Wife Whores It Around
(M+/FF, reluc, size, slut)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.org

Michelle Moran's facial features alone were, in themselves, enough to excite most men. It was a thin, heart shaped face framed by long black hair that bobbed over her forehead. Her nose was long and delicate, thin as porcelain, and tipped upward, revealing her flaring nostrils. Her eyes were set wide apart and slightly tilted and her gaze was direct, frank, unabashed. Her chin could be described as pert, her mouth fleshy and broad, revealing dazzling white teeth whenever she smiled.

All of her teeth were capped and paid for by Dean Beckman.

Beckman, dressed in his habitual trademark of all gray, stood behind her chair at that moment. Both he and Michelle were looking at a wall and a white projection screen that was silently and electrically lowering itself into position. It was lowering into position at Dean's command. In another few seconds, he would flick a switch, and a panel in the opposite wall would slide open and a projectionist lens would focus itself. Dean would turn a dial, the lights would lower, and a movie, in color, would be seen on the screen.

But, first, he had some other things on his mind. He wasn't worried about security; he had plenty of that. All the servants in the house could be trusted. He went to his ornately carved desk - imported from Italy and once was used by none other than the Medicis - and took something from the drawer.

Semi-concealing it in his hand, he walked back to Michelle and stood in front of her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Michelle sat, cool and poised, an attractive young woman in a slinky dress that exposed her long slender legs and most of her firm young thighs.

Dean took her in for a moment, took in her beauty and her voluptuous body. Just turned twenty one, she was in the prime of her life. Her waist was long and thin, gradually tapering up into her rib cage then blossoming (there was no other word) into large, ripe jutting breasts... big as musk-melons, with provocative little shadows like half-moons, under them. Her hips were wide and liquid, telling you by the way she moved and walked that she had nothing on underneath other than panties. At the moment Dean stood looking down at her, she didn't even wear panties.

Dean knew this. Michelle never came to his home wearing any underwear. The young girl shuddered to think what he would do to her if she were to be so careless.

He stood smiling down at her, his face tanned, his features distinguished. His tan hid an alcoholic flush, for Dean Beckman drank hard and long, and Michelle was truly afraid of him when he drank. Once past a certain point, he was capable of anything.

At the moment, he had yet to have a drink. It was still early afternoon. He looked down at Michelle sitting so sensually poised in the big leather chair and spoke quietly, with an easy authority, for he was used to being obeyed. "Pull your dress up."

Michelle obeyed immediately, hiking her dress high, almost exposing the "V" of softly curling pubic hair that was half-buried up between her thighs.

"Pull it all the way up."

His voice was still quiet, and Michelle again obeyed, pulling the dress up so that it was around her waist, completely exposing the softly fleshed flanks of her naked buttocks and her pubic hair. She sat, feeling the cool leather against her warm skin, staring up at Dean with an attentive expression on her pert, Gaelic-looking face.

The middle-aged financier pointed with one long manicured finger. "Put one leg over the arm of the chair."

Michelle only hesitated a second, blinking, before she obeyed, swinging one long leg up and over the arm of the chair. With a barely audible sigh, she sunk back in the chair, her eyes almost glassy, looking up at Dean with an expectant, almost depraved expression on her face.

Dean looked down at her so obscenely posed. He saw her strong curving thigh and the smooth, milky white inside of it, and his eyes raced down to her loins with its sparse black pubic hair. He took in her roundly panting mound of Venus and the way her fluted vaginal lips - ragged and flushing under her pubic hair - were beginning to swell and form themselves in a lust-pucker already. Her entire cuntal slit was exposed, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of the pink lining of her pussy walls that were already beginning to glint with the hot moisture of sexual excitement. Near her mound of Venus, at the top of her slit, bulged the nub of her clit.

Dean liked Michelle. Over the years, he had trained the young girl well, and she had been a good pupil, learning rapidly and eagerly. She knew that she would be well rewarded for whatever task he put her to. Besides, she had learned the joys of being bound, being subjected to humiliation, being forced to do lewd almost unspeakable acts with him or whomever he designated. Further, she had learned to submit her will to his and let him do what he wished. She learned the rewards in increased sensuality and molten, shattering, orgasms, and in the financial rewards he so lavishly bestowed after his whim was satisfied. She knew how to please him, and now she lounged back in the chair, jutting out her mound of Venus, acting sluttish, enjoying her lewd actions. Many a time he had reduced her to a verbal admittance of being nothing more than a whore, and she had to admit she enjoyed it herself. A wanton smile was on her beautiful face as he looked down at her nakedly exposed cunt, and he nodded. "Good. Now, the other leg."

Michelle obeyed immediately, swinging the knee over the opposite arm of the chair and letting her buttocks come to the edge of the cushion. She glanced down and saw with delight how her wide-spread and eagerly quivering little cunt glinted and glistened from moist excitement. More than anything, she wanted to reach down with her fingers and caress her wetly heated vagina- --perhaps he would order her to do that - and assuage the itching hunger that was growing there. She wanted to rub her hands over her pussy and tease her clit, and then finger fuck herself into oblivion. But she didn't dare; not without Dean telling her to do it.

He held his hand forward, revealing the thing he had taken out of the drawer and kept half-concealed from her. At first glance, she thought it was a new dildoe; it was made of plastic, was white, long, and thick, like a penis. Michelle looked puzzled. "What is it?"

Dean pushed a button on the bottom of it and the thing leaped to life in his hand, vibrating noiselessly. He pushed another button and it began sliding back and forth, like a white, rigidly erect penis in a sheath.

Michelle groaned and let her head roll back, her eyes half- closed. A lewd smile was on her lips.

Dean smiled back and stepped closer, between her wide-spread legs. "Battery operated," he said as he held the vibrating sliding end on the inside of one sleek thigh, near her wetly gaping vagina. Michelle moaned again as she felt the pleasurable sensation. The vibrator was warm and rigid - just like a cock! "I took the liberty of having it filled with warm oil," Dean explained.

"I love it," Michelle admitted thickly. And she did! She wasn't talking just to please Dean although it did, indeed, please him. The handsome millionaire had been such an evil influence on Michelle's life that she now looked at depravity as a way of life. Dean was right and his pleasure was her task. If she submitted herself to his will, submerged her ego and allowed her lewdness and natural depravity to take over, her task would be full of an intense and searing pleasure seldom, if ever, experienced by other women.

She knew the vibrator was for her to use as Dean handed it to her and stood back, leaning against the desk. His arms were folded, his eyes glittering, his hips twitching, as he watched Michelle turn the vibrator on and let it slide all over her stomach and down into her pubic hair.

Dean observed it all with a detached, almost cynical look. He watched the way a scientist might observe an experiment he had set up or the way am amateur horticulturist might check the soil and temperature of his rare orchids. It was a thing that Interested him, more than a hobby, more than a profession. With Dean Beckman, sex was a way of life. He was a unique and fortunate man, for he was born wealthy and had grown up expecting the best that money could buy. He was educated abroad and was really much more European than American.

The last descendant of a rich old family, he was the sum result of almost incestuous in-breeding. Keenly intelligent, he had been, from childhood, too intense and too interested in sensuality and those pleasures which are forbidden by most societies. With endless wealth at his command, a keen mind, a vivid imagination, Dean Beckman was soon tasting pleasures that most men only dream of.

Nor was he superficial about it. He pursued his activities with a scientist's passion. He was clever and covered up his illegal activities; he kept records in writing, on tape, and on film. Soon, he had amassed a considerable library of rather interesting pornography, some of which had enough overtones of sadism to excite the Marquis de Sade. Soon, he treated people - especially women - like a scientist would treat a laboratory rat: with objectivity and dispassion. His thrill, his satisfaction, was in proving his theory: that any woman could be reduced to a base, unthinking carnality in a matter of days. Sometimes, in a matter of hours. His theory held that women were the true pornographers, that their instinct and natural desire was obscene and that they understood and loved depravity. He felt that there were no depths of wantonness to which a woman would not sink if conditions were right; and it thrilled and excited him to see his theory being borne out, being lived out again and again, right in front of him.

Michelle was a most willing pupil. At first, because of her upbringing and pride, she had been extremely difficult. But he had broken her. He had broken her so completely that he was about to lose interest in her. The challenge was gone; Michelle would willingly do anything he wished. She had been under his influence about a year. In one year, she went from an innocent young girl with ideals and aspirations to an eager little slut who had performed every known sexual depravity. Michelle now knew that she would never again enjoy what is commonly known as "normal sex." She knew she could never be happy married to one man; never, unless he allowed her to have orgies.

Now, she lay back in the leather chair with her dress pulled high, revealing her ripe expectant loins. Naked from the waist down, she sprawled, her legs slung over the thick arms of the chair and she let her head loll back, her mouth slack and laxly open. The delicate fingers of her free hand slid down and tangled in her pubic hair. Her hips were slowly undulating and pumping in an obscene manner as her free hand slid down on either side of the moist, pulpy lips of her hotly twitching vagina. Using thumb and forefingers, she impatiently spread her lust-swollen pussy lips and revealed the moistly pink inner walls of her cunt. Below her thinly bearded vaginal mouth, her white buttocks met in a deep tight crevice.

Dean watched as her sensual young body shuddered in obscene delight and her hips twisted and thrust forward so that her ripe fleshed buttocks ballooned on the edge of the chair. Her head lowered so that she had to look down at her eagerly writhing loins between breasts that jutted up in front of her like snowy twin peaks. Her wetly quivering cunt was tilted up high as she ran the long thick vibrator up and down the slit, pausing to let it shudder over her erect little clit as her eyelids fluttered and she gasped for breath. Already, her pleasure was wracking her body with its intensity.

Quietly, Dean Beckman circled around her as she wantonly slumped in the chair, sluttish in her pose with her legs thrown wide over the arms of the chair. Her nakedly quivering cunt was gaping open as she guided the rapidly thrusting mechanical penis in and around her vaginal cavity. She was moaning continuously now. The gray-haired older man walked behind the chair and, leaning over it, reached down and began unbuttoning the front of her dress.

He slowly pulled the bodice open, revealing her large, firmly upthrust breasts that were spilling out of a flimsy half-bra. He knew that Michelle was justifiably proud of her huge, but perfectly proportioned breasts. The night he had broken her, the night she had reveled in depravities and lewd behavior, the night she had admitted her inherent wantonness and submitted her will to his, that wonderful night had begun when he had her strip to the waist. Then, his bodyguard and his chauffeur had seized her and forced her arms back. A pole, a broom handle, was run long-ways between her back and her arms. Then Michelle's hands were forced forward again, and she had watched as her wrists were tightly and brutally tied together in front of her waist. The pole across her back, locking her elbows in place, had forced her arms and shoulders back... and thrust out her nakedly quivering breasts.

She had been forced to stand in front of a mirror and stare at herself before, at a signal from Dean, his men began caressing and putting their wetly open mouths on those out-thrust, defenseless breasts.

That night had been the beginning for Michelle. She was too thrilled and excited to resist as she watched in the mirror. Ever since that night Dean had been able to bring her to an orgasm, just by exciting and fondling her breasts.

