Chapter 4

"The pitcher is empty, little girl," Marc Cord said, smiling and lifting the heavy cut crystal decanter for her to see.

Diane, her mind fuzzy from the rum, stared at it. "And I was almost ready for a refill." The sun sparkled off the glass, making her wince. Her whole physical being seemed to satisfyingly relax in the warm rays of the sun. She could have sat there forever...

"Come on," Marc urged, standing up. "Keep me company while I make some more."

She smiled up at him. He was really quite a man, she thought. Pure, raw, male animal, and she was... well, sort of attracted to him. Not that she was going to do anything about it, of course. She was married, and so was he. Hands off! Private property! But that didn't stop her from helping him mix some more rum cocktails, did it? Not at all!

"Love to," she replied. She rose unsteadily, and Marc took her arm. She accepted his assistance gratefully; with all the liquor she'd drunk and the soporific effect of the sun, she doubted she could make it to the door without it.

She giggled and took her empty glass as they walked to the sun porch. Marc opened the door and waited for her to enter. He led her to the tweed couch, and, in spite of her apprehension, she sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. He continued to talk of generalities as he crossed to the bar and opened the small refrigerator for more ice. Diane leaned back on the cushions, her mind drifting, hazy from the alcohol, and let his warm voice flow through her. She enjoyed the way he talked. He was so pleasant, almost like a brother rather than the ruthless ogre her husband had made him seem like. Well, Roger was wrong: Marc was not all that dangerous, all that terrible.

She leaned forward and for the first time noticed the hard- cover portfolio on the rattan table in front of her. The jacket had the gold embossed title: "Studies of Love". She touched the cover, afraid and yet a little curious as to what it might contain; but her inquisitiveness finally won out. She raised the cover and gazed at the first picture.

It was in full color, obviously taken by a skilled photographer. It depicted two people making love, their faces contorted in rapture. Diane gasped in sudden embarrassment and looked quickly over at Cord, who was still blandly mixing the new pitcher of rum cocktails and talking about the weather they had in Marin County, evidently oblivious to her knowledge of the portfolio.

Hypnotized by the carnal activity in the photo, Diane studied the photo, for she had never seen a picture of two people making love before, and it looked strange to her. She wondered if this was the way she and Roger looked, with the almost crab-like splaying of arms and legs. Then she turned to the next one, which was of a man having his penis sucked by a beautiful blonde woman. She thought of the night before, of her with Roger's member in her mouth; but the differences were obvious. The woman in the picture was enjoying it, her mouth stretched wide and her lips locked around it in an oval as though they would never release their prize. A ripple of secret desire coursed through Diane as she looked at the man's hardened penis, for it was even larger than Roger's, and she wondered how the woman could take it all without choking. She clenched her thighs together at the idea of having such a monster even between her legs, then quickly turned to the third photo. Just as explicitly this one showed the woman flat on her back on the floor, her knees drawn up to her breasts. The man was kneeling between her thighs, his tongue parting her pubic hair and curling in the wide pink slit of her vagina. Diane gaped at the obscene sight, and a small gasp of shock escaped her lips.

"You like them, Diane?" came a smiling voice which made her jump, and a hand appeared with a fresh drink for her.

"Well... well, no I don't. Not really." She took the drink from Marc and a quick swallow in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was blushing. She looked at Cord, thought, and saw that there was an amused expression on his face.

"Don't be so sure, Diane. Even I enjoy looking at such things occasionally."

"You don't mean that you... approve of what those people are doing, do you?" she blurted incredulously. "They're like... animals!"

"Who can tell what should or shouldn't be done in passion? It's a very strong emotion. Everybody needs passion to make themselves happy, don't they? To make the person they love happy?"

"Of course," she agreed. "But doing... doing such perverted acts can't be a part of that happiness."

"No? Well, I think the couple in the photos made each other happy."

