It was not Janet's first trip to Paris. She had toured Europe with her parents when she was fifteen and again with her mother three years past when she was eighteen, and she had been overjoyed when she had married Paul to learn that the fascinating city was going to be their home for the next few years; but now, caught up in the torment of this monstrous illness that had swept over her, she wanted nothing more than to be away from there as soon as possible to be back in Boston amongst those who loved her and could comfort her.
Paul could not help her now. As much as she loved him, and wanted to throw herself at his feet to beg his forgiveness for the vile, wanton acts she had committed with Doctor Leduc, she knew she could not. He would never understand that she had had no control over herself, that she had given her body to this man because of some wicked compelling force she could not fathom.
When they had parted at Le Havre, she had vowed to herself never to see the doctor again. She had felt certain that once out of his jurisdiction the malady – whatever in God's name it was – would pass… even to the terrifying addiction he had somehow subjected her to. And last night, she had made every attempt to be gay and carefree, continually insisting to herself that Leduc's hold over her was no longer, that she had beaten it and now all would be well… Then, had come the horrible agonies, the vomiting and clutching stomach pains… and the detestable sight of Paul's naked body…
Dear God! I must be losing my mind. I can't stand the sight of my own husband's naked body, but I go wild with desire merely thinking of Leduc's heavy, thick shaft! I want it inside me… I… I even want it in my mouth… to lick and suck it… I want him to pump his hot, white sperm into me until I drown in it…!
"Come along, darling. You should be getting ready," Paul said, interrupting her lewd mental torture, as they sat across from one another at the breakfast table. "We have a long ride. Dives is some two-hundred kilometers. As it is, we won't arrive there until late in the afternoon."
"Paul… I don't want to go… I don't want to see Doctor Leduc again…"
"Honey, let's not go through that again. You're being unreasonable… just talking silly," Paul said, shifting uneasily upon his chair and trying desperately not to lose patience with her. "Doctor Leduc has helped you. You've said so yourself… just like last night… and I'm confident, given a little time, he'll have you back to…" He paused, catching himself in time.
Janet managed a mirthless smile. "You were going to say… back to normal."
He caught her hand and held it. "You know what I mean, Janet. My God, I love you, baby, and all I want is to see you well and happy again…"
"Then take me home. Take me back to Boston, Paul," she said quickly. "I know I'll get better there, right away."
Paul withdrew his hand, getting to his feet with a jerk. "Dammit, I've told you that's impossible, Janet… and you know it. I'm committed here now. I just can't… can't walk away like that."
"You can resign."
"And have my father laugh himself sick at me?" he snapped at her. "Oh no," he shook his head vigorously. "I've taken all the 'I-told-you-so' remarks I can from him and the rest of the family. No, Janet. I'm not going to resign and go crawling back there to be an office boy for Cornelius Arden. Never…"
"But you don't have to do that, darling," she put in anxiously. "My daddy has offered you any one of a dozen fine positions…"
"No, Janet! I won't run errands for Jeremiah Clinton either," Paul insisted, slamming the table heavily with his balled fist. "No, by God, we're here and here we stay. We'll make our own way and we'll suffer out our problems together… depending on each other and no one else." His handsome young face was set in a stern expression of finality. "Now, pack what we'll need for the weekend. I want to be on our way in thirty-minutes."
With that, he left her, storming off toward the bedroom to dress while she stared at her cold, half-emptied coffee cup.
All right, damn you. If that's what you want, Paul Arden, that's what you'll get. Only don't say after that I didn't do my best to have you take me out of here. God alone knows what's going to happen now… Suffer our problems together, is it? Good God, you don't know what you're saying… and I can't tell you… I can't! All right… yes, yes, I'll go to him… and I hope he fucks me until I can't walk straight! Ohhh, damn you, Paul Arden! Goddamn you!
Both Janet and Paul were surprised to learn that four other young couples were weekend guests at the Leduc's palatial summer villa. As well, was Paul a bit disappointed at the nasty, cold turn the weather had taken, for he had hoped to do some sailing and perhaps some surf casting; however, he soon found the others to be friendly, sociable, as well as attractive young people, with a minimum of financial problems – young people who had been drawn to the Leducs through the doctor's practice, giving them all something in common. So, almost from the moment of their arrival, a drink was placed in their hands and the indoor merrymaking theme of the next few days caught them up.
