Chapter 6

The odor of bacon frying and fresh-brewed coffee woke Vicki and Kirk late on the morning of New Year's day. They lay cuddled together in the strange bed until there was a soft knock on the door and Eric Kaye called out cheerfully, "Breakfast is ready. Or are you two planning to stay in bed all day?"

"No," Kirk answered, "we'll be there in a minute."

"As you say, my boy."

Vicki and Kirk dressed leisurely, and hand in hand, they left the bedroom and walked down the hallway and into the kitchen--a gleaming area with every conceivable manner of modern convenience, long Formica-topped breakfast bar and handsome dinette set with sparkling silver and gleaming china. Eric Kaye was sitting at the dinette, while Christy--resplendent in a pair of silk lounging pajamas of flaming scarlet, her silver blonde hair long and flowing--bustled about preparing breakfast. Eric was adorned in a wine-colored velveteen robe over a pair of doeskin slacks.

A little self-consciously, Vicki patted her hastily-combed dark hair and looked down at her wrinkled cocktail dress. She felt a little out of place dressed as she was, and thought that Kirk in his rumpled suit felt the same way. But there was no embarrassment in seeing Christy and Eric. She flashed them a warm smile and exchanged good mornings. No, she felt no embarrassment nor guilt. Truly, she had changed last night, she had become a different person--in emotion as well as motive.

Breakfast--bacon, eggs, hash-browns, English muffins and good, strong coffee--was a pleasant affair, and both Vicki and Kirk found themselves able to join in the light banter of a breakfast table conversation without uneasiness. Kirk decided that this kind of thing was old hat to Eric and Christy. They'd been around and knew how to make "newcomers" like he and Vicki feel perfectly at ease; the whole thing was beautifully adult, so very modern. Well, why not? Hell, this was 1973, wasn't it? Not Victorian England...

As they ate, Kirk and Eric discussed the Rose Bowl game to be played that afternoon, and Kirk accepted the renowned educator's invitation to stay and watch the battle on color television.

Over more of the good coffee, Eric deftly turned to matters more in keeping with the previous night. "Did you and Kirk enjoy yourselves last night, Vicki?"

"Yes, we did," Vicki answered, able now to be equally as blase as he about the evening's events. "We had a really good time."

"And you have no regrets about coming over to spend New Year's Eve with us?" Christy asked.

"None whatsoever," Kirk answered.

Eric smiled charmingly, and then, with perfect candor, said, "Did you and Vicki make love?"

"Yes, we did," Kirk answered without a moment's hesitation.

"Was it good?"

"The best either of us have ever had," Kirk said with a bluntness that surprised even him.

Eric and Christy exchanged smiles. "Do you know why it was so good?"

"I think we do," Vicki said. "A little added excitement kind of helps."

"Then--you both know what the other did?"

"Yes.

"I'm glad," Christy said. "I was a little worried that there might be repercussions. But Eric and I decided that you were both adult and willing to learn. We're seldom wrong about such things, but I'm always a little leery at first."

"You... do this kind of thing often?" Vicki asked with just a little twinge of shock.

"To be perfectly frank, yes, we do," Eric told her. "And we're probably the happiest married couple in the world. You see, this kind of thing--hell, we might as well call it what it is: Wife-swapping. Or more properly group sex. It's a whole new concept, a way of life which can heighten your physical enjoyment ten times over, even a hundred times. You abandon unnecessary and binding inhibitions, and give yourself completely to the gratification of your physical and emotional desires."

"And it makes your relationship with your mate that much more exciting, that much more fulfilling," Christy interjected. "There's a constant kind of competitiveness that isn't there with a strictly monogamous marriage; you're always trying harder to please your mate, because you know he or she is getting the best he can get from the others. You want to be better than all of them, and so you put your heart and your body and your soul into it. And you succeed."

"That's why what you and Kirk had together last night, after both of you were with us, was so good for each of you. You wanted to prove to yourselves--and to each other--that your love could produce better sex than what you had in a moment of passion or rage or what-have-you."

Kirk looked at Vicki, and then said, "You know, there's a lot to be said for that idea, Eric: I didn't think so before, but now- --after having had first-hand experience..."