Diane felt confused. She knew she shouldn't have had that last drink, and even though she felt that she was right, she wasn't in any condition to be arguing morality--or anything else. She blinked heavily trying to clear her mind of blurred thoughts, thoughts of the previous night and her unwilling initiation into sexual deviations. Roger had always seemed satisfied with her, at least most of the time, but she did have to admit she was unknowledgeable about certain things. Did it really take such acts to hold a man? No, of course not. How could she consider such a perverted idea? It was evil just to think of things like that, much besides lower oneself to perform them. Or... was it? For the first time in her life, Diane seriously began to question her frozen values, wondering if she really didn't know what a man wanted or needed physically. She tipped the glass again, her throat parched from embarrassment and nervousness.

"You're really going at that rum," Cord said.

"Mmmmm," she replied. "These are good." Despite the heavy commitment she had toward her inbred code of morals, Diane began to feel faint stirrings of arousal once again churn her body. Moisture seeped between her legs, and she pressed her thighs tightly together and moved her buttocks against the rear of the sofa in a vain attempt to quiet the lascivious tingling. "I... I think maybe we'd better go back outside, Marc. Perhaps Roger and Cindy are waiting for us."

"Oh, I doubt that," Marc said, and Diane detected a sudden change in his voice. "I saw them as I was making the drinks."

She frowned. "What do you mean, together?"

Cord, his lips pursed and his forehead furrowed, walked around from the back of the couch and sat down beside Diane. He looked straight at her. "I mean we have a situation on our hands, Diane," he said seriously, "One that isn't as academic as the photos you were looking at." He dipped his eyes and peered into his drink, then rotated the glass in his hand. "I don't know how to put this, Diane, but--well, I've known for some time that Cindy has been playing around, and..." He paused, shaking his head in a mixture of pathos and anger. "Well, maybe you had better look for yourself."

He took her hand and she rose, still confused as to what he was talking about. He led her around the couch and over to the bamboo-blinded window and drew aside the curtain.

"Look," he said. "Over there, by the shallow end of the pool."

Diane took one quick glance, and suddenly she felt as if she would scream. Instead, she raised the glass to her lips in convulsive horror and swallowed heavily, thirstily, not tasting the liquid at all. "Oh no... no!" she gasped as she lowered the almost empty glass. "Oh... my God, I don't believe it! No, no, no!"

What she had seen was Cindy lying spread-eagle on a large, fluffy towel, completely nude, rolling her head in contorted ecstasy and Roger, kneeling between her naked legs, running his tongue moistly up and down her bronzed body. He paused to suck her nipples to hardened points, and then traced a wet hot path down to the flat plane of her stomach and inner thighs. Cindy's hands were tangled in his hair, her expression that of a woman possessed.

Diane leaned against the window sill, unable to move. "I... I don't believe it!" she gasped again.

Cord snorted slightly and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Good God, Diane, it's plain to see! They're making love."

Diane tried to blot out the horrid scene in front of her. Dear God! There had to be a reason, a logical explanation! How how could her husband, her Roger, be... be...

Cindy was at fever pitch. Her mouth hung open with ecstatic rapture and her glassy eyes stared at nothing but her own inner lust. Roger positioned himself with his mouth over her pubic mound, his fingers splayed on her belly and his thumbs on the outer lips of her vagina. Diane sucked in her breath as she watched Roger part the soft patch of pubic hair and expose the other woman's moist red slit, then drop his head over Cindy's desire-writhing cunt. Cindy's body jerked as if struck by lightning, and her thighs clamped over Roger's ears in a vise-like grip, her hips beginning to move with the rhythm of his slavering tongue.

Diane was completely absorbed in the horrible lewdness being performed before her eyes. She gaped in disbelief, but her own body began to involuntarily sway in time to that of Cindy's undulations as her husband continued the nerve-shattering licking of the woman's widespread vaginal slit. Then Diane realized that Marc was speaking again. She wrenched her mind back to where she was, asked: "What? What did you say?"

"I said that I'm going to mix another drink, Diane. We could both use another." He took her glass.