Now he helped them free of the almost transparent half-bra and saw the firm way they quivered and jellied on her breast. Her head was wedged against the back of the chair and her chin was pushed into her chest as she looked between her now naked breasts to see the big white plastic prick vibrating between her legs. Dean saw her wide-spread cuntal lips as she ran her thumb over her clit and as the mechanical cock quivered its way deeper into her wildly pulsing pussy. Her young body was wantonly shuddering with pleasure as the vibration tantalized and enflamed her sense.

"You have lovely breasts, my dear," he said, leaning over the back of the chair and cupping their fleshy fullness in his manicured hands.

Michelle opened her smoky eyes halfway and saw his fingers caressing her already distended nipples. "Thank you," she murmured thickly. With her hands, she began rapidly pumping the vibrator in and out of her moistly clasping pussy, the lewd parody of fucking increasing the feeling of pleasure. She closed her eyes, as his pinching fingers and the vibrator aroused her to where she wanted to scream her lust out. Her voluptuously round body was suddenly out of control. She had learned to give in to her lust without a reservation. Dean liked that and... so did she. There was something so thrilling and enjoyable in acting lewd, acting like a slut, not caring what people might think. Then, too, Dean had taught her the naughty and thrilling delights of being an exhibitionist. He had forced her to be an exhibitionist and know the thrill that so intensified the orgasm.

He looked down at her writhing obscenely in the chair. "Too bad I don't have someone here to bite and suck on your breasts, Michelle."

In answer, Michelle let her head thrash from side to side and a low moan of frustration trembled from her lips as she increased the tempo of her hips pumping up against the vibrator.

Dean smiled down at her, taking his hands away. He had set her up. He had suggested a pleasure, and she had groaned like a Pavlovian dog at the idea. With no more than a suggestion on his part, he would watch her debase herself further.

"Of course," he said, his voice light and cool. "You could lick and suck them."

Michelle broke her mounting rhythm as she heard his words and wasn't sure she understood. "W... what?"

"I said you could, in your present position, excite yourself by licking and sucking them yourself. They're right in front of your mouth." He paused to walk around the chair. "You could lick them and you could suck them and I," he announced clearly, "could watch you do it."

Dean moved around the chair for a better view, his mouth half- open in eager anticipation. Even as he watched, Michelle pulled the vibrator out of her cunt and held it hard on her clit, her eyes were closed and her face contorted by the hot passion that she was feeling. Dean watched her hips and tautly rippling belly roll and undulate while her moistly glistening cunt-lips twitched and gaped as the vibrator quivered and thrust against her clit. With her free hand, she cupped one snowy breast and tilted it toward her mouth, the nipple caught between her fingers. Her tongue snaked out, red and wet, and the soft, velvet-smooth tip rimmed around the erect little nipple. Then, as Dean watched, she opened her mouth wide, taking the whole nipple in. Her wetly ovalled lips closed over the berry-like nipple, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked with a sex-crazed fervency.

Dean felt himself being aroused as he watched. Michelle was doing exactly as he asked, and her obscene self-excitement was having its effect. She hooked her legs even tighter over the arms of the chair, jutting her hips and naked groin outward and upward even more, spreading the lips of her wetly trembling cunt as she ran the vibrating plastic cock up and down and in and out of her with a hypnotic rhythm.

With a groan, the young girl let her heavy breast fall from her mouth. She was gasping for air, panting with lewd passion, and her ripe quivering breast was wet and glistening with her saliva. She opened her fevered eyes a slit and her free hand groped for her other breast. It trembled under her grasp as she cupped her fingers on it and pulled it toward her mouth, her fingers depressed in the softly yielding flesh so that the nipple stood out all the more. Her tongue lashed out at the nipple, and Dean watched it grow even more taut as she rimmed the nipple then let the flat wet tongue engulf it. With mouth wide open, she put the pinkly puckered little nipple in her mouth and, closing her eyes, looked ecstatically happy. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, white her hips roiled slowly and lewdly causing her buttocks to lift clear of the leather seat. Her twin asscheeks twitched and contracted so that Dean could see her tightly puckered anus and the shining moistness from her cunt trickling down the deep crevice.

Dean went behind his desk to the small console board, dimmed the lights, and punched a button. Still pictures suddenly appeared on the movie screen. They were shots of Michelle. She was wearing black boots that came to her knees, a flimsy black G- string, and a tight half-bra that only served to hold her big, fully rounded breasts erect; her nipples stuck out, free, taut, enticing. The G-string barely covered her sparse, pubic hair and completely exposed her nakedly white buttocks. The still pictures were in color and changed, with a "click-click" automatically.

Michelle opened her eyes and looked up at the screen to see a montage of herself in various suggestive and obscene poses: a close-up of her with a huge glistening cock wedged between her tightly compressed breasts. Then she was on her knees in another picture with her legs spread wide apart showing a man crouched before her; his face was buried in her cuntal crevice. Another naked man knelt behind her and pressed his whitely massive cock against her young buttocks; he had reached around and cupped her breasts while she turned her head and had her little red tongue in his mouth. The pictures came one after another, quickly, seemingly endless with Michelle lewdly kneeling over a naked man, with Michelle sucking a cum-covered penis while being fucked dog fashion, with Michelle obscene and obedient, doing whatever Dean wanted.

"Stop!"

The shamelessly aroused girl collapsed in the chair, her face twisted by the near orgasm that was writhing, smoky and aching, through every nerve in her young body. She lay, panting, her eyes closed.

After a moment she took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes to see the pictures were off the screen. Dean was leaning against the desk again, his arms folded over his chest. He was tall and gray, in his middle forties and habitually wore all gray, like a trademark. Gray suit, shirt, tie. Even, sometimes, gray patent leather shoes. He was looking at her with a faint, ironic, grin on his thin lips. Michelle simply stared at him as she sprawled obscenely, her beautiful wetly firm breasts heaving, the vibrating mechanical penis buzzing forgotten in her hand.

"You know, Michelle, I'm getting bored with you."

The words were spoken so quietly. almost casually, yet they struck terror in her heart. She looked at him showing her fear. What would he do with her? What would she do if he threw her out? Where would she go? Tears, real tears, welled like glistening slivers in her eyes. "Why?" she asked, shaking her head. "I try. I try to please you."

Dean became preoccupied with a mote or speck on the cuff of his expensive coat; he carefully picked it off with thumb and forefinger and let it drop into an ashtray on the desk. "I know. I know. You'll do anything I ask, won't you?"

"Anything," Michelle said the word carefully, feeling the lewd thrill that such an admittance gave her. She would, literally, do anything he wanted.

"That's the trouble," he went on, going behind the desk and sitting down, joining the tips of his fingers together in front of him like a cathedral. "That's the trouble. I know you'll do anything l want. There's no challenge left and I'm bored." His forehead became wrinkled. "I'm bored, Michelle."

Still slumped obscenely in her chair, the young girl shook her head and bit her lip. "But... l try!" was all she could think of saying.

Tapping his fingers, Wed nodded, looking off. Michelle dreaded the next few minutes, dreaded hearing the words. She knew there had been other girls. Beautiful girls! She had seen then in movies that Dean would run for her and his guests; beautiful girls who performed obscenities for Dean just like she did. These girls she saw were no longer around, and Dean would never say what had happened to them.

He had Michelle addicted in a subtle way. She was used to and keyed to a life of orgies and money. She was hooked on jetting to England for a week, then a ski weekend at Squaw Valley, then catching a new show opening on Broadway. She now needed the excitement of being near famous people and speaking with them. Once, she had met a famous comedian who liked her so much they had sex together. She was used to and, in a sense, needed the clothes and champagne that Dean bought. He was more than generous, he was lavish in his style of living. So long as she had that, so long as she felt she was part of his entourage, she felt her life had some meaning. And excitement! "Excitement" meant places, seeing people, being conscious that she was at the hub of things, that she was where the action was, that she was envied and photographed. "Excitement" was something she had now come to need. Dean Beckman being bored with her meant banishment. She would eventually have to get a job somewhere and read in the paper about the "Jet Set" and their adventures. No, Michelle didn't want the terrible gray obscurity that would come if Dean cast her off like an old unwanted item of clothing.

Dean, with the timing of a master-actor, cleared his throat and said, "Of course, there is something."

"What?"

"He concealed his smile. "It might just work."

Michelle slid out of the leather chair, kneeling on the floor, her dress sliding up over her nakedly exposed young loins. "What, Dean? I'll do it! You know that! I'll do anything you want me to do!"

Dean cocked his head to one side. "Would you betray a friend for me?"

"What?" Michelle looked distressed.

"Would you betray a friend? Would you bring me a new girl?"

"Yes!" Michelle leaped at the idea.

Dean held up a finger. "It can't be just anyone. It must be a good friend and she must be attractive. I don't want you hiring any prostitute."

"I won't, I won't."

"This little exercise is as much for you as it is for me. Think of it. A complete betrayal. I want you to seduce a friend until she's just as depraved as you are now." He got to his feet and pointed to the chair behind her with one long thin finger. "In a matter of weeks or days, I want a friend of yours in that chair using that vibrator the way you just did."

Michelle jumped. The plastic vibrator was buzzing still in her hand. She shut it off. "Yes! I'll do it!"

"And it will excite you, won't it?"

"Yes! Oh, yes!"

"You'll enjoy it, won't you?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. Who will it be?"

"Huh? What? Who?"

Dean strode around the desk and looked down at her as she subserviently knelt in front of him. She was afraid of his tall figure towering over her. Her mind raced for a name. It couldn't be anyone. It had to be someone special or he wouldn't be pleased at all and, above all, she had to please him. Her hand brushed across her forehead. Who? Who? Her face suddenly lighted up. "I know," she cried.

"Who?"

"Jana. Jana Johnson. She lives in Carmel." Dean nodded. Jana Johnson. Fine. Jana Johnson is it."

Carmel. The name conjures up a particular image. It is, quite simply, a tourist town on the coast of central California. It is that, and much more. Carmel: playground for the rich and the rich-retired. A quaint little town, once a village, now grown, yet still having many attributes of a village with no sidewalks, trees growing in the middle of a street, no street addresses or street lights. There are still many board-and-bat cottages built back in the days when it was truly a village and an artist's colony.

Carmel happens to be set down on a peninsula, at the mouth of a fertile valley, at a piece of coastline that is unique in the world and breathtakingly dramatic. A melding of sky, sea, mountains, and river-mouth delta land. Carmel is like a jewel nestled in a belly-dancer's navel. The Carmel River empties into the sea, and the deep royal blue of the Pacific crashes wedding- cake white waves on hoary rocks that stand off shore like prehistoric reminders of another time. The St. Lucia mountain range seems to rush to plunge down into the Pacific as the dramatic end to the land, to America. Carmel is part of the peninsula that juts out into the Pacific and holds two other towns, or communities: Pacific Grove and Pebble Beach.

Pacific Grove is a quiet area of families and retired couples of modest means. It is a religious town and it is one of the few islands of abstinence, a dry town and proud of the fact. Consequently, Pacific Grovians have to drive outside of the city limits to package stores and is literally ringed with liquor stores. At night, the people drink at home, quietly, behind drawn shades.

Most of the people who live in Carmel and Pebble Beach regard Pacific Grove as a quiet place and seldom go there.

At the entrance to the peninsula sits Monterey with its harbor and fishing fleets and Cannery Row of John Steinbeck fame. Cannery Row is nothing more than a tourist place now with only one cannery operating and the rest of the canneries and warehouses housing craft shops and clothing stores.

