their quivering flanks, down to the moist fleece between their slightly open legs. Cindy felt the other girl's finger seek out and find her clitoris, felt delicious excitement as it was tweaked again and again, and her extended middle finger located the other young wife's clit and returned the favor. They stood there like that, panting hard, playing with one another, their breasts touching now, the nipples pressed almost against one another as if trying to fuse the two young housewives together in their bondage…
Neither of the girls saw or were aware of first one sharp burst of light, and then, sixty seconds later, another. Ralph Taylor had two more pictures for his collection…
"That's enough, that's enough!" shouted Steve Samuels. His rubbery lips were drooling uncontrollably now as he watched the two mutually subjugated women playing with one another before him. He had stripped off his clothes in his excitement, and now stood before them completely naked, his small, thin body trembling with his desire, his long, thick, enraged prick standing like a rigid sentinel in his right hand. He stroked it lightly, eyes gleaming, causing the glans eye to emit beginning droplets of his semen.
"Mrs. Jamison, get down on the couch. Lean back, and spread your legs wide! Do it now!"
Mutely, Cindy obeyed, sitting and leaning back, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her pussy secreting a tiny excited flow now at the manipulations of the other girl. Sally Reagan stood above her, her own cunt wet from the blond wife's strokings, the black triangle slickly moist with her juices.
"Get down between her legs, Mrs. Reagan!" husked the venereous postal clerk, still stroking his thick, hardened cock. "Get down there and grovel in Mrs. Jamison's cunt! Lick it! Lap up her cunt like you were a dog, Mrs. Reagan! Like you were Ringo!"
"Nooo!" The strangled sound tore from Sally's marijuana-drugged body, a piteous protest against what was being asked of her.
Samuels stepped forward and slapped her, hard, across the face. "You fucking bitch! Do what I tell you, or I'll fix your wagon! I'll fix it good, and you know I can do it! Now get down there and eat Mrs. Jamison's cunt!"
A tortured sob burst from Sally's young body, but she lowered herself onto her knees between Cindy's wide-splayed thighs. Her hands came up, fingers fanning out on the blond wife's trembling inner thighs. Her head moved forward, and her hot breath blew like searing flame into the opened wet expanse of Cindy Jamison's cuntal passage.
Cindy had been shocked into frozen immobility by the lewd instructions of Steve Samuels, unable to move or think in that moment as the knowledge of what he wanted the two girls to do raced like a sick cancer through her body. Then she felt the touch on her inner thighs of Sally Reagan, felt the hot breath blowing against her open vagina, and she wanted to leap up, wanted to run, run, get far away from this place of sin. But she was unable to move, unable to prevent what happened next, could only lie there with tears squeezing past her clamped eyelids to cascade down her pretty, ashen face.
With a low mewl of total submission, Sally Reagan began to kiss Cindy's thighs, began to plant hot moist kisses on the smooth warm flesh. Then her tongue was snaking out, and Cindy heard a muffled sob just before she felt the electric contact of the black-haired girl's fiery wet probe against her trembling clitoris, felt it lick molten swaths from the quivering button down through the soft wetness of her fleece-lined cuntal lips to the widespread opening of her vaginal orifice.
She cried out in disgust and… something else, passion, the same tremendous excitement she had known from the touch of her husband Howard's lips and tongue on her cunt. She raised her buttocks up off the couch involuntarily, closing her thighs around the tortured Sally Reagan's slavering head. The action only forced the black-haired housewife's tongue to slide deep and hotly into her gently throbbing cuntal passage, firing more intensely the flowing juices of her desire. Her hands came down, as if with a will of their own as with them she spread her own thighs wider apart once again, giving the other young woman more access to her cunt, and entangled her hands spasmodically in the rich, titian strands of hair.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" chanted Cindy mindlessly, completely lost in the delirious feelings which the other woman's lips and tongue were unleashing through her belly and loins…
His cock throbbing with maddening desire at the salacious sight he was witnessing through the chinks in the screen, Ralph Taylor stepped out once again with his Polaroid. He took a quick shot of the Reagan girl ravaging Cindy's widespread pussy, his breath coming faster and faster. He was aware that Samuels was edging closer to the two girls on the couch, his hand beating his turgid prick faster and faster as he stared with unabashed lust naked on his face at the black-haired girl performing cunnilingus on the other, blond-haired young wife. When the picture was ready, after sixty seconds, Taylor moved around so that he could get Samuels in the next shot and quickly snapped the shutter; that ought to be a really wild one, he thought ardently as he stepped back behind the screen once again…
The venereous postal clerk beat his swollen penis with practiced fervor as he watched the two naked young girls before him. Oh, shit, I'm going to blow my wad any second now… but I can't, not yet… too much is still to happen, I can't lose a drop of my cum yet… have to save it all for these two bitches, all of it for them… Christ, look at young Mrs. Reagan licking Mrs. Jamison's cunt, she's really going after it now… both of them are liking it, the sluts, the whores… but now it's Mrs. Cindy Jamison's turn to get a taste of some pussy herself!
"Stop!" he rapped out. "That's enough, Mrs. Reagan! That's enough! Now it's Mrs. Jamison's turn to lick your cunt!"