Almost mesmerically, Diane's eyes returned to the fantastic sight in front of her. All she cared about, all she saw in her mind, were the two naked writhing bodies on the towel.

Roger's fat stump of a cock had protruded into view, now. It was enormously thick, and for a sudden, crazy second Diane wondered how she had ever taken him all, and then she was further transfixed by the thought that she was now going to see her husband making love to another woman.

But Roger worked his way up Cindy's sweat-soaked body and straddled her breasts. Diane could see his penis standing out from his belly, its scarlet head but a few inches from Cindy's gasping opened mouth. Roger reached back with one hand and moved his middle finger down the already wet pink folds of her wide stretched pussy, then plunged his finger to the third knuckle into the waiting, lust-quivering hole. He rotated it around, pumping in mock copulation, and Cindy squirmed and pushed against the exquisite digital torture. She flicked her tongue out and rubbed it along the underside of Roger's swollen shaft, then encircled the head, bathing it, kissing the dilated opening. She strained forward, her neck muscles clearly visible and closed her lips like an elastic band around Roger's turgid cock. She took it deep, and Roger leaned forward and began a rocking motion, a grin of animal passion wide across his face.

He's too big! Diane thought, fascinated with horror as Cindy's convoluted lips sucked as though she had waited forever for that magic moment. Her cheeks hollowed on the out-stroke and filled on the in-stroke with a puckered hunger whose very lustiness made Diane cringe. God! He's going to make her suck him until he... he cums! He's going to flood his hot sticky sperm until he drowns her in it! He's going to... to drown her!

Cord appeared, standing close to her, so close that his trunks touched the backs of her naked thighs. The touch was electrifying to her and she whirled suddenly to him, wide eyed, charged with a combination of licentiousness and loathing. "What... what... ?" she began haltingly, afraid to look into Marc's eyes but accepting automatically the fresh drink he offered her.

"What do you think we should do, Diane?" Cord asked calmly. "The man out there is your husband, remember, and he's on top of my wife and she's sucking the living hell out of him."

"You don't have to be so... so graphic!"

"At a time like this, you're worried about that? Don't you care what's happening out there?"

"Of course I do! It makes me sick!" she shot back at him thickly.

"Then... don't you think there ought to be reprisals?"

Diane stared at him. She searched his eyes and saw an almost lecherous response. "I--I don't understand."

"Simple. An eye for an eye." Marc licked his lips. "A wife for a wife."

Diane felt her stomach lurch and a clamminess crept across her body. She stiffened. Marc continued to look at her, a smile creeping across his handsome features. "Does that idea sicken you so much?"

Diane's brain whirled. "Two wrongs don't make a... a right. Who do you think I am, making a proposition like that? A whore?"

Marc placed his hand on her bare stomach. Diane couldn't deny in her liquor-numbed mind that his touch sent a thrill through her, already being aroused from the obscene display on the patio, but that didn't change the fact that she was married, nor that her entire upbringing had prepared her to be repulsed by this... this filth!

"Stop, Marc!" she moaned, pulling back from his hand. "Please, stop it!" She turned her head from his gaze, but in so doing her eyes once more feasted upon the carnally locked couple on the towel.

Roger jerked his cock suddenly from Cindy's mouth and he moved downward again, then slightly to one side, his hands racing over the firm, but yielding bronzed flesh. He pulled her legs wide and parted the petal-like lips of her cunt, and then crawled between them. Cindy reached between their legs and grasped the blunt, fiery pole of his penis and with a twisted look of passion, sunk his cock deep into her dark, waiting hole of lust. Her whole body twitched and leapt with abandon as their bellies smacked together and Roger cupped the trembling moons of her ass and strained to push his cock further in.

Diane stood motionless as her husband began the slow grinding of each long stroke, and for some reason instead of the utter revulsion she expected to feel, there was a peculiar twittering quiver deep between her thighs. She closed her eyes and pressed back against Marc's chest, but still the vision of Roger's gleaming cock, moist the full length from Cindy's lips, raced through her mind.