While soft enticing music seemed to float continuously in the background of the luxurious surroundings, and servants were constantly available to satisfy one's slightest whim, there was also dancing, poker, chess and bridge in progress, along with the one or two guests who preferred just to lounge and drink. Janet had gotten involved in a rubber of bridge and was seemingly enjoying herself more than Paul had hoped for. He was extremely pleased and more happy than ever that he had insisted they come. Perhaps this was what she needed most of all… social involvement. Really, she'd had little of it since they left New York… little of anything, for that matter, except suffering. Poor, beautiful darling. God, how he loved her.
He watched her laughing and joking, sipping at a liqueur, as he sat contentedly in a large, plush chair enjoying a scotch and soda of his own, and suddenly it occurred to him that he never remembered being engirdled by such beauty. The striking handsomeness of the men meant little to him, but the spectacular beauty of the women wherever he looked amazed him. Such pulchritude was rare in this quantity, even at gatherings of stage celebrities or movie people. Momentarily, he mused over this as he looked about him from female to female and began to experience faint prurient sensations commencing in his loins. The taunting desire embarrassed him… but what the hell could he expect, he reminded himself. How long had it been? Damn…
His thoughts were interrupted by Madame Leduc's entrance, her two superb mastiffs on either side of her. Of course, she had met them upon their arrival, but Paul had not seen her since and they had been there some few hours now. She was a stunning woman, he thought, tall… almost regal, even in the short skirt she wore, but he was looking more at her slender, yet, perfectly tapered legs, the swell of her hips and the thrust of her firm, pointed breasts. Her clear white skin caused him to swallow tightly while her dazzling smile sent his blood racing, and the sensual gleam in her ravishing dark eyes brought crimson to his face. He felt a little foolish, but couldn't help himself.
"Ah, M'sieu' Arden, you sit by yourself," she said, coming directly to him. "No, no, don't get up. We have no formality on these little week-end get-togethers." She dropped into the chair across from him, crossing her legs with a minimum of decorum and showing him much white thigh… even a fleeting glimpse of white nylon panties where they clung snugly to that enticing juncture he found himself visualizing in his mind. Once more, he swallowed tightly. "I do hope you are not bored," she continued in French as the beautiful animals immediately lay down at her feet.
"No, no, not at all, Madame," Paul managed, clearing his throat. "I… I was just sitting here relaxing and thinking how much Madame Arden seems to be enjoying herself."
"Ah… oui, poor child," Madame Leduc sympathized with pursed lips. "The Doctor has spoken of her quite often. He does seem upset over whatever it is that has plagued her." She looked toward Janet. "Such a beautiful girl, M'sieu'… but then, I'm sure Alex will be able to help her."
"I hope you're right, Madame," said Paul, worriedly.
"There now," she soothed, reaching over to pat his knee gently. "You must have faith… and this week end you must enjoy yourself." She smiled warmly. "Look around you, M'sieu'. All of these couples, either the wife or husband, were suffering from illnesses similar to your lovely wife's at one time or another, and now they are all well and happy. You see? That's why they come here… they have such great affection for my husband."
"I see," said Paul, impressed as well as encouraged. God, how he hoped Leduc would be able to do as well by Janet. "By the way, where is the Doctor, Madame? I haven't seen him since he got here."
"Oh, he had to go to the village. Some little girl was taken with abdominal pains and whenever we are here the local physician calls upon Alex for consultation. But now, ma chere, I insist we end this formality. You must call me Danielle and I will call you Paul."
"Very well… Danielle," Paul said, smiling.
Danielle Leduc then overwhelmed him with a bewitching, sultry smile of her own as she leaned forward to place her hand upon his knee once more. The scintillating lights in her eyes danced sensually. She spoke softly, "My Alex tells me that your sweet Janet is afflicted with some abysmal revulsion of your body, ma chere, and that she cannot tolerate you making love to her." She shook her head slowly and made little noises with her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
Paul flushed a brilliant red. He wasn't aware that doctors blabbered the case histories of their patients to their wives quite so indiscreetly and he was about ready to say something to that effect, but the breathtaking creature before him anticipated his anger.
"You mustn't be upset at my knowing, cheri," she whispered consolingly. "You see, I can understand how difficult it must be for a virile young man like yourself… and… and perhaps, I can bring you some… some pleasurable relief, shall we say… a little later…?"