Hippies, with a record store, a health food shop and a leather craft shop, have made a foothold on one end of Cannery Row.

Hippies are seen in Monterey and Pacific Grove and Carmel. They are a problem because Carmel lies between San Francisco and Big Sur. It is an attractive stop-over point for hitch-hikers and a problem to the city fathers.

There are no hippies in Pebble Beach. It is more a community than a town. Here, in breath-taking loveliness, behind walls and gates that are guarded, live the very rich. Here is the famous Del Monte Lodge where only the wealthy and famous can afford to stay. Here is the world-famous seaside links of Pebble Beach, scene of the glamorous Bing Crosby Clambake once a year. Here are movie stars and society matrons, all with an elegance and fresh clean good looks that go with the peninsula. Here, on any day, one is apt to see a blonde with that scrubbed, spanking-clean, mint-mouthed smile and dazzling white turtleneck sweater and slacks striding through the Beach Club or to Club Nineteen or seen walking down the fairway, following some golfers.

Here, at Pebble Beach, behind guarded gates, the beautiful, talented, and rich people gather to play and party, and some of them stay to live.

Pebble Beach has its own security force which guards the gates, charging admission to tourists who look respectable and patrolling the roads that cut through the forests and parallel golf courses. They patrol past the gates with gravel roads that twist and lead up to grand homes. Most of the elegant houses are hidden from sight by shrubbery and fences, for residents of Pebble Beach pay well for beauty and privacy.

There are famous admirals, generals, movie stars, and business men living there. By and large, far and away, you couldn't find a group with more character. There were a few; those that had inherited their money and couldn't handle it. There were those that came from old money, had a good family name yet suffered the inevitable consequences of too much in-breeding that bordered on the incestuous. Such a person was Dean Beckman. His home at Pebble Beach was one of the best. Hidden from the road, it commanded a sweeping view of the Pacific, had a private beach and was ringed on the land side by a high cyclone fence that spawned barbed wire at the top. The gate was opened electronically, but only after a visitor had obeyed an amplified voice command and stepped up to a pillar where a television camera scanned them.

Such precautions were not out of the ordinary in Pebble Beach, for it was expected that people valued their privacy and the security patrol was there to reinforce it.

Dean Beckman seldom went out and played a very respectable and passive part in the peninsula's social life. No one, outside of a trusted few, ever suspected what went on in his house. Lights late at night, parties and music, were far from uncommon at Pebble Beach, and the security patrol's principle problem at night was seeing that tipsy drivers got safely home. Whenever Dean's name was mentioned in the Peninsula's paper, The Monterey Herald, he was described as, "One of the coast's most eligible bachelors." Dean did his best to keep his name and picture out of the paper.

Carmel is a tourist and retirement center. It also has a population of young people, many of whom work in its stores and shops. They are usually young, intelligent, ambitious, and attractive. They are the type of people concerned with where they live, concerned about beautiful surroundings. They are usually ambitious people, eager to get ahead, drawing some sort of identity from waiting on or associating with the rich.

Unlike Pacific Grove, Carmel is far from dry and it harbors some of the best bars on the peninsula. The Red Lion, a facsimile of an English pub; Su Vecimo with its Mexican motif; La Playa with its casual elegance and thick adobe walls; El Matador with its austere, regal, bullfight atmosphere. On any weekend, the mentioned bars - and more - swing late, crowded with attractive couples. One such couple sat in a comer of El Matador, drinking Irish coffees and gazing soulfully into each other's eyes. They had that sad, tender, troubled look that soulful lovers sometimes wear. The man, rugged, tall, and good looking, was obviously containing his anger and disappointment. He will be leaving the next day for the jungles and rain forests of South America where he will engineer a camp and build a bridge. His wife looked at him bravely, holding back her tears. She must, for they both know that others in the bar are looking at them, the males especially. Men always look at her. She had a wild mane of naturally red hair it frames her face in an untamed flame-licking way. Her skin was that creamy white that so often goes with red hair and her eyes are a vivid blue and set wide apart. Her mouth is large, almost but not quite too large and her wetly glistening lips are full- formed. Her profile was pure and clean and made one think of the poets in Ireland and the misty isles and a natural kind of majesty and royalty. If her face and hair weren't enough, there was her body. God must have been in a wild and ecstatic mood when he created her. Most women would give a fortune to have her body. Tall, with sensually flaring hips and long elegant thighs, she possessed a slim waist that rose to two perfectly round breasts that bulged excitingly beneath the soft sweater she was wearing. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table as she looked wistfully at her husband, and every man could see that she wasn't wearing a brassiere by the molten, rubbery way her breasts moved. Those breasts, those two firmly jutting mounds of flesh with their nipples straining and pointing through the wool, were real! They were almost not quite too big for her slim build.

She had two black moles beauty marks - on her face: one on her cheek and one on the side of her chin. She wore only a little makeup and she didn't even need that. Her eyelashes were unusually long, and her generously fun lips seemed always to be wet, to have a sheen to them. Her smoky, startlingly blue eyes had a hot provocative look to them. That look was always getting her in trouble because men misread her intentions.

This attractive redhead, this girl who reminded men of Salma Hayek, was Jana Johnson! She sat staring at her husband, Robert Johnson, engineer, husband, a scion to a Pebble Beach fortune. He was cut off from that because he eloped with Jana. Jana had worked as a waitress in a local restaurant, The Butcher Shop, when she had met Robert. He had swept her off her feet, rushing her beyond her belief. Within two weeks of meeting, they were married and Jana was walking about a quarter of an inch off the ground when their world came crashing down.

First it had been his family. They didn't approve. They were proud and powerful people. They were lofty and the family tree went back to New England and the Mayflower. She was coldly ignored, and Robert was told in formal and frosty terms that he was being cut off from any funds. This, in itself, wasn't too much of a blow. Robert had money of his own and a profession: engineering. He opened a small office in Monterey, and they rented a one- bedroom cottage in Carmel near the beach. They were happy with chilly night walks on the beach and hurrying home to a bright fire and hot toddies. They would sit by the fire, listening to the waves crashing on the beach and feeling the warm glow of the fire. Robert reassured Jana that in time, his parents would come around. "They'll see what kind of a person you really are."

Although she didn't say so, Jana was determined to show them by example what kind of a person she was. They would see that they were wrong, that she was an asset to their family even if her parents were poor and she had to work for a living. They would see Robert happy, and they would realize they were wrong. Jana vowed to lead a life that would be beyond reproach.

And that vow led to and helped sharpen their real problem. Despite her looks, Jana was not sensual. In fact, she was exactly the opposite. She felt her body was too well-endowed, that it was too shapely and provocative and as a result, she went to great lengths to hide it. And, the more she tried to hide it the more she called attention to it. Even her walk got her into trouble because it was a liquid thing that made the bottoms of her buttocks twitch in a way that made men grit their teeth. Jana was aware of her walk and when she tried to slow it down, repress it, keep it subdued, she only succeeded in making it slow and slinky. It was the same walk used by a stripper who stalks across the stage and removes the last tantalizing shred of clothing and stands magnificently naked except for a trivial G-string, sheer black stockings, and high heels. Jana walked with that breath-taking expectation of something lewd happening.

Robert compounded the problem. Although from a proper WASP (White, Anglo Saxon, Protestant) family, he was more Latin in bed than anything. In fact, when he had too much to drink, he was positively brutal and lewd in bed.

Jana wasn't sensual or didn't think she was. She had been raised in a strictly religious home and sex was always something dirty and sinful to her. On top of her natural reticence, there was her determination to show his family that she was worthy. She kept imagining the day when they would finally invite Robert and her to their house. When that day came, Jana was going to be able to look Robert's mother in the eye, and Mrs. Johnson was going to see that Jana was a decent girl, not some cheap slot. His mother was going to see it in her face because Jana was determined to live that way.

She knew Robert was frustrated, but she felt he would understand. She felt that deep down he didn't want her to behave in a lewd way. Not really! If she behaved in that way he would eventually lose respect for her. No, Jana was firm and stuck to her guns.

The situation worsened with the coming of the South American job. It was a big job and an important one and Robert felt he was lucky to have landed it. The rain forests of the upper Amazon basin was no place for a bride. It was a wilderness, and none of the men were taking their wives. Besides, there would be no time for women, only time for carving a camp out of the jungle and building a bridge.

At first, Robert wasn't going to take the job. Then he began to feel that time apart might help their marriage. He had never dreamed that his wife would be such a cold fish in bed. Everything about her led one to believe the opposite. Jana would let him have sex with her while she lay underneath him, stiff and unresponsive eager to have it over.

Now, tonight, while Michelle was in the Pebble Beach home of Dean Beckman and uttering Jana Johnson's name, she was having a farewell drink with Robert. He would be leaving early in the morning and she wouldn't see him again for six months. Half a year! Robert was being polite and grim and, to Jana's concern, he was drinking too much.

So far, their parting had been tender. They left the Matador late, saying good bye to domino playing friends at the bar. Robert shook hands with the bartender and told him to keep an eye on Jana. He was polite and careful, the way he always got when drunk. Jana knew and dreaded what the next step would be.

Robert drove home along Scenic Avenue, above the beach of white sand that seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Long white breakers came out of the night and broke on the shore. Far out at sea, mysterious off-shore lights winked and moved steadily along. Robert didn't have much to say on the drive home. Nor did he say anything when they went to the bedroom and Jana fled into the bathroom, closing the door and changing into her negligee. Robert slumped down on the bottom of the bed, staring at the floor, his lower lips thrust petulantly out. She, Jana, carried the modesty thing just a little too far to suit him. She wouldn't wear a brassiere because she thought the undergarment made her breasts stick out too much. As a result, her taut little nipples poked against her sweaters and blouses and drove men nuts.

He clenched his fists as he thought of her getting up in the Matador and slinking to the ladies room with every stud in the place drooling and looking at him with that "You-sure-are-getting- yours" kind of envious look. And watching her come back to the table with that wild hair and cool look and her hips twitching and her breasts cargo-shifting, rubbing together, under the sweater. It's a wonder she wasn't raped.

A drunken leer came across his face, and he gunned at the closed bathroom door. Rape! She was carrying it just a bit far, changing in there. After all, it wasn't against the law for a husband and wife to be naked together. He snorted, realizing how long it had been and knowing that she was shortly to come through the bathroom door clad in an ultra-respectable nightie probably something made out of flannel and real itsy-poo.

He was right. Seeing things distorted through a prism of too much Scotch, he lurched to his feet as she came into the room. To him it seemed she was playing the little girl with an ugly nightie up to her Adam's apple, wearing a gown with ribbons and bows on it and only her bare toes peeking out from underneath.

Essentially, he was right. The negligee was demure and she did have a polite smile on her face, hoping he would respond in kind. She yawned in front of him as he stood swaying before her, breathing heavily through his nose. "We'd better get to bed. We've got to be up early, so you can catch that plane," she said, trying to calm him.

"Nuts. Bull! The hell with the plane," he growled as he lurched toward her. His big hands seized her by the shoulders.

"Robert! You're hurting me!"

"So what? Take it off, baby!"

"Robert, stop this instant!"