Suddenly, Cord's hand snaked around her, and she felt her right breast slowly being massaged through the flimsy material of her bikini top. She was momentarily powerless to stop it. Then the suit was raised and her full, slightly quivering breast was free, its nipple hard against the sudden rush of air. Diane uttered a moan as Marc's thumb worked the rigid bud, and pleasure shot the full length of her body.

"He's fucking my wife," Cord whispered provocatively into her ear. "Did you see him?"

"Yes, oh yes," Diane mumbled back in a daze, the lewd word strangely exciting to her.

Marc continued to play with her exposed tit, grinding his pelvis tightly into hers. He slid his other hand down around the soft roundness of her buttocks. Her body stiffened in panicked realization of what was happening.

"Oh, no, Marc, we can't... we can't do this!"

"Why not? Your husband's fucking my wife isn't he?"

"Oh no, please don't do this to me!" she pleaded, her eyes tearing with the salt of anguish.

Cord lowered his head and completely engulfed her soft lips with his, and his tongue darted out to slip between her teeth. An uncontrollable tremor surged through her, her mouth opening to the pillage of his onslaught, her entire being relaxing against him. He held her closer, his big hands hot and moving as they pressed the spheres of her smooth, firm buttocks to his now bulging trunks, forcing her groin to grind against his swelling cock.

"Stop, Marc!" Diane mewled, "Oh no... no... no!" She squirmed away from his grip. "I don't know what we can do about... about that... outside, but it can't be this! I'm not some... some slut you can... can take at will."

"I know you're not, Diane," Cord breathed into her ear as he closed in again, his hand returning to her waist as he drew her to him with powerful arms once more. "But I plan to repay your husband's generosity in the best way possible."

His hands began to fondle the tight, cloth-encased cheeks of Diane's buttocks. Momentarily she struggled, but then she realized the total futility of the situation. She couldn't scream, couldn't run... He kissed her hotly, and his right hand came up from her hips and massively closed over her still exposed right breast, absorbing its cool, full flesh as though she were a budding child.

"Oh... oh... oh... !" she cried, suddenly alive with livid sensations. His hands, his tongue, his whole enveloping body began to enflame her, and she gasped from the wantonness and craving which was rapidly overtaking her. Marc's hand traveled teasingly over her whole body, touching her breast, her stomach, her thigh... her inner thigh... then the narrow secretion band of her suit bottom. Yes! Yes! Oh God, his fingers felt good; They were so soft and warm and agonizingly close!

A low purring of arousal escaped from her lips, and she breathed heavily, the blood hotly coursing through her veins. Cord smiled down at her, and then began to lead her gently away from the window and back to the couch. "'Yes, baby, yes," he crooned. "We're going to really make it."

Gently, he pushed her down on her back on the couch, and she rubbed her legs along the cushions, undulating her thighs from the building passion. She raised her arms to Marc in almost drugged supplication, and he in turn kneeled beside her. His searing mouth and tongue pressed hard against her pliant, now-willing lips. His hands continued to play along her skin, slipping up and down her inner thigh, brushing against the burning, vibrant mound of her soft, young pussy.

"Oh, Marc... oh Marc, please don't... ohhhhhhh!" she moaned. His fingers slipped up inside the narrow leg band of her bathing suit, and she cringed at the devilish touch. Her mind tried to preserve the vestiges of her principles, her concepts of morality, even as her body betrayed her with prurient desire.

Then Cord, unheeding her final, weakened pleas of mercy, fingered the rich valley of her cunt, stroking the hair-covered ridges and burrowing deep to slide around the already blood- engorged clitoris. She involuntarily raised her hips, rotating her sex-hungered thighs in helpful deliberation, spreading her legs so he could wander between her thighs at will. Her arms were wrapped around his neck tightly and she whimpered into his ear. trailing hot, moist kisses across his face while slowly, surely, he insinuated his teasing fingers into the moist folds of her warm, slavering vaginal orifice.