Paul wondered if he had heard her correctly. He stared at her; he couldn't speak but he felt the warm pressure of her hand increasing meaningfully against his leg, and for a third time in the space of a few minutes his throat seemed to go dry and he swallowed tightly. Then, she was standing, her dogs immediately rising to their feet.
She smiled down at him promisingly, then looked toward the animals. "Are not they magnificent animals, Paul? Have you ever seen their equal?"
"Y-yes… I mean yes, they are and no, I haven't," he stammered, reaching out to pet the head of Vailante.
The brute growled deep in its throat and Paul withdrew his hand.
"I fear he is not the friendliest of beasts," she apologized, then scolded the massive dog. "They are a super breed. They were bred especially for Adolph Hitler to be used as guards in his concentration camps during the tail end of the war when the German manpower became so critical. They can snap the bone of a man's arm with one bite of their powerful jaws…" she went on, smiling down at her pet and stroking his great head. "I was most fortunate in locating this pair… there has been so much cross breeding and tainting of the blood-strain. It seems that people no longer want large dogs for pets, but I love them, don't you?"
"Y-Yes," Paul managed, hardly hearing her words, his brain still reacting to the meaning of her promise. Then, she was saying, "… are extremely affectionate animals to their masters." She bent down and kissed Vailante on the crown of his huge head. The dog whimpered and wagged its tail. She straightened. "For me, a dog cannot be too big," she said. "I love them… the bigger the better."
"Yes," Paul babbled. "Yes, of course."
He watched her exquisite form move gracefully across the large room, her pets on either side of her. He followed her movements with still stunned eyes as she paused to speak and smile at her guests individually, finally turning to throw him one last, long engaging smile before leaving the room at the far end. Christ, his prick had leaped into semi-hardness at just the thought of her words. What the hell had she meant… some pleasurable relief? There could be only one thing…
"Well, Arden, are you drunk yet?" A tall, broad shouldered, blond chap with a jagged scar on his right cheek slumped into the chair Danielle Leduc had just occupied. He spoke in French with a decided German accent and his discerning, keen blue eyes probed Paul's with a cold, calculating gleam. He held a glass in his hand and as he sat he emptied it.
"No… no, I don't believe so," Paul said, trying to recall his name. He had been introduced to everyone but he was not the greatest of name-rememberers… besides, Danielle Leduc was still heavy in his mind.
"I am Hans… Hans Friestag, in case you have forgotten," the German said, smiling. "What do you drink? I will get us a couple."
"Scotch… scotch and soda's fine," said Paul, surprised when the German had switched to English which he also spoke fluently. He watched him motion to a servant and order for them.
"So…" Hans Friestag sighed, slumping deeply into the luxurious chair and folding his hands across his lap. "I assume either you or your wife are ill and you've come for treatment?"
Paul studied him. "Why should you assume that?"
Hans Friestag shrugged. "What else? That is what brought us all here… the first time."
"Oh… and now?"
"The kicks… what else?" said the German. "And I know of no other place where you can get such kicks… except for the Palais de Plaisir itself."
Paul continued to stare at him, feeling rather stupid in his failure to grasp the other's meaning. He shook his head just as the servant returned, extending the tray to each of them in turn.
"Really?" Hans Friestag questioned Paul's head-shake, raising his glass to his lips, his eyes never wavering from the tall, dark American. Finally, he said, "Tell me, Arden, is your wife any good in bed?"
Paul came upright in his chair, not quite certain he had heard correctly. "Wh-what did you say?"
"Your wife…? Is she really as good as she looks…?"
"I thought that's what you said," Paul snapped in rage. "What the hell kind of remark is that?" he shot at the German.
Once more, Friestag shrugged. "No offense, old man," he said half apologetically in English. "Just wondering. You see, once again, that's what brought all of us here at one time or another… finding sexual compatibility with our spouses," the German grinned. "I thought you knew… but I guess you didn't."
"I wasn't that interested," said Paul sharply, his anger somewhat under control now. "Doctor Leduc is treating my wife. That's why we've come."
Hans Friestag nodded, the faintest trace of a smile playing around his thin-lipped mouth. "Naturally," he said. "A lovely girl, Mrs. Arden. And you can feel confident that Leduc will help her. He is an amazing physician."