Even in her aroused, drugged state, Cindy's mind recoiled in horror at Samuels' salacious words. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't! And yet, she had to, there was no other alternative… and she had known from the moment Sally Reagan had been instructed to perform this act of orality on her flesh, that she would be forced to reciprocate… known it and rejected it momentarily in spite of its inevitability.
She felt Sally's lips and tongue and head leave her wide-splayed cunt, and her eyes fluttered open, looking directly into the tortured, secretion-sheened face of the other woman. Ripples of disgust, of terror coursed through her as she heard Samuels shouting for the black-haired girl to sit on the couch, to splay her legs wide and reveal all of her cuntal expanse to Cindy's attentions. Then Sally was obeying, sitting next to her, legs opening, and Cindy could see every inch of the dampened, softly fleece-lined pinkness of the other young wife's pussy.
She wanted to gag, but she found herself responding to Samuels lewd words and commands, found herself dropping to the floor, into a kneeling position, and then moving over so that she was poised between Sally Reagan's thighs, her face only inches from the throbbing wet flesh of her passion. I can't do this, I can't, oh, God… Cindy thought in mortification, and then, as if in some perverse defiance to her thoughts, her head plunged forward and buried itself in the soft moistness of the black-haired wife's vaginal furrow.
The odor of Sally's passion assailed Cindy's nostrils, and she swallowed hard and began to kiss the soft, wet flesh of her inner thighs, as Sally had done to her. Her brain was reeling, reeling, and desire once more leapt like hot fire in her own loins, as if her body was no longer under her own will.
She heard Sally moaning deep in her throat, felt the black-haired girl's thighs clenching and unclenching about her head. Then her lips were pressed to the other young wife's vulva, her tongue was darting into the fiery flesh of Sally's cuntal orifice. She moved it swiftly, sucking and licking the engorged cavern, driven on to faster and madder lickings as Sally Reagan's hips began to gyrate with the lust-inciting activity of lips and tongue. Cindy's wet red probe found the other girl's clitoris, nuzzled it, ran tantalizing circles round and round the swollen button, moved downward again to slide deep into the passion-drenched passage as Sally grasped the blond young wife's hair in both hands, as Cindy had grasped hers…
Oh, Christ, will you look at Cindy go! thought Ralph Taylor. I never thought I'd live to set a sight like this… Jesus, what would Howie think if he could see his pretty little blonde wife now? Got to get a shot of this, a good closeup… Norma will blow her mind when she sees it…
Once more, he stepped out from behind the screen and moved quickly across the threadbare rug, shouldering the panting form of Steve Samuels out of the way. He focused his Polaroid, leaning in close, setting the lens and peering through the viewfinder. Son of a bitch, what a shot! He could see Cindy's tongue flicking all the way up the Reagan girl's cunt! He snapped the shutter, stepped back. But he didn't retreat behind the screen this time. He just stood there, his great cock jutting out like some huge cobra, its head engorged and waiting, its single eye oozing seminal fluid like anticipatory venom. Samuels, still beating his own immense and turgid cock, looked imploringly at the manager, his eyes saying, "For God's sake, I can't take much more of this! When are we going to stop all this playing around and give it to these two little bitches!"
Ralph ignored the impatient postal clerk, counting off sixty seconds. Then he peeled the photograph off the negative, looked at it. Perfect! Clear and sharp, every detail discernible! He couldn't have asked for a better snap!
He ran behind the screen, put the photo with the others, then brought the tripod out and set it up in the middle of the rug. The two young housewives were completely lost in the lewd act of cunnilingus on the couch, Sally Reagan having jackknifed her legs upward so that Cindy's wildly, crazily bobbing head would move over even more of her flowering, secreting pussy. And Cindy was licking and suckling the moist pink flesh like a madwoman, beyond all caring except for the musky taste of the other girl's genitals in her mouth and the rising floodtide of desire in her own loins and belly.
Taylor set the Polaroid on the tripod, adjusted it, rigged the timer so that it was ready to use. Now's the time, he thought. Samuels is going to cum all over himself and the two women any second now if we don't get started, and I don't want that to happen… he's got to join in on this, him and the Goddamn big dog of his, and I don't want to have to wait around for him to get another hardon… Jesus, my own balls are ready to burst… now's the time, all right…
He moved forward hurriedly to stand over the two naked young wives on the couch. Then, in his booming voice, he commanded, "That's enough, Cindy! Stop it, Cindy, that's enough for right now!"
Cindy Jamison froze with her face buried wetly in the throbbing flesh of the black-haired girl's pussy. That voice… it hadn't been Samuels' voice… and yet it was familiar, coming through her delirium of liquor and marijuana and passion, slicing into the very core of her brain… familiar voice, familiar; it was…
Oh, God, oh, God!
She jerked her head out from between Sally Reagan's wide-splayed thighs, twisted it upward, her eyes blinking open. A look of intense horror, mixed with dismay and disbelief, flashed across her passion-sheened features. She ran her tongue over her secretion-coated lips involuntarily as the shock of recognition all but cleared the swirling fog in her brain.
"Oh, God, R-R-Ralph!" she cried in a strangled whisper.