Her tone only served to annoy him. He was too far gone in alcohol and frustration to bother to listen. He saw her walking, slinky and sexy, a real prick-tease, across the floor of the Matador with her ripe, rounded buttocks twitching and her big beautifully large E-cup breasts shifting, quivering and wiggling under her sweater. He saw all the bar-rail studs looking at her with one thing on their minds. Mentally they had all fucked her... and what was there for him her husband? Now, this... this Shirley Temple nightie! He hooked his fingers in the collar of the gown and pulled, tearing the negligee down the front to her slender, ripe flaring hips. He caught glimpses of her voluptuously naked flesh beneath; her protruding musk-melon breasts so round and full, so quivering with softness and fleshy promise; her firm stomach that was curved out of ivory in subtle undulations and the "V" of her lush pubic mound. Everything - her stomach, her sleek young thighs that were as smooth and warm as a baby's skin-- everything seemed to swoop and rush head-long to her loins where her plumply rounded mound of Venus was licked with a tongue of softly curling flame from her sparse red pubic hair!

The drunken engineer's breath came faster as he lurched after her. Jana backed against the wall, her hands and arms trying to hide her breasts that swelled in fright and her naked loins. "Robert, don't you dare!"

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her arm to one side with a brutal ease and her firm young breasts leaped free and quivered m front of his face and he half grunted, half-growled as be stared at her softly fleshed globes. Consistent with her flame-tousled complexion, her nipples were the palest of pink, delicate and finely formed.

It was with an animal savagery that he stepped forward and locked one burly arm around the terrified young wife's slender waist and squeezed, forcing her to bend over backward. Jana tried to protest, but his other hand was clamped over her mouth with a sudden force... and her head was forced back to where it crashed against the wall, causing her to see stars. She was pinned between his hard body and the wall, bent over backward from the waist while her lovely harvest moon breasts were nakedly free and tilting up to where his hot, moistly hungry mouth ravished them. He was close to going berserk as he greedily licked the distended little nipples. Clamping his voracious mouth over them he sucked hard and then bit down on them, feeling their berry-like buds respond, grow taut and buffeted as he rolled them around with his tongue and teeth.

The red-headed wife struggled with all her might, but her frantic squirming seemed only to excite the drunken engineer to more brutality and worsen her position. His powerful hips were being savagely ground into hers, and she could feel the growing hardness of his long thick cock under his pants. Her head was forced back and the negligee had slipped down, exposing her smoothly rounded feminine shoulders and breasts and at the same time, effectively pinning her arms at her sides. Jana's breasts were completely naked now and tilted toward the ceiling; they moistly glistened in the bedroom lamplight... wettened with hot saliva as his hungrily sucking mouth darted from one nipple to the other.

Finally the struggling young girl was able to turn her head to one side, freeing her mouth. "Robert, stop, it's me, Jana!" She knew he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing; she had to bring him to his senses! "It's me, Jana!"

"KIM!" He roared out her name and let go of her, stepping back and standing in a savage semi-crouch, looking at her and letting out a wild laugh, a laugh utterly devoid of humor and full of violence and ugly contempt.

Jana stood against the wall completely naked to her waist, her twin fleshy moons heaving for breath. She tried not to move... not to startle him. My God, he was beyond reason! His eyes were glassy and wild, glazed over with lust and alcohol. She had to get through to him. "Robert, wait a minute. Take it easy. It's me, Jana." She spoke softly, as if to a child or a growling dog she was trying to reassure. "It's Jana. Your wife. Remember? Take it easy. Wait a minute! "

She never got a chance to finish her sentence, for she screamed, involuntarily, as he brutally seized her by the wrist and, with a strength she never dreamed he possessed, pulled her to him and then snapped her out, across the room, hurtling toward the bed. He snapped her with an incredible strength, tossed her as if she were a child on the end of snap-the-whip; she literally flew through the air until her knees hit the edge of the bed, and momentum flung her forward - down on her face and stomach to the mattress.

She bounced up from the sudden impact, but the aroused engineer was on her from the rear, his thumb and fingers clamping themselves on the back of her neck like steel bands. They hurt a lot, made her cry out and be afraid to move, as he forced her back face down on the bed. His other hand groped for the negligee and she felt and heard it rip as he impatiently clawed at it until he had torn every last shred away. Now she was pinned helplessly down on the bed, the covers rubbing against her nipples that were extraordinarily sensitive from his ministrations. His heavy breathing was a combination of things: alcohol, exertion, and a growing, yammering, exulting passion. A horny wildness was coursing through his blood and pounding on the iron-hard, heavily-flanged head of his cock that throbbed so hard that it ached.

He looked down at his wife, at the hollow of her back and the way it arched up to where her shoulder blades stuck out like incipient angel's wings. He stared, almost drooling, at the creamy whiteness of her flesh, at the fullness of it, especially the wonderfully extravagant way her ripe full buttocks blossomed into twin mounds of succulent white flesh that were now, before his eyes, squirming, and undulating before his eyes.

Making an animal sound in his throat, he lifted her head from the bed, causing her to arch her back even more. Two tiny dimples appeared in the middle of her supplely-fleshed ass cheeks.

With his mouth twisted into a drunken shark-like smile, Robert watched as Jana worked her hands and arms under her and pushed up slightly, taking some of the pain off her tortured neck. She winced and tried to hold her head erect as she gasped. "Robert, y .. you... you are hurting... mmmmeee!"

It was a plea, a plea that ended in a squeal because he was hurting her. His neck hold was pressing against nerves, and she had to have some relief. She pushed against the bed with her hands and lifted her torso a little more. In so doing, her breasts were tightly squeezed between her arms, creating a deep warmly shadowed cleavage.

Robert was looking at the creamy twin cheeks of her buttocks and the darkly Inviting crevice separating them. Watching them move and form with Jana's struggles to relieve the neck-pressure, the rapaciously aroused engineer gloated as he saw her flesh ripple and the buttocks go firm and full, firm and full! Damn, it was wild to see! Damn! Hadn't he always wanted to! Damn!

He was wildly drunk and driven by a real whorehouse abandon. He had always wanted to go to a brothel, he had always wanted to buy the whole fucking place out and get just drunk enough not to care... especially not caring because of the fore-knowledge that none of the prostitutes, no one in the whorehouse would ever see him again. With all that in mind, with all those things gong for him plus a pounding all-powerful horniness; with all those things going for him, he could, just once, let himself go and do as he damned pleased!

Over his wife's nakedly tormented body, he hooked his hands between her tightly clenched legs. Holding his fingers stiff, he drove it between her thighs while he held her pinned in place face down with his iron grip on her neck.

"Robert, my God! Pleeeeaaaasssseee!"

Alcohol drifted like smoke over his brain, and his temples pounded with the brutal lust he felt heatedly boding through his body and hammering in his groin. It was a good whore he had here on the bed and the night was his. Shit, they didn't even know his name in this cathouse. He could do as he pleased. Someday, he would confess to Jana that he had gone to a whorehouse this night, and that he had fucked a prostitute with wild flame hair who looked just like her. Yes! That was it, this bitch here looked just like his wife his cold, frigid wife with about as much sex drive as a capon chicken!

Somehow that thought was too much for Robert. Here was a common whore who looked just like Jana and he could do all the things to her he never dared do with his wife... and, best of all, he could pretend this slut was Jana! The thought was delightfully dirty to him and he gave a harsh laugh. After all, he was paying her well, and he would never see her again, and he was just drunk enough to do a couple of interesting things he'd always wanted to try.

He let go of his wife and lurched backward, losing his balance and staggering back like a punch drunk fighter as he ripped his shirt off, heedless of the buttons popping on the floor like broken teeth.

Jana spun on the bed to face him, kneeling with arms crossed over her nakedly full breasts, her long red hair hanging down like dark rich tongues of flame licking at her shoulders and breasts. Her hair framed her face in loose natural ringlets which gave her face the bawdy careless look of a teasing whore. Her arms crossed over her breasts only drew attention to their fleshy fullness as they swelled firmly to become tantalizing warm orbs ballooning upward. "My God! Robert, do you understand me? Jana! I'm Jana! Do you understand? Talk to me!"

She shrank back from him, really afraid now, her neck hurting while her eyes darted about, looking for an escape. She must get through to him or get away. He was berserk, wild, not the same man she married!

He tossed his shirt away, breathing loudly through his nose and feeling his body covered with a hot sexual sweat. He grinned at his wife as he staggered around taking his pants off. Good! He liked these whores a little afraid; he liked to see one cowering in fright before him, her thighs tightly clenched together, her sparse red pubic hair wedged tight at the "V" of her groin, her breasts all bunched up like white straining balloons as she tried to hide them. He laughed aloud as he saw the halos of her nipples peeking like pale pink half-moons over the edge of her protecting arms.

"Robert, you have to hear me! If you don't stop, I'm going to call for help!"

He paused, blinking, his thumbs hooked in his shorts. What the hell was this slut saying, what was she getting at? This was his party, he had paid for it. Wasn't he leaving for South America in the morning? He sure was, and no one, nobody, not one soul in this whorehouse would ever see him again. He grinned, bleary-eyed and unfocused, at Jana nakedly crouched on the bed in front of him. "Tonight's my night to howl," he said, his words slurred.

"Robert, you don't know what you're saying."

"Sure do. 'Sall fixed with the madam. Don't you... you worry."

"You've had too much to drink, now come to bed."

He saw Jana brush her hair back behind one creamy shoulder and saw her ripe full breasts jiggle enticingly as she leaned back and pulled the covers down, her long slender legs straightening out as she started to lie down. She smiled tolerantly and sweetly, and she urged him to bed. "Come, darling, you need some sleep."

She misunderstood his grin, thinking she had finally gotten through to him and that he understood her. The young wife had no way of knowing that all Robert saw was a wildly sensual looking chippie inviting him to bed. He yanked his underwear down, having some difficulty pulling it over his huge, throbbingly erect penis.

Jana suddenly was frightened as she looked at his massive hardness. She had never before, in their short marriage life, gotten such a good look at it. Always, before, she had seen it while he was changing clothes or coming from the shower, and then it had always been limp and hanging. She always insisted that all lights be out, that the room be in total darkness before they made love. Those nights they had grappled and groped in pitch black darkness, and she had been forced to feel his heatedly pulsating shaft with her hand; she would feel it and recoil from its size and heat and hardness. She would feel it between her legs crudely pushing and hurting, into her tightly stretched little vagina like a thick club, a coarse battering ram.

Now, her fingers flew to her mouth as she saw the full immensity of maledom throbbing so menacingly in front of her in the lamplight. Thick veins snaked along its tree-stump shaft; the lust-swollen head was bulging and a deep red where it was blood- filled. The head was spread like a cobra's head and shone in the light with its swelling thickness. It hung away from his body and swung heavily toward her, as if it were sensing her. His hairy, sperm-bloated balls hung low, and he stood in front of her a frightening specimen of masculine sexuality with layered slabs of muscles on his stomach like Roman armor, and his chest bulging hard and flat, and the veins standing out in his biceps and oak- like arms. He had told her about his working out at the Pacheco Club in Monterey and she believed him. His muscles glistened now with sex-sweat and booze. A shudder of admiration combined with fear went through her.

"Robert, NO!"

She had just time to yell before he was on her, tearing at her, seizing her wrists as she pummeled her fists against the cords of muscles on his chest. He seized her wrists and forced them wide apart, causing her full fleshy breasts to spread and rise nakedly. The terrified young wife turned her head away from the blasts of stale alcohol on his breath as he easily pulled her to him. His strength was total and terrible to Jana, for she knew she was as helpless as an infant in his grasp.