"There's an old saying that says 'Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.' But most of your puritanical objectors to group sex are in the category of never having tried it; hell, all of them, as far as I'm concerned. They condemn it without knowing anything about it, like the goddamned moralistic, self-righteous hypocrites that they are. As far as I can determine--and I know people pretty well--most of these knockers would dearly love to try group sex but haven't got the guts to do it."

Christy nodded her agreement. "My sentiments exactly," she said, and smiled warmly at Vicki and Kirk. "I'm so glad you two are understanding--and sympathetic exceptions to that sterile, narrow-minded majority."

"I'm going to ask you both a very bold and blunt question," Eric said, searching both their faces with his penetrating eyes. "Would either of you--no, both of you--like to have sex with Christy and me again?"

Vicki felt herself blush slightly, and she reached under the table to take Kirk's hand and squeeze it for reassurance. "I... I don't know..." she faltered.

"Tell me this before you answer definitely," Eric said quietly, "did you like what we had together last night? Did you like the feel of me inside you?"

As quickly as it had come, the blush went away, and Vicki found herself staring boldly at Eric Kaye. Yes, she was emancipated undeniably free from the bonds of Puritanism. She was a member of the same minority as Eric and Christy--that was a simple and irrefutable fact of life.

"Yes, Eric," she said, "yes I enjoyed the feel of you inside me. And I enjoyed it when you came in me, and I came with you."

"How about you, Kirk?" Christy said, as Vicki and Eric sat with their eyes locked together. "Did you enjoy my mouth on your penis in the bathtub? Did you like the way I made you cum?"

"Yes," Kirk said. "God, you know I did, Christy."

She smiled. "I know, but it's nice to hear it anyway."

Eric got slowly to his feet. "Am I to take it that the answer to my question is yes, then? You both would like to have sex with us again?"

Vicki and Kirk looked at one another, and between them passed a mute message of love and agreement. Yes, the look said, yes we want to have sex--to FUCK--with Eric and Christy again because it will make our own sex even better, even greater than what we knew last night. Yes, we want to experiment and learn, we want to have group sex, because we love each other and we want that love to grow and become unkillable, unshakable, forever...

Kirk said it aloud for both of them: "Yes, Eric, we would."

Moments later, Kirk and Dr. Kaye left the kitchen. Carrying fresh cups of coffee, they entered the living room and settled down in arm chairs just in time to watch the opening kick off of the Rose Bowl game. To Kirk's surprise, he quickly discovered that Eric Kaye was a most knowledgeable football fan. As the game plans of the respective teams began to unfold, there developed between the two men a rapport that, while differing in opinion as to methods and tactics, was nevertheless respectful. And while these two self-imposed experts bantered back and forth about the merits of various strategies, in the kitchen, Vicki cleared the breakfast dishes and carried them to where Christy was rinsing them before stacking them in the built-in dishwasher.

Suddenly, the young raven-haired wife stopped in mid-step. "Oh, Christy," she exclaimed, "I forgot all about Fello. He's still locked up in the kitchen, and he hasn't been fed!"

"Fello?"

"Yes, our landlady's Doberman pinscher."

"Oh. Well that's okay, honey, you run along and feed him then."

"You sure? I can wait till we're finished."

"No. You go ahead. I'm almost finished anyway."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure," the older woman answered.

"Bring him back with you, if you want. Eric and I are both fond of dogs." She paused for a moment, then added. "As a matter of fact, we have quite a few movies in our film library on dogs. When you come back, we can watch a couple, if you'd like," she concluded, her memory for a moment lingering on one particular juicy film which never failed to arouse the most prurient of thoughts in her. Then, turning to place the last piece in the dishwasher, she was mystified by the expression of surprise registered on Vicki's face. She took this reaction as one of shock, little knowing that was not what had startled the young wife.

High color spread rapidly on Vicki's face until her cheeks were flushed in glowing crimson. Self-consciously she lowered her eyes and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Jees, honey, I didn't mean to embarrass you," Christy said, wiping her hands on the gay print apron she had donned while doing the dishes. "I thought that after last night and out discussion at breakfast that you were more worldly."

"O--Oh, it--it's not that," Vicki answered shamefully, "It, it's..." she stammered. Then, her head drooping to her chest, she began to sob softly.