Paul gulped at his drink. There was something intoned in every word the German uttered that rankled him, yet there was nothing basic that he could put his finger on… and then a servant entered to announce that a buffet supper was being served in the dining room, and Friestag stood to find his wife.
"Well, see you later in the apartment, Arden." He nodded, offering a half-hearted salute. "Pleasant pickings," he added and walked off.
Paul stood, draining his own glass and staring after the German. What the hell did he mean… pleasant pickings… and being here for the kicks… or the Palais de Plaisir? He looked around him at the warm laughing faces of the attractive men and women… at his own Janet who was smiling radiantly at the slender, dark young importer, Charl Rondeau. Everyone seemed so light-hearted and happy… then, someone had his arm. It was Danielle Leduc, absent her mastiffs.
"So, ma chere, you are ready to sup?" she questioned, moving close until he could feel her firm, yet soft pointed breast pressing its button-hard nipple into his arm.
"I… ah… was just going for my wife," Paul said, looking deep into her sparkling, taunting eyes.
"But that is not necessary, you see?" She nodded with her pretty head to where Janet had fastened onto the arm of Charl Rondeau.
Paul forced a smile as he watched the way Janet drew the Frenchman's arm against her own full breast and proceeded to accompany him toward the dining room without so much as a look in his direction. He knew damned well that he didn't like what he saw, but on the other hand, the liquor had stimulated him to the reckless point where he liked very much the provocative creature beside him and the way she was letting him know that her charms were his for the taking… and God knows, he needed them bad enough. His smile twisted into a wry grin as he thought to himself how goddamned disappointed that Frenchie would be if Janet took one look at his prick. He even chuckled aloud at the thought.
"Something is funny, my Paul?" the raven-haired beauty questioned.
Paul caught himself and let his laugh wind up in a licentious little smile which he confidently extended her as he squeezed her hand warmly. "Just thinking, honey… remembering that promise you made a little while ago."
They were alone now, the others having filed on out toward the dining room. Danielle looked up into his eyes, desire immediately coming alive in her own.
"You liked my suggestion?" she whispered to him.
"I loved it."
"Mmmmmmmmm." She shuddered, lifting her lips to his to be kissed.
Paul did, tenderly, and as their lips met he felt her hand gently commence to massage his already rigid cock as it throbbed against his trouser leg.
Doctor Leduc arrived in the midst of the eating. Quickly, he circled the room greeting each of his guests individually and with a certain warmth as he apologized for his being delayed, simultaneously gulping away a double martini. When he reached Janet her heart skipped a beat as he took both of her hands into his and said, "My dear, how are you feeling?"
"F-Fine, Doctor," she heard herself reply, sensing the pressure of his hands upon hers.
"Ahhh good, good. Once we've had a bite to eat we shall go off somewhere by ourselves, ma chere."
Janet shuddered with unwanted delight. She could not help herself, and she doubted that she wanted to. She guessed fully the meaning of his words, and suddenly what appetite she had, left her. God! Why doesn't he take me now. Now!
From a few yards away, Paul watched the performance and was baffled by what he would term as a libidinous gleam in his wife's eyes, but before he could move toward her, Gretchen Friestag had come up to take his arm.
"You are Paul," she said matter-of-factly in the same accented English her husband spoke.
"Yes," he replied, looking into the deep gray eyes of this voluptuous blonde whose large round, full breasts seemed as if they might burst beyond the flimsy material encasing them.
"I've been watching you ever since you arrived," she said openly. "I think… maybe, I love you a little bit. Will you fuck me later at the party?"
Paul's mouth fell open. He had stuffed some chicken salad in there along with a half stalk of celery, and now the partially masticated food threatened to dribble out unless he raised his lower jaw.
Gretchen Friestag did it for him with a crooked first finger. She smiled beautifully. "Will you, darling?" she pleaded in exotically accented English. "I have never been fucked by an American, would you believe it…?"
There, the one-sided conversation ended, for Danielle Leduc returned from seeing to her guests.
"Gretchen, ma chere, you are preying upon my lover," she said coldly, but with a smile that was undeniably an order.
"Oh… Madame, I am so sorry. I didn't know. Please forgive me," the enchanting girl pleaded. Then, to Paul, "So, so sorry, darling. Perhaps, next time, eh?"
Paul hadn't spoken… had hardly thought as he gaped from one to the other of the two delectable women. Finally, when she was gone, he said, "Look… what the hell is this anyway? Danielle… Jesus Christ! I'm in a fog…!"