She felt the hard, hotly throbbing tip of his cock against the silken triangle at the pit of her belly and she pushed her buttocks out and away, contracting from the fearful sexual thing. Robert yanked her torso close and tightly clasped her around the shoulders, pinning her arms to her side and crushing her naked, fearfully heaving breasts against his iron-hard chest. He looked over one shoulder and saw the way she was sticking her firmly fleshed buttocks out, the way the creamy white cheeks pulled apart to reveal the depth of the crevice between them. He thought he could even glimpse her tightly puckered little anus as she struggled to pull away from him.

"Robert, I'll yell for help! I mean it!"

He seemed to relax as he looked over her shoulder and down her curving, concave back that was arching again as she struggled to hold him up and, at the same time, pull her loins away from his thick poker-like penis that seemed hot enough to burn her flesh. She thought she could still feel the seared place where it had touched her stomach. She squirmed her buttocks back further, unaware she was exciting him all the more. He looked at the smoothly rippling cheeks of her ass and thought of baby fat. Like a young teenager with that firm, sensually soft baby fat!

With a roar, the drunken engineer was over her, twisting her and sending her sprawling nakedly backwards on the bed. He fell on top of her with a crash that made little stars arc and explode in the room before her eyes as she felt the breath knocked out of her and pain, like a network of nerves, spread through her chest and stomach.

With a roar, he was on top of her and his brutal wet mouth cut off her scream and locked on hers, crushing her pulpy full lips, hurting them, bruising them, as he ground down and his hotly thick tongue exploded into her mouth. She fought to catch her breath, thinking she would gag or suffocate. She felt his full weight and the long hot hardness of his cock pulsating in her fearfully cringing belly.

Tears were in her eyes, dimming the scene as he forced her long slender legs apart, bruising, pinching the silky skin of her inner thighs. He forced her legs wider still until muscle cords stood out like flesh-colored cables along her inner thighs. With all her strength, she pulled her mouth free from his and sobbed, "For God's sake, Robert, stop! You're killing me!"

A stinging slap was his only answer. She never saw the blow, only felt it and felt it sponge into her face, numbing her with pain. She gasped for air and sobbed, thinking she would pass out .. almost hoping for unconsciousness.

With a grunt, he shifted his weight and seized the stunned young wife's wrists again, forcing them up and back over her head, causing her naked breasts to stand out ripe jiggling before his face. His savagely voracious mouth fed on them again, tearing at them. She felt his cock, the head of it, like some mammoth wild thing at the entrance to her tightly tensed vagina, and she shut her eyes and tightly contracted her cuntal muscles in an effort to prevent penetration prevent this brutal drunken rape of her tender femaledom.

"AAAAaaaaggghhhaaaa!!!"

The thick mighty head plowed forward, easily spreading her pulpy, softly wet vaginal lips. They parted under the sheer power of his thrust. Robert lifted his torso and looked down between their nakedly entwined bodies. His cock was poised, its sheath pulled back tight over the head that was almost a deep maroon color from the blood that throbbed in it. The lust-swollen head was almost covered by the flushing, pretty pink pussy lips that had reluctantly parted to make room for his invading cudgel. Laughing drunkenly, the engineer released her wrist and raked his fingernails across her stomach, feeling her softly defenseless flesh giving while she sobbed and tried to hit his face with her free hand. "Robert, you've gone crazy. Stop!"

He seized her wrist again with an agile, almost indifferent speed and forced it back over her head and raised his torso once more. Four wavering pink lines were raising on her belly where he had scratched her. The lines seemed to point like directional arrows toward the proud, defenselessly trembling swollen lips of her little cunt lips that were so sensuously curved and puckered, almost like a mouth. Her entire vagina was a vivid pink color as he thrust his massive cock-head against the lips and he saw them part, fold inward under the force of his entry. He saw the distended pink nib of her little clit proudly standing, revealed between her swelling vaginal lips, erect and sensitive in its own little oiled valley.

Again, he gave a laugh that ended in a snort. He thrust again, and the captive young wife cried out as his cock ran in like a thick tree stump disappearing into her soft, hotly quivering cunt.

Jana felt her legs spread even more painfully apart and she gave out another bird-like cry of distress as the total brutal thrust of his hard dominating cock into her helplessly stretched pussy forced her buttocks to roll under and her legs to fly up in the air. He began pumping with his hips with an ox-like strength, brutally and lewdly fucking in and out of her cunt, sawing away with his wetly glistening penis so thick and veined.

Robert's fucking was brutal and wild and his hands were all over her as he pinched and massaged her nakedly quivering breasts, leaving scratches on her stomach and bruises, deep and purple, on her shoulders and breasts. He was virtually raping her and she could do nothing to stop him. Her mind was near hysteria, but she really didn't want to scream and get outside help. She didn't want people to know her husband was like this. Trying to reason with him was like trying to reason with an ape in heat.

Each savage thrust was hurting her now, jolting her naked young body, as he pounded his massive nine-inch cock home, its head banging up against her cervix, causing her to wince with each stroke. He was mauling her body painfully, digging his finger nails into her softly fleshed buttocks and tearing her legs further apart. He was fucking her so hard that the force of his thrust was shoving her across the bed and her head was thumping against the headboard.

Jana never stopped struggling... or pleading, but her voiced protests were as futile as her squirming. Abruptly, as one of her hands flailed out, she touched something cold and metallic. It was a flashlight. It was no strange thing to have next to the bed in Carmel. During the winter, there was much rain and wind and trees would topple, bringing down power lines, and homes would be without light or electricity for hours on end. This was an inconvenience Carmelites gladly suffered, preferring to have their trees, their forest, instead of safe power lines.

Her hand closed around the heavy flashlight and she gripped it, wondering if she dare hit her husband - this drunken rapist atop her tortured body.

Robert was fucking her as hard as he could now with his arms straight down at his sides and his fingers digging into the soft white flesh of her buttocks. Savagely, obscenely, his fingers probed and slid into the sweat-slickened crevice between her ass cheeks. He was hurting her as he felt for her anus. His outstretched middle finger stabbed at the rubbery, tightly puckered anal ring, his fingernail cutting in deep, sending a sharp stinging pain searing through her nerve system. Jana's face contorted and she sobbed again. It was decided for her: she raised the heavy flashlight, gripped it tightly in her hand and held it above her head. Then, closing her eyes, she swung with all her might. She heard a "thunk," a sound like someone thumping a ripe watermelon. The flashlight bounced off Robert's head and was torn from her hand by the force of the blow. She heard the glass lens shatter as the flashlight fell on the bed and onto the floor.

Robert paused for a split-second, seeming not to move a muscle or take a breath. It was as if he had frozen and was expectantly listening for some alien sound. Then, he gave a mottled, choking cry, pulled his hands free, and feebly tried to hold his head. He pulled back from her, weaving, his eyes squeezed shut, his face and mouth twisted in a drunken grimace. Both his hands were on the top of his head as if he were trying to hold his skull on, as though he were trying to stop it from blowing up. "Goddamn it," he said thickly. He pulled away, and his still massively erect cock came out of her cunt with an obscenely wet plopping sound.

The engineer slowly slumped backwards onto the bed, breathing heavily, and groaned in wonderment and surprise. The combination of alcohol and the stunning blow to the head made him go limp as a rag... and he passed out unconscious beside her.

Jana lay naked, her blue eyes watching her husband. Then, feeling something she couldn't quite fathom, she looked down between her fingernail-streaked breasts to her long flat belly... and at the scratches and bruises there... and at her prominent mound of Venus and the way her softly curling red pubic hair was wet and matted. Her legs were splayed ivory white in the lamplight, delicately carved yet strong and firm. Already she could see bruises that were a deep purple plum color and more scratches. Gingerly, she shifted her weight and tilted her groin to one side, feeling the cheek of one buttock. It was sore and stung from the gouges left behind from his fingernails.

Instinct told her that Robert wasn't going to awaken. In fact, she was going to have trouble getting his huge naked bulk under the covers. She lay on her back, relaxed, catching her breath, her ripe firm young breasts heaving up and down. The base of her neck was still pressed painfully against the headboard, wedged there by Robert's brutal thrusts, and she lay much in the same pose as Michelle had a few miles away in Pebble Beach a little earlier in the evening. Jana lay with her magnificently fleshed breasts in front of her face, her pert chin forced into her chest. Idly, she passed her hands over them, feeling their liquid weight and warmness. They were bigger, fuller, better formed than Michelle's. Jana's finger tips skimmed lightly over them, testing them tenderly for sore spots and bruises. Her lacquered fingernails gently touched her nipples; they sprang to life as she watched them, pale pink and hardening, tensing, pointing provocatively.

In a sudden odd mood, she looked down at her nakedly sleeping husband, seeing him framed between her breasts that were almost not quite too large for her frame... breasts that she felt she should be proud of, yet wasn't! Almost unaware of what she was doing, the voluptuous young wife dug the fingernail in the softly yielding flesh of her nipple. Than, she took the buffeted nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pinched it with her fingernails, deliberately hurting herself and sending an unexpectedly erotic tremor of excitement through her naked body.

She stopped guiltily, her hand covering her mouth against a little cry of amazement. Jana had just stumbled on a self- discovery, and it was far from pleasant. She thought: Actually, in a funny way, a wrong way, a dirty way, I really enjoyed being handled so roughly. If only I hadn't been so afraid...

She shook her head, refusing to finish the thought. Quickly, then, she got up and hurried to the closet, where she got a robe, then she fled to the bathroom while Robert snored.


Carmel has one of the loveliest beaches in the world. Its sand manages to stay a virgin white and the beach front runs for two curving miles from the Pebble Beach golf course to what residents call "The Frank Lloyd Wright house" which is an imposing home built on the rocks, right above the ocean, by that famous architect.

The beach, in all its vastness, seems to absorb people as a sponge does water. It would take a large assembly to seem crowded. It looks crowded really only twice a year: on the Fourth of July, and during the Great Sandcastle Building Contest. On other days, people sunbathe, children play, surfers surf, brave ones swim, people ride horseback, and dogs race tongue lolling, barking, after the seagulls. An occasional Sea Lion swims along just beyond the surf, old men fish, joggers jog and others simply stroll. All this happens and the beach doesn't seem crowded. Each person has a feeling of privacy.

People use the beach from morning until night when flickering orange bonfires warm groups of picnickers. At sundown, people are invariably seen walking or parked along Scenic Drive or simply sitting on benches along the road or seen standing, alone and quiet. Sunset in Carmel is a quiet time and people talk in hushed voices and lovers stroll hand in hand. Sunsets in Carmel are always dramatic and always different and always something seen on a postcard and cannot believe because they're too pretty, too colorful and too dramatic.

It certainly isn't thought unusual to see people with binoculars on the beach or sitting in parked cars along Scenic Drive. There are all sorts of wildlife to observe: gulls, terns, pelicans, seals, sea lions, sea otters, and, in season, the California Gray Whale in migratory herds. At times, the Killer Whales are seen, their dorsal fins cleaving the water of the bay in search of prey.