Oh... God... this... this is wrong... all wrong! her brain screamed to her, but caught in the emotional agony of sensual desire, she could only groan and bite her lip. Cord parted the sensitive slit of her cunt and teased the soft, surrounding pubic hair as he made sudden, ecstatic contact with her throbbing clitoris. Diane sensed her own deep wetness from her unwanted passion and the electrifying shock of his caresses. He began to remove her suit pants, to edge them down over her full, well shaped thighs and hips, to worm insidiously the last defense from her deliriously pulsating pussy. Abruptly, the cool air upon the pubic hair of her groin triggered the last defiant rejection of his maddening probe.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, thrusting her hands against his heavy chest and writhing and kicking, trying to push him away. "Oh, for God's sake, get off me! Let me up!"

"Goddamn it!" Marc pressed tighter, refusing to remove his middle finger and continuing the outrageous rampage of her tender, sensorial cunt. "It's too late for us to stop, baby. I've tried to be patient with you, to make it nice and enjoyable, but one way or the other I'm going to do just what I said. I'm going to fuck you, baby." He leered hotly down at her, eyes flashing with the uncontrollable lust of sexual frenzy. "Your husband's out there fucking my wife, and if you don't cooperate in return, baby, I'll fire him on the spot. Understand? You and I get together, and Roger will get his promotion, but if you don't..."

His threat was clear to Diane in spite of her confused, liquor-dazed mind. She realized that she was in a horrible mess, with no way out. There was nothing she could do, nothing... oh Roger, Roger, what shall I do? Tears of humiliation and debasement showered down her face, and with sudden revulsion she realized that in her helplessness her hips were once more grinding up in response to the tantalizing play of Marc's maddening finger reinserted inside her vagina. Her lower torso reacted uncontrollably to his ministrations in a cadence with her quivering clitoris and wet, writhing vaginal slit.

"Make up your mind!" he said suddenly. "What's it going to be?"

Her reply caught in her throat. If she cooperated, he could take any indecent and licentious liberties with her she rationalized... but at least Roger would have his position secured. And then... maybe after some time had passed, she could repair the damage of their lives and this would be forgotten in the passages of their future happiness. But dear God, if Marc should fire him as he promised... well, she hated to think what that would do to Roger, to the two of them, to whatever they might have left. "Oh... oh... yes, yes I'll do it!" she hissed between clenched teeth, her body surrendering completely.

Cord smiled triumphantly to himself and moved his bronzed body farther over her, and kissed her hotly, his giant tongue slipping deeply inside her mouth as his hand caressed her now wide open loins. Diane moaned beneath him, fighting vainly to maintain control of her body as the electrifying jolts of his massaging fingers began to seethe through her very essence. She felt him raise her up and unclip the brassiere snap, and closing her eyes she hunched her shoulders in automatic assistance. And then he removed the bathing suit halter and lowered it to the floor. Her throbbing alabaster breasts with their distended nipples were completely exposed and with an appreciative gasp, Marc rolled his hands over them, kneading and squeezing the nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Then his slavering lips encompassed one aureole, his tongue flicking and rolling the jewel-hard nipple maddeningly.

"I'm going to make you naked all the way now, baby," he said throatily. "Help me."

Diane clenched her eyes tightly shut in lewd surrender and raised her hips, and strained her back as he slid the last sheath of suit down over her writhing buttocks. It was suddenly as if bonds had been dropped from her body, for the feeling of being totally naked before the hungry eyes of a strange man was both deliciously decadent and wonderfully evil. Unconsciously she flexed her warm, damp pussy toward the cool air, and her pubic hair almost stretched from its imprisonment inside the suit. She played her hands down her sides with abandonment, mewling and sighing with abject licentiousness. She spread her ivory columned legs and tightened her stomach muscles, her eyes still mercifully shut to her shameless actions.