In two quick strides Christy reached the younger woman, grasp her in encircling arms and began comforting her in a soothing tone. "Now, now," she crooned, "you mustn't cry. What's the matter?"

"Oh, Christy... I'm... so mixed up. So much has happened... I Just don't know what's come over me..." she sobbed.

"What is it, honey? It can't be what happened last night. You were so decided about that just a few minutes ago. What, is it, honey? You can tell Christy."

"Oh, I can't... I just can't!"

"Sure you can. Come on now. Here, dry your tears and tell me all about it. It will make you feel better to get it off your chest."

"Oh, I'm so ashamed," Vicki said, but she raised tear- streaked eyes to look into those of her comforting friend. "It was so... so dirty..." she said, then buried her head into the shoulder of the older woman.

"Now, now, it can't be that bad. Come on over to the table and sit down. Here," she said, producing a Kleenex from her apron, "dry your eyes and tell me all about it. Let me decide if it's as dirty as you seem to think it is."

"Oh, Christy," Vicki began once she had seated herself and successfully dried her eyes, "I was so lonely, and I got to thinking about Kirk, and before I knew it I was... was... playing with myself..." Suddenly she choked on her own words and fresh tears began welling in her eyes.

"You mean you're this upset because you masturbated?" Christy asked incredulously.

"NO... no," Vicki sobbed, "it wasn't just that... it was... Fello!"

"Fello? Your landlady's dog?" Both women were silent for a moment, then Christy gasped in understanding. "You... you let Fello... Oh, Jesus. Really? God, you've got to tell me about it," the older woman said breathlessly. "Jesus! Vicki, honey, you are something else! If you only knew how many times I've watched those movies and wished I was the woman in the film. Jesus! You took on a dog and... Jesus, honey. You're one up on Christy."

"NO! No, it wasn't like that," Vicki interjected quickly. "I only let him... lick me, and then he raped me!"

"Oh, shit! Honey, my panties are already wet just thinking about that dog!"

Both women were silent then for a long minute, each occupied with her own, though different, thoughts. Finally, Christy said: "Vicki, honey, let's go feed that dog. I want to see this animal for myself!"

Vicki looked at her friend questioningly, then nodded her head sheepishly but affirmatively.

By the time the two women returned to the Kaye home, Vicki's attitude about her actions with Fello the previous afternoon were markedly changed. The moment Christy Kaye saw Fello, she began to berate the young brunette for being a fool. Now, as the two women sat side-by-side on the Kaye's den sofa with the huge Doberman pinscher amiably curled at their feet, Vicki's pride rose in defense to the older woman's taunts. A verbal battle that had begun at the Young's bungalow and continued in the car was still raging strong. The upshot of this difference of opinion had led Vicki into agreeing to watch one of the Kaye's "doggy" movies. As both Kirk and Dr. Kaye were still engrossed in the Rose Bowl game, Vicki and Christy and Fello were the lone occupants of the darkened den.

For several minutes now, Vicki had been sitting quietly while Christy set up the projector. As Christy finished threading the film, she turned to Vicki and said: "Now, well see which one of us is right. Ten-to-one says you can't watch this film without your panties getting wet," she concluded challengingly.

Vicki said nothing, but the challenge was registered in her eyes as she smoothed the skirt which she had changed into at home. Damn! she thought, I don't care how well known and important Mrs. High-and-Mighty Kaye is, she won't get the best of me. As if for reassurance she reached down and petted the sleek head of the dog lying at her feet.

On the flickering screen, a sweet-faced, innocent looking young girl in her middle teens was lying naked on a huge circular bed with a bright scarlet spread, her long legs spread wide to reveal the pinkly glistening folds of her dark hair-fringed cunt to the eye of the camera. Her breasts were small and taut, with tiny ruby nipples and almost no areolae, which further added to the aura of innocence and purity that even her lewdly exposed position could not deny. Her pubic mound was covered with thin, softly curling brown hair that matched her short petite French haircut. She was simply lying on the bed in that splayed position, her eyes tightly shut and her head to one side as if she was peacefully sleeping. There was a soft, beautiful smile on her unpainted, but nonetheless, soft-looking red lips.