There was nothing unusual in the Mercedes-Benz that parked along Scenic day after day. Nor was there anything odd in the occupants - a man and a woman - watching the beach through powerful binoculars. They were attractive and well dressed and looked as if they belonged to the Carmel scene. The girl was young and extremely attractive with a dress that was just a little too colorful and low cut. Her cleavage showed, disappearing down into a soft shimmering shadow of warm flesh. Her black hair was long and swept across her forehead, and her smile was a dazzling white. Her nose was provocatively tilted on the end. The man, the driver, was older and his face was thin and spartan, aristocratic, and his black hair was sprinkled and streaked with gray. He wore gray. He was dressed in gray slacks, gray shirt, and gray cashmere sweater.

They were watching a solitary stroller who walked by herself down by the water's edge. They had been watching her for days. She walked the beach twice a day: in the early morning and at sunset. She walked to and from the beach to her house, a cottage, that was three short, tree-lined blocks to the ocean.

She drove into town once a day, going to the post office to mail letters and pick mail up. She shopped in the mouth of the Carmel Valley at the Safeway and Long's discount drug store. She only shopped once a week. She stayed home every night, watching television then retiring early. Only once since they had been watching her, had she gone out in the evening, going to an early movie alone.

The occupants of the car were Dean Beckman and Michelle Moran. The person they were watching was Jana. Dean focused his binoculars on her as she walked the beach, and he slowly brought her voluptuous young figure into a shimmering detail. He inspected details of her sensual, finely shaped body with a scientist's detachment and passion for detail. She wore little makeup. Her nose was so perfect, so delicate, that he was sure it had been bobbed. Yet, as he inspected it through the glasses, he knew it wasn't. There was a purple bruise mark on her neck that was almost concealed by a silk scarf; the bruise interested him. Her attitude interested him. Generally, her face was preoccupied, serious, and, at times, little sad. She was very definitely alone. A glint and flash of light on the fingers of her left hand told him she was married.

Her body was a pleasure for him to watch as she walked along in the loose sand. She always wore tight slacks that allowed him to see and imagine her long, firmly shaped thighs and tapered legs, her sensually petulant buttocks that twitched and ground with every step. And her breasts always under sweaters or heavy sweat shirts that were too big for her (undoubtedly her husband's) - shook free, bouncing with a sprightly rhythm when she sometimes ran to avoid the last flat surge of a wave. Her body was strong, and the wind blew her flame red hair wild and ruffled around her face, giving her regal queen-like features a certain Irish bawdiness in appearance.

Dean slowly lowered the glasses and stared off, seeing Jana nothing more than a distant silhouette on the beach. He didn't want to show too much pleasure in Michelle's choice. It was a policy with him never to flatter her too much. Always let her be a little hungry. Yet, he was pleased with her choice. He was more than pleased! For the first time in a long while, he was sexually excited.. He was aroused. Jana Johnson was a magnificent specimen and provided an interesting challenge. He looked at Michelle, smiling slightly. Since he had forced her to admit she would betray a friend, would betray them sexually, and then help him in the seduction, even Michelle had taken on a new sexual interest. It was mild, but an arousement nonetheless. He had become even more interested after he heard the name, Jana Johnson. He had her investigated by his bodyguard who was trained and very adept about such things. Be came back with a report on her. Married, living in a cottage in Carmel, her husband was an engineer and was away for six months in South America. Jana Johnson was alone, seldom went out other than for routines of living, and didn't see anyone. Her husband's parents, the Johnsons, lived in Pebble Beach. Apparently Jana had no communication or visits with them. A snapshot, taken by the bodyguard, showing Jana walking near the post office in tight white slacks, sneakers, and a loose red wool sweater, was enough to interest him more.

He watched her for days, his careful intelligence not missing a detail. Finally, he turned to Michelle. "I think she'll do."

Michelle broke into a dazzling smile of relief. She laughed and relaxed, leaning back, jutting out her young breasts provocatively and swinging them back and forth. Since he knew her for what she was, Michelle could afford a lewd grin, a look of utter depravity, to come over her face. She licked her lips, looking at Jana through the glasses once more. It was going to be fun to trick the trusting young wife, to lead her into depravity, to orgies, to wild moments when she would go a little insane and behave in a lewd and lascivious way. It would be wildly interesting and sexually exciting to see Jana come under the influence of Dean, to see him break her to his will, to see her perform the way she did, to see her eager for a sexual perversion. If Jana could be led to act that way, it would make her feel better. Besides, it would please Dean.

"I think she's definitely unhappy. Over what, I'm not so sure," the gray dressed man said to Michelle. "At first, I thought it was because her husband had left her. I thought she missed him."

"That's possible. She hasn't been married very long."

Dean wagged a finger. "There's something more. I'm only guessing, but she had a bruise mark on her neck, a bruise that she was at pains to conceal. I saw it through the glasses when the wind blew it. Why would you conceal a bruise."

Michelle again gave a lewd grin, "When I was afraid they'd be too revealing."

"Exactly. Her husband goes away and she's concealing a bruise. Perhaps several bruises. And she's sad. Why? Because she misses her husband? Or does she miss being bruised?"

Michelle arched a cool eyebrow. "If she does, she'll be easy to bring around."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, "if she just missed the bruises, that would tell us a lot about her right away." His face bent into a superior smile. "What would you do if your husband was far away for six months, and you liked having him bruise you, you liked being bruised, pushed around?"

Michelle was unashamed, brazen. "I'd go out and find me someone."

"Exactly. A woman who enjoys being manhandled, who likes it rough, is a fairly free and sensual person. No, this Jana Johnson stays by herself and looks sad."

"Meaning what?" Michelle couldn't follow his thought.

"Meaning, her husband got a lithe physical with her and she didn't like it. Henrich, good bodyguard and informant that he is, told me they were drinking at The Red Lion and El Matador the night before he left. From all that Henrich could find out, her husband Henry had quite a bit to drink."

Michelle felt a familiar shudder and masochistic thrill go through her body at the mention of the bodyguard's name. Henrich was strong and hung like a bull, and he ready knew how to fuck, and she had done a lot of things with Henrich, things she had watched on film afterwards. Henrich, and Ted, the chauffeur, were sometimes teamed with her when Dean wanted to watch or wanted to entertain his guests. She tried not to think of Henrich and concentrated on Jana. She frowned. "If that's true, if he got rough and she didn't like it, she's going to be tough. Maybe it won't be possible." She bit her lower lip and looked beseechingly at Dean.

Dean allowed himself a weary look of polite disgust. He sighed. The trouble with Michelle was - she had no real imagination, no real understanding of carnality. She loved it, wallowed in it, but didn't ready understand it. She had no genius for it. Left to her own devices, she would never land Jana. He saw he was going to have to supervise Michelle's every move, carefully school her on what to say. "You leap to the obvious fact and your practical, greedy, earthbound imagination is content to rest there. A bruise, a beating, a husband leaving. She did not like being beat up, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong. That is the most obvious thing. And it's stupid, for it completely rules out what I tell you exists in every woman. Supposing she is troubled because she did like it?"

Michelle tilted her head, suddenly seeing what he was hinting at. "Possible."

"Not only possible, it's probable. Supposing she enjoyed it more than she ever suspected? Supposing, for the first time in her life, she was sexually excited?" He leaned close to her, smiling. "Remember how guilty you felt at first?"

Michelle's nostrils flared with a quick passion at his nearness. It was true. Still, at times, she felt guilty.

Dean started the car up and they pulled away. "We're gong home and make plans. We're going to make them carefully, from your first reunion with her up until the time she stands in front of me."

Michelle felt a surge of lewd passion at the idea; there definitely was something wonderfully obscene, sexual, and horny in plotting the humiliation of Jana Johnson. She squirmed her fishy young buttocks against the leather seat. "Tell me what you'll do to her," she said in a breathy voice.

Dean chuckled. "I'll do better than that. I'll practice them on you."

Michelle sat with her eyes almost closed, her lips red and pouting and trembled, the nostrils of her pert nose wickedly flaring in unconcealed excitement. She felt her suddenly tingling nipples growing taut, and she crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs tight. Her sensual little body trembled in fine spasms and lewd excitement as she felt her wetly trembling cunt swell and become moist with a hot itching that was sweetly maddening. She needed relief from that itching. She needed to feel on fire and be naked and lewd. She needed to be fucked! She needed her body fucked and defiled. She wanted to be fucked again and again, not just once. She wanted to be fucked by more than one man at the same time. She wanted to be naked in front of Dean and have him tell her all the horribly exciting, wicked things that he was going to do to her friend, Jana. She wanted him to practice sex on her.

She said nothing for the rest of the drive through Carmel and through the Pebble Beach gate all the way to the house. She sat trying to calm her breathing and the flaming animal passion that coursed through her body. Dean would call her and she would be ready. She gritted her teeth. He knew how to turn her on, he knew how to excite her. Just a few words and he had her feeling hopelessly aroused and ready to fuck anyone or anything. He had her trained, and she clenched her fists and hoped she couldn't pray that he would use her... use her body... until she was a screaming, wildly writhing naked mass of wantonness.


Dean Beckman didn't know how right he was. It was his genius to detect traces of sexuality or lewdness in a person's make up. Once, in a rare mood, he had bragged that he could talk to a person ten minutes, merely passing the time of day or making polite cocktail chatter, and be able to tell if that person was sensual or not. He prided himself on his knowledge of human nature and his powers of observation. He knew, after watching Jana for a few days, from watching her walk, toss her head, from the way she looked out to sea, the way she held her shoulders and contained her hips, he knew that she was deeply sensual... and ashamed of it!

But he had guessed right about Robert Johnson's wife. She had been brutalized and had, after it was all over, after Robert was long asleep, learned just how much she enjoyed his rough treatment. She had played with her breasts, hurting them, stinging and tingling her nipples and then getting up from the bed, fleeing in a guilty way to the closet where she put on a heavy terry-cloth robe and ran to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, the door shut, she felt safe. She listened at the door and heard Robert's heavy snore occasionally. She was safe, she had time. Her breath coming quickly, her eyes aglow, glinting and reflecting an inner excitement, she turned to the bathroom mirror and pulled the robe back over her shoulders, letting it fall to where it was tied loosely around her waist. She stood, naked to the waist and examined her firm young breasts in the mirror and under the antiseptic bathroom light.

She saw vivid red scratches on her tender flesh and her seeping blood somehow excited her. There were light pink scratches and darkening bruises on her shoulders, neck, and inner arms. Her lips, always full on her wide generous mouth, were a little puffed, and they hurt.

Yet the hurt - all the little hurts - excited her in some alien unexplained way. Guiltily, she wondered if there was anything wrong with her, wondering if she was "abnormal" in some way for liking it, being excited by it. If only...

She waved a hand in front of her face and refused to finish the thought as her flesh turned to goose-flesh at half the thought.

She stared at her large, softly upthrust breasts in the mirror, cupping one and lifting it, then letting it drop quiveringly free. Her finger and thumb pinched her nipple again, and she watched herself doing it and saw her nipple gather and swell to life and become pointed and taut. Her mouth open slightly, her breath coming lighter and faster, she watched in the mirror as she put both hands on her nipples and pinched. Her eyes were half-closed, a look of indulgent lewdness came over her face as she gently dug her nails into her tender, pinkly pale flesh. Her little nipples grew very taut and even more sensitive; she closed her eyes and shuddered, taking a deep breath. It did feel good, in a strange new way. It felt good! She had never thought about it before nor had anyone ever treated her as roughly as that.