The exquisite woman tittered lightly. "You won't be in a little while," she cooed up at him.
And so he wasn't… entirely. When the eating was past and Leduc had led Janet off to somewhere of which Paul had no idea, all males and females were taken to the second floor and separate dressing rooms where toga-like gowns were handed to them. Paul stared about him as the men unquestionably commenced to shed their clothing and don the single shoulder-clasped togas. He particularly noticed that they wore absolutely nothing beneath them.
He shook his head vigorously and sat down on a stool to gape around at the others. Hans Friestag saw him and walked over, his blue toga doing little for his athletic physique.
"So… what is wrong, Arden?" he asked in English.
"Wh-what the hell is this anyway?" Paul stammered. "I mean… I don't get it…"
Friestag chuckled. "You will, old boy. Just slip into that oversized handkerchief. All of the delights are through that door… into the apartment. Take my word for it… it's worth your time."
With that, the German walked off and Paul reluctantly stood… taking his word for it, he felt even though he didn't trust him as far as he could throw a camel. Slowly, he undressed, hesitating when he got to his shorts, but finally even kicking them off, then mastering the drape of the toga. Jesus! He felt like a Kansas farmer in his nightgown. Nevertheless, he screwed up his courage and was the last one to walk through the doorway to the apartment.
At first, the clever indirect lighting was such that he could actually make out nothing but what appeared to be a long room of couches and pillows, with draped figures moving about. And then, as his eyes grew accustomed, he realized that was exactly what he saw… plus what might be a bar at the far end with Danielle behind it. He moved in that direction, his bare feet sinking an inch into the white ermine-like carpet, the exotic string-music coming from somewhere and filling his head. Suddenly, just before he reached the bar, he saw Gretchen Friestag lying with her head in the lap of Charl Rondeau, the Frenchman's prick, long and thick, in her small hand. He came up short to stop and stare. Charl looked up at him and when he did, Gretchen twisted about to smile upward in recognition.
"Darling!" she gasped. "Did the Madame change her mind?"
Paul gulped in his amazement, stumbling forward, his own shaft already bucking against the draping of his white and gold toga. By the time he had reached the bar where Danielle's dazzling face loomed like an ecstatic vision, he had encountered several more erotic instances that caused him to peer in awe at the captivating hostess and say, "Goddamnit, what kind of orgy is this, anyway?"
"Ma chere, that's exactly what it is… and you are upset. You need a drink. Danielle will fix you her own special… and in a little while you will know all of the answers." She spoke to him in French as he looked at her in astonishment. His eyes were caught by the particular gleam reflected from her jewel-like lower lip, and the spectacle of her uninhibited breasts dancing beneath the tight silkish material of her deep wine-colored toga. She pressed a glass into his hand and said, "Drink it, cheri. Quickly, and I will make you one more before the dance."
Paul gulped away the sweet tasting liquid, her words lingering in his mind, his gratuitous prayer one of thanks that Janet was not here… involved in this profligacy.
"Wh-What dance?" he managed, half lying across the small bar.
"We have been waiting for you, my love. Now you will see. Drink that and I will pour us both one more and we will go to a couch to watch."
He studied her. She was a bit woozy in his vision. Hell, he gathered he was drunk anyway, and these apertifs could add little to his stupor. He swallowed it away and let her pour him another, then waited for her to lead him to one of the central couches next to a circular clearing left in the center of the floor. He flopped onto it with his arm raised and around her as she clapped her hands loudly… and then, it began.
As they rushed onto the center portion left vacant for them, Paul immediately saw that they were little older than pubescent children, maybe in their first teens.
Simultaneously, he saw at the far end several naked dark youths beating upon tight-skinned drums, the rhythm immediately filling the room. Then, from a suddenly opened door came the dancers, two separate troupes of brown boys and girls with nothing about their nude bodies but the traditional loin-cloth, or futeh, as Danielle called it, a narrow blue breech-clout which hung in front to their mid-thighs, just barely concealing their private parts. Immediately, he saw that the boy's loincloths were starting to lift with their hard penises.
The girls were covering their naked pear-shaped breasts with their hands, moving off to the right, their tight round buttocks shining in the half-light. And now, the drummers began to increase their beat, and the boys began to move by way of signaling to the girls with their eyes and hands; but the latter turned away in modesty, seemingly not interested in their advances. And so it went… and Paul repeated stupidly, "Jesus! What is this anyway?"