Again the thought came to her. This time she could not resist thinking it out: if only Robert had been rough and loving at the same time. If only he hadn't been drunk, if only he had been sober and treating her rough in a cold calculating way, as part of love-making?

The thought of Robert treating thus as a policy made her body shake in wanton excitement. She trembled from head to foot and felt an arousal, a sex desire and thrill like she never imagined existed. Her hands shaking visibly, she undid the belt of the robe and it fell silently around her feet. Her eyes half-closed, her eyesight suddenly fuzzed and her brain reeling, the young wife looked at the rest of her naked body. Her magnificent thighs were bruised and welted. Her groin was flushed pink. She turned slowly, twisting her head to see her proudly fleshed twin buttocks. A dark, deep shudder tremored its way up her spine when she saw marks where his nails had been imbedded in her softly yielding flesh.

It was a stolen, secret, guilty, sexual moment when she nakedly stood in front of the mirror and brazenly looked at her body, turning this way and that, touching herself here and there. She grinned, thinking this is what a prostitute does after she has had a rough customer. A further thrill ran through her as she imagined herself a whore, a prostitute, standing in front of her fellow whores and showing them her battered body. They would look and know what she had been through.

She stood still, gazing off. Every woman, at one time or another in her life, has tried to imagine, to fantasize what it would be like to be a whore, a common prostitute working in a whorehouse. Although few will admit it, every woman is secretly excited by the idea. Jana found herself being aroused by the idea, adding, building on her excitement at the thought of Robert handling her rough as a matter of course.

Her fingers went up to her erect little nipples again, and she fondled them and tweaked them, pinching as hard as she dared and feeling the stinging pain shoot through her body and turn into a hot smoky pleasure. Her wetly trembling vagina was hot and beginning to itch with a fierceness that wouldn't be denied. She squeezed her firm young thighs together, compressing her lust- swollen pussy lips and feeling an intense delight and momentary relief.

Brazenly, Jana stood up close to the mirror, admiring her body with a guilty glee. It was sexual, very sexual. It was a full- blown body and, imagining herself as a whore, she imagined that she had the best body of any girl in the brothel. She was the star attraction, and men waited for her to be free. The thought sent shivers up and down her spine and she stood straight, shoulders back, her hot nipples touching the cold glass of the mirror. Her breath was coming rapidly, leaving a little spot fogged on the mirror. With the flat of her hands, she felt her rib cage and let her hands wander down over her tautly flat stomach and feel the bruises and see the four wavering, parallel fingernail scratch marks that started at her pubic hair and went up to her navel.

Her hands were in her pubic hair now, a place she never touched herself. One palm cupped her round, prominent mound of Venus, and her fingertips found the delicate valley where her budding clit slept. One outstretched finger barely touched the clit, yet it was enough to send lewd pleasure rippling through her naked young body and make her clit swell until it was a little pink bud that was oiled with her excitement and maddeningly like a ball bearing as her finger probed for it and rubbed it, sending ever increasing waves of lascivious pleasure through her body.

Jana stopped and licked her lips nervously. Although she had heard about masturbation and knew girls who had done it, she had never allowed herself to touch herself down there. It was wrong, it wasn't normal! Now, feeling her sensually aroused body so feverish, feeling so much had happened to her, Jana knew that just once she was going to be wicked. As long as Robert had behaved as shamelessly as he had, then she had the right to behave as she wished. Checking the door to make sure it was locked, the naked young redhead dragged a stool over to the mirror and stood in front of it again, taking in her long, lithely lovely body which was crowned by her glory - her two full, melon-like breasts.

She put one foot up on the stool, the knee bent and exposing her nakedly glistening pink little pussy. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings as she put her hands on her cunt and gently, slowly and lewdly, spread her fluted cuntal lips to expose the entire blushing slit. She looked in the mirror and saw her wetly pulsating cunt and its tiny, distended clit. Without volition, her fingers began working at the sensitive little nerve bud, sending spasms of lewd pleasure rippling through her body.

The young wife's eyes were almost closed and her nostrils were widely flared as she watched herself in the mirror. She tried to imagine how it would be and how she would feel doing a wicked thing like this in front of Robert, exciting and pleasing him. She would love doing it! She crouched a little and slowly sank her middle finger into her wetly clasping cunt, feeling the slipperiness of the lubrication and the hot velvet walls milking her own finger. She contracted her vaginal muscles, squeezing on the finger as she shoved it in deeper. It felt so good! It felt so very, very good! She began sawing in and out, her ripe young hips slowly and rhythmically beginning to pump in time to her strokes. She watched herself in the mirror, fascinated with the lewdness of her pumping motion. She felt hot and feverish all over with a wild molten feeling beginning to stir deep in her groin.

Her orgasm was building as she increased the tempo of her fingering in and out of her hotly pulsing cunt, pulling it out to the tip of the nail then plunging it wetly glistening back in again up to the palm. Her hips were pumping easily, smoothly, with a lewd fucking motion she had once seen from a topless dancer in San Francisco that Robert had insisted on seeing. He had dragged her along, and Jana had been embarrassed aside from the dancer, she was the only woman in the place and all the men were looking at her covered body... not the naked dancer's.

Now, she wished she had watched that girl more closely. She would like to dance lewdly for Robert. Her mind reeled again with the hot lascivious thoughts she was having. She wished to dance, nakedly sensuous and wicked... not only for Robert, but for a lot of people.

Her brazenness fused in her and made her further increase her rhythm and pace of her finger fucking into her own heatedly excited pussy. She crouched a little and spread her legs even more. Suddenly, her free hand was cupping her breast and squeezing the nipple, pinching it tight and sending bolts of pained sensuality through her that mingled like an explosive smoky substance in her groin, boiling, building and churning as it drove her harder and harder.

She was going to cum! And the wantonly aroused girl felt her cum was going to be sweet and searing, like nothing she had ever felt before. Her nakedly voluptuous body was tense now and her heavy breasts were jiggling as she sawed her finger in and out faster and faster. Suddenly she needed even more. Her free hand left her breasts and flew down, nails savagely clawing at one cheek of her ass as she leaned forward and reached for her anus. She jumped when her outstretched fingers touched it, feeling it sore from Robert's wild probings. Yet an urgency, an unrelenting need and lewd promise of untold delights made her go on.

Her finger pressed against the rubbery tight ring and parted it, and she felt her finger filling the entrance to her rectum and the forbidden feeling filled her with a lust-crazed desire she had never dreamed of before. Her sphincter muscle closed tightly around the fingertip. A low lewd moan escaped her throat as she watched herself in the mirror and felt her ripe sensitive body beginning an inward swelling that she knew would culminate in an orgasm.

Her finger fucked in and out of her anus, and she hissed in her breath and it seemed like another person who whispered, "Oooooohhhh, that's so gooooood!"

It thrilled her so much it made her think of lewd things she wanted to do with Robert. With anybody! The thought fused and exploded in her mind and she was wild with cum and wantonness, her face contorted as she nakedly crouched in front of the mirror. Sweat broke out from the effort as she sawed madly in and out of her pulpy, moistly soft cunt that was so hot and wormed her finger deeper into her tightly puckering anus. Mad obscene thoughts and ideas ran through her mind. Supposing she were a whore for just one night?

Her hips pumping, her belly moving in abandoned undulations and her loins rhythmically fucking out toward the mirror in a smooth, ball-bearing, obscene way, Jana could see her finger disappear into her wetly glistening pink cuntal flesh. Her thumb massaged the little brown nib of her clit, and she began panting and crouching lower, splaying out her legs even more, allowing herself greater freedom to stick her other finger up her rectum.

A lewd relaxation came over her; with a wanton will she never knew she possessed, she relaxed her tensely tightened cuntal and anal muscles as her hips pumped back and forth. She shoved her outstretched finger all the way up her anus and moaned and wiggled with delight from the feeling it gave her. She took her finger out of her cunt only to shove three fingers into the warmly milking flesh. More thaw anything, she wanted to be fucked, to be raped.

Fucked! Raped!

The words were obscene in her mind and only excited her all the more. She saw her wild face in the mirror, her nakedly crouched body with her huge, pure-white breasts savagely jiggling and quivering with her efforts as she finger fucked both cunt and rectum.

It started as a ripple, then grew into surface undulations that seemed to follow one on another and build until she felt a huge, thick, wave of sweet hot electricity was flowing through her body. She tensed, gasped for breath. Her back arched, her warmly quivering breasts jutted out and brushed against the mirror. Her groin began to convulse in fine spasms which she found impossible to control as her cum shot through her. Her legs shook and she sunk to her knees in front of the mirror, panting, her eyes showing all white.

She seemed held, transfixed, pinned in time and place as her cum wracked her body in the wildest, most beautiful way. Gradually, it subsided and she was left sitting on the floor, panting for breath.

Guiltily, she looked at herself in the mirror, at her naked young body which was still quivering and trembling occasionally with the residue of her orgasm. Shame came over her and she couldn't look at herself. Scampering to her feet, she quickly showered, turning the water on as hot as she could stand it and scrubbing until her creamy translucent skin was a bright pink and most of the welts and scratches camouflaged.

Jana was ashamed of herself. She vowed she would never do anything like that again. She wouldn't even think like that ever again. The young wife excused herself by saying such a thing could happen to her only because of all they had to drink, Robert's actions, and his going away. It was am emotional time for both of them, and she excused his behavior as well as her own.

Dressing in another demure nightie, she unlocked the door and saw her husband was still sound asleep. It was difficult getting him under the covers, and she was concerned about his head and the coming morning when he had to make a plane. She got in bed next to his snoring body and snapped the lights out.

It took a long time for her to get to sleep and, while waiting for sleep to come, she forced herself not to think about sex... or the possible joys of working in a whorehouse...


The morning Robert had left was an emotional charged one for them both, but Jana in particular. Robert was bleary-eyed and hung over, holding his bead. "Ouch. Hey, what did I do, fall down or bump into something?"

He was blessed with not remembering much of what had happened the night before. "I remember being in the Matador and saying goodbye to some friends. When did we go after that?"

"Home."

"Wow. I feel like a sack of broken bottles, and my tongue tastes like it's been licking ash trays all night."

He staggered to a hot shower, while Jana made him a bromo and squeezed fresh orange juice and black coffee. He didn't seem to remember anything. She remembered everything! Everything that happened and everything she had felt. He came into the kitchen with his robe on and drank hot coffee with trembling hands. "Sorry, honey. Hell of a way to start out...!" His voice stopped as he stared at her neck. Self-consciously, she put her hand to her long elegant neck, trying to hide the angry bruise.

Robert's face clouded over and he put the cup down. "Now I remember. It's coming back now." He looked at his wife, at her clean patrician good looks and her wild gypsy hair that crowned her face, trying to read what she felt there.

It was never discussed. Neither had the nerve to bring it up; not now, not when they were parting for six months. Time took care of any discussion. Time has a way of going fast in the morning when you have to catch a plane. Suddenly, they were rushing, throwing his bags into the car and racing for the Monterey Airport, with Jana driving and Robert beside her holding his throbbing head.

Their good-bye was quick, for there was no time, and they stood in the terminal and Jana cried. It was more than a six month parting and she had strong feelings of dread. Something terrible was going to happen. "Take care!"