"Contain yourself, ma chere," Danielle Leduc teased.
"Christ, my goddamned cock is like a ramrod!" he blurted, his head commencing to swim pleasantly.
"Soooo," she taunted. "This, my sweet, is a fertility rite. Although we have to use Moroccans to perform it, some of the girls have had a clitoridectomy and a nymphotomy, almost necessary operations to perform the dance in its full splendor."
Paul stared as the young men walked away from the girls and fell into a circle where they pretended to smoke a pipe.
"Sometimes, darling, we show pornographic movies, but for you I thought this would be better," Danielle said, leaning heavily against him, her hand rubbing along his ribs and finally over his stomach on the outside of his toga. "A real live show… just for you, ma chere."
Paul reached over and caressed her breast, soft and pliant and promising, kissing her full on the mouth and pressing his tongue forward. Eagerly, she accepted it, drawing it into her mouth as her hand slipped beneath his gown and clutched his jerking cock with a certain finality… eventually moving into a knowing and gentle massage.
Paul gasped aloud as he felt her skinning it back so that the pulsing red-fleshed head popped out from the thick foreskin and the cooling air rushed against it. Then he saw the lovely young dusky girls become uncommonly bold, strutting forward with the tempo of the ever beating drums. They commenced to perform a belly-dance, writhing and wriggling and shimmying their young, lithe bodies, proudly thrusting their ripe, naked breasts and buttocks out, undulating and gyrating their smooth bellies and hips, and teasingly uncovering, then covering again, their sparsely haired mons by a quick sideward flick of the futeh with their nimble fingers. At last, they ripped away their loincloths in a white heat of amorous agitation, revealing themselves stark naked.
With a wild cry of triumph came the boys, yanking away their own breech-clouts, revealing their virile young cocks in violent erection. They approached the girls in a frenzy of measured movement, their handsome brown bodies glistening with perspiration, their every muscle rippling and aquiver, their long slim pricks vibrating in the palpitant heat of excitement, their balls swinging against their thighs, their buttocks hollowing and tensing.
Abruptly, the boys paired off and approached a girl, dancing around her and making as if to seize her in their embraces. She pretended to resist, shifting her shoulders from one side to another, covering her eyes and then her breasts, then her throbbing pussy. Finally, one of the boys came up behind her while the other frisked about in front. In order to thwart the latter, she bent slightly forward so that he couldn't reach between her thighs, and to further hinder him from entering her, she put forth her slim hands and greedily grasped his prick, rubbing it in her palms and, stroking it up and down while he struggled to take her hands away by grabbing at her forearms and clutching her firm, ripe breasts.
Once more, Paul groaned aloud, and as if to quiet him, Danielle leaned over, thrusting his cock deep into her throat in one, long, slow, continuous movement, sucking momentarily and causing him to groan and heave his loins upward at her involuntarily as the warm, wet cavern of her mouth sent a wild spasm wracking through him, then she drew slowly up and away with clasping lips.
"Now, ma chere," she whispered hotly into his ear, "contain yourself until the dance is done."
"Oh shit," Paul groaned, as suddenly, the youth to the rear of the young girl dancer darted forward, swooping his slick shaft between her buttocks which had been presented to him in perfect form. The girl released an ecstatic cry, her face taut, and lurched her loins forward as the boy in her rear began to pummel her. At the same time, the lad in front seizing his opportunity, yanked away her hands, snared her in his embrace, then thrust his cock completely into her vagina in one lunge.
Christ, Paul thought. He wasn't sure but what that one in back had his prick right up her ass!
Now, both boys were hugging her tightly and still hopping around, ramming their pricks in and out of her rhythmically until she looked as if she were about to sag from the vicious buffeting. Her mouth was open and he could hear her incoherent moaning babbles. Her eyes closed and then opened in a lost glaze of passion as finally she managed to stand perfectly still, her thighs slightly apart while the two boys were grinning and shouting and pounding into her from both sides, ramming rapidly to the cadence of the drums, until the moaning girl seemed ready to crumble. Perspiration poured from their bodies and in the flickering light Paul could see the seminal fluid oozing from her gaping, lipless cunt and down the girl's thighs, trickling along her legs in small rivulets.
Abruptly, the sweat coated girl collapsed to her knees, jerking her shoulders and rolling her head in wild delirium, her eyes closed, her mouth open and working like a fish out of water.
Victoriously, the two boys left her to attack another whose partners chose to fall upon the exhausted girl on the floor.
Paul could scarcely breathe. His rod ached in its throbbing hardness. Danielle was stroking it tenderly, working the heavy foreskin up and down over the glans as driblets of its sticky, lubricating fluid seeped from the tiny orifice in its blood-inflated head. It had been too goddamned long! Christ! This was not enough. He had to have release of some kind or his balls were going to burst!
He glanced hotly around the room and saw other couples, all of whom had swapped their legal mates, engaged in one form or another of sex. In the dim lighting he made out Gretchen Friestag completely naked now and up on all fours atop the couch with Rondeau on his knees behind her, and they were bucking at each other in a frenzy all their own. And only a couch away was Charl Rondeau's slim, dark-haired wife, also naked and planted on her hands and knees between Hans Friestag's spread legs, the German's cock shoved up into her mouth, her head bobbing like a yo-yo on a string, his prick soaring into her face until her lips must have touched the pubic hair of his pelvis.
Christ, he couldn't stand it any longer! He started to reach for Danielle but his eyes caught the two boys who had grabbed a girl up from the floor and clung to their antics in lewd fascination. He watched them lift her and begin to dance around her. The girl was facing him and Paul could see her dripping, gaping cunt, an unbelievable sight on such a small young girl. Then she turned her back to him and toward the boy at her rear, and gradually she bent forward, until the breadth of her buttocks was jutting toward him and the boy obscenely, rotating gently as if in invitation. Her thighs tensed and rippled in slim strength as she shifted on her feet, and then she reached back with her dark, slender arms and gently pulled apart her buttocks with her fingers, disclosing in an even more obscene gesture that little dark hole for their pleasure.
Around the tiny revealed anus, which seemed so raw and vulnerable, a few stray black hairs fringed. The girl's bottom rotated as if on its own axis, taunting and teasing at the poised boy who had suddenly begun to manipulate his rigid cock with his hand. Suddenly, the boy in front lurched toward her and meekly, she grabbed the stiff, ramrod prick, but she was too weak to resist. The boys were dynamized, as if inflamed to fury; but she was languid, spent with motion… as if she had come a hundred times. The front boy's cock looked hot and hard and slippery. Her small hand couldn't hold it! It slid forward into her nymphotomized, unprotected vagina with ease. He hauled her loins to him with a shocking, slapping jolt, while the boy in back squeezed and tormented her ripe, small breasts, then took aim and with one thrust entered her asshole in a jerking plunge.
God almighty, the orgy seemed unending. The girls writhed in pleasurable agony, their faces twisted and twitching in orgastic convulsions; while the boys seemed spurred to pulsatory violence by the rhythmic beat of the drums, continuing to torture them with never ending thrusting. The youths lurched their buttocks furiously, attacking and retreating unmercifully.
They commenced to rotate by turns, abandoning themselves to frenetic spasms of lust, alternatingly assailing cunt and asshole until they were ready to drop from the exertion. And then, as Paul watched in absolute, unrestrained depravity, they did sink to the floor, boy and girl together, pawing and clawing at each other, an occasional girl sucking at a limp cock in her effort to restore it to life. The girls were squirming and groaning, yet, still hotly and hungrily handling the deflated pricks of their delirious partners… while up at the end, the drummers, afire with their own desires, were rapidly jerking at themselves and each other with a free hand…
Paul was beside himself in his aching passion, ready to beg for it now if necessary, but then he saw that Danielle had removed her toga and was presently unfastening the shoulder-clasp of his own. Then, she was lifting his feet onto the couch and climbing between his legs to hover above his heavy, rock-hard, palpitating cock, her lips barely touching the tip of its purple, bloated head. Her long tresses hung down to taunt his naked belly and thighs, and he could see the long, hard distended nipples of her breasts pulsing in their own right. She looked up at him.
"First, ma chere, your slave will suck you to relief… then, we will go to a private bed where we can fuck and fuck and fuck! Oui?"
"Oui, oui," groaned Paul heavily, lifting his hips upward toward her face frantically. "Any thing, any thing, only… suck that prick, baby! Suck it! Suck it!"