"I will! Write!"

"I will, every day."

"I'll call you from Rio before we go up river."

"Will you? Promise?"

"Promise."

Then they were hurrying out of the terminal, and she followed him to the gate where he grasped her in a tight hard embrace. They kissed good-bye and she felt an anguish surge through her body. And another feeling mingling with it, a feeling she felt last night. She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. They shouted good-byes to one another, and she watched him make his big-shouldered way to the plane, swiping at his head, hung over, looking back to wave once more.

She ran up on the observation deck and watched him disappear into the plane. She stood by the rail, looking at the little windows along the plane's fuselage and trying to pick him out. She couldn't but smiled bravely and waved anyway. She kept waving as the plane taxied around and down the runway where it paused, seeming to crouch on its nose-wheel and wing wheels, gathering strength for the roaring, running, joyous leap into the air. The great jet engines screamed into a high whine and the plane started slow, but suddenly it came in a rush and was airborne in an ear- splitting roar, rocketing smoothly up into the crystal clear air. Jana stood on the observation platform, pressed against the rail, waving until the jet was nothing more than a black dot growing smaller in the big sky.

She stopped waving, her arm tired, and slumped against the rail. It was all wrong, all bad the way they had parted, and she had this terrible, almost overpowering feeling of dread. She pulled herself together, dabbed at her eyes and determined to gut it through, work it out, make it good, and, above all, be beyond reproach. She would set an example. She would show the world and his parents and Robert, too. There would be no more of those dirty bathroom scenes. She would save herself completely for him until he returned.

She went home and began a life that was lonely and full of bad thoughts. She felt bad about herself and the way they had parted. She went about living, cleaning house, watched television at night, and walking the beach.

And always, she had that vague uneasy feeling of dread, of something going wrong. She never noticed that she was being watched...

There's nothing like a sunny morning in Carmel. Being a town full of trees, birds sing and chatter and down near the beach, gulls wheel and tower up, looking much like confetti thrown from skyscrapers in New York whenever they have a parade.

In Carmel, there are no street addresses. This is by choice, for Carmelites like their privacy and the daily trip to the post office where they pick up their mail, meet friends, and chat, sometimes having coffee. It is said that, sooner or later, you see and meet everyone at the Carmel Post office. Each morning around nine, after a bracing walk on the beach, Jana would drive to the post office, park and go to their mail box. Each morning she saw an air mail letter, her heart would pound, for it was bound to be a letter from Robert. Each day without a letter was a disappointment, and she tried hard to conceal her hurt. Robert had written only twice since he left, and both letters were short and vague.

This morning there had been no mail. She was leaving the post office, head down, ignoring the beautiful morning, hands in her pockets, when out on the street a voice called. "Jana?"

She stopped and turned, seeing an attractive girl on the post office steps, laughing up at her. Jana smiled in welcome, "Michelle!"

"Jana! It is you! Jana!"

"I didn't recognize you, Michelle."

They embraced; or, rather, Michelle took the red-haired wife in her arms and kissed her, her lips pecking at Jana's mouth. It was an awkward moment. Jana liked affection, and she had liked Michelle, but she wasn't used to such a demonstrative greeting. Also, Michelle had changed in some subtle way. It wasn't just that she was very well-dressed, very expensively and tastefully dressed. And it wasn't the fact that her teeth had been fixed into a dazzling smile. She was obviously doing well, but it wasn't just that. Jana stared at Michelle and saw something: hints of debauchery, a certain look in the eyes, a way of smiling, the first traces of hard lines on the face, an attitude that was a mixture of barely concealed brazenness, and an expression on her face that alluded to masochistic acceptance and sensuality.

Again, for no reason she could put her finger on, Jana was filled with a feeling of dread and bad times yet to come.

Michelle seemed delighted to see her again and the two of them stood chatting happily while people moved around them on the sidewalk. Michelle squealed with delight when she saw the wedding ring and wanted to know all about the marriage. She insisted they have coffee together and have a good talk. Jana was only too happy to talk, since she had nothing but the rest of the morning ahead of her. It was good to have another human being to talk to and she hadn't seen Michelle in a long time. They had worked together for a brief time about a year ago in a restaurant called The Butcher Shop, and Michelle had been the cocktail waitress with the racy reputation.

There were all sorts of rumors about Michelle and what she did when she wasn't working. Jana had seen her behaving in ways that gave credibility to the rumors and certainly wasn't any way a proper lady would behave. Yet, despite everything, she found herself liking Michelle and defending her to the other waitresses. Michelle seemed a warm, silly, sad human being to Jana. She sometimes felt the other girl acted the way she did because she had to have attention. This was strange, for she had a good personality and certainly was beautiful enough to stand out in any crowd. Michelle had simply not bothered to show up for the job one night, and Jana never saw her again... although she heard rumors that she was being "kept" by some millionaire in Pebble Beach.

Now, over coffee, she smiled at the sensual looking dark- haired girl and asked, "And what are you doing now, Michelle?"

"I'm in public relations up in the city."

"San Francisco?"

"Yes, and I just love it. I'm down here on business and pleasure. You know, any excuse to get back down here." She pointed to the red-head's wedding band. "What does he do?"

Jana laughed, knowing what Michelle was referring to. "He's an engineer, and he just left on a job."

"Where?"

"South America," Jana said, thrusting her lower lip out in mock-despair. "Brazil. Way up the Amazon in some godforsaken place,"

"How long will he be gone?"

"Six months."

"Oh, poor Jana. What are you going to do?"

"Stick it out, keep myself busy."

If the conversation was to be thought of from Jana's standpoint, it must be recorded that she thought that Michelle was terribly perceptive or that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve. In what seemed like no time at all, she found herself talking about Robert and their "problem." Michelle seemed to be so understanding. Soon, they were paying for their coffees and walking, talking quietly, feeling they were more private than in a crowded coffee shop. They walked to Devendorf Plaza, where they sat on a bench, and Jana found herself pouring her heart out.

Not all her heart and not all the truth. How many of us are capable of telling the whole truth? She did tell Michelle a great deal of what happened, and Michelle seemed eager to hear every word, licking her lips so that they were wetly glistening and her eyes seemed to be just a little unfocused.

"Wow," she said, when Jana was all through. "I wish I had been there when you hit him with the flashlight."

Jana was a little taken back by her statement then dismissed it as being simply Michelle, as her way. She had always been flip and fancy-free, and sometimes said things just to shock.

They talked on, or rather Jana talked on with Michelle only prompting her, urging her to talk more. Finally, the young housewife stopped, embarrassed, as tears blinded her and she groped for words. Michelle pressed a handkerchief in her hand and walked her back to her car. It was agreed that Michelle would call her, and they'd get together before she want back up to the city.

The wildly sensual brunette stood waving as Jana drove off. Once out of sight, she walked purposely to a car, a Mercedes that was parked nearby and got in next to a gray-haired man dressed all in gray. She grinned at him and resisted an urge to throw her arms around his neck and give him a fervent kiss. You just didn't do things like that to Dean Beckman. "Well?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.

"You're a genius!"

"It went as I said it would?"

"Almost word for word. Dean, I think you're right about her. About sex, I mean."

"We'll see. Did you remember to start the tape recorder?"

Michelle grinned triumphantly, leaning close to him so that he could smell her perfume and see the deep cleavage between her large, firmly ripe breasts. Nothing would please her more than to have Dean himself work her over. "Here it is," she said, opening her expensive leather purse and pulling out a small finely made portable tape recorder. "What do I do next?"

"That will be determined by what I find on this tape."


How had it all happened? They had met for a drink. They had met for a drink in the Pine inn. They had met at the "Happy Hour" in the red and white Pine inn bar that spoke of elegance, of quiet, casual wealth and good taste. They had met with the Pine Inn regulars who met every day at five and drank quietly and well.

And she had too much to drink! She had driven home tipsy, driving slowly, and felt immediately sleepy going to bed and wondering vaguely and only half-seriously, if anything had been put in her drink. She had become "high" so quickly and babbled things she ordinarily wouldn't have. Before she knew it, she was agreeing to a long weekend with Michelle up in the city. "What you need is a change. You're in a rut and you don't know it. I've got a wonderful apartment on Sutter Street. What you need is a weekend with me. Well go places and meet people and have a good old dirty time."

Jana had fallen into bed, drowsy, sleepily amused that Michelle had decided to take over in her life, vaguely pleased that somebody cared enough to say so and take an interest in her welfare.

Waking the next morning and realizing that, in an hour, Michelle would be around to pick her up and that she was going to spend a weekend in lovely San Francisco, she shrugged. Why not? Perhaps the other girl was right. Maybe she did need a change! Jana dressed and packed quickly. "Travel light," Michelle had said, "that's my motto: Travel light and wear sexy underwear."

She looked forward to the weekend despite Michelle's old habit of being just a bit too rough and sexual in her talk. Somehow, the brunette always brought the conversation around to men and sex. She really didn't mind, dismissing it as Michelle's way and need for attention. She didn't really think anything was meant by it.

Michelle was right on time, arriving in a new Mustang convertible. They drove up US-Highway 1, Jana taking in the coastal scenery as they drove. Then, like a jewel, a thrill no matter how many times you've seen it, came the Apple, The Big Apple, San Francisco! The city, a combination of stately old homes and gracious living; the city, a curious blend of European comfort and old frontier make-do. The city of the Barbery Coast and China Town, North Beach and the Mission district, Nob Hill and Haight-Ashbury, The Panhandle and the financial district.

It retains some of its bawdy, lusty, goldrush past. It is the original home of the topless and bottomless, of the porny movies and live sex shows. It is a sin-drenched city and it is a graceful entity to good living the De Young Museum, The Palace of The Legion of Honor, and the opera. It has its ballet and art exhibits. It is the home of the 1950's Beats Beatniks and the poetry movement of North Beach. It is a melting pot for east and west, and has always been drug-oriented because of Chinatown and the opium trade and wars that flourished as far back as the nineties.

San Francisco is, as connoisseurs of female flesh are quick to point out, a city full of extremely beautiful girls. To this already happy horde were added two more: Michelle and Jana. They arrived in the afternoon. Michelle's apartment was all that she said it was and more. It was spacious and Jana would have a bedroom of her own. The sensual looking brunette mixed drinks right away, then told Jana to wander around and make herself at home, while she made some phone calls.

Jana moved around the expensive apartment, admiring the furniture and paintings, only half-listening to Michelle. Suddenly, she was listening hard. "That's right. Her name is Jana Johnson, and she's a real knockout. Yeah. Yeah. Relax, she's married. That's right, I said married. Be here about six."

Michelle hung up and waved a depreciating hand at Jana's wondering stare. "Relax! All I'm doing is lining up dates for us. Escorts. Listen, it's easier with an escort. Lots of places we couldn't go if it wasn't for escorts. Besides, they know you're married, and all they're doing is acting as an escort. God, Jana," Michelle frowned, "sometimes you're an old maid."

The words stung. Jana tried not to show it. All she had done was direct a questioning frown at Michelle. Could the brunette be right? Wasn't she, after all, leaping to conclusions? Wasn't Michelle doing nothing more than being thoughtful by providing her with am escort? Maybe she was getting to be an old maid. Maybe she missed Robert too much and felt a vulnerability in the big city. But that feeling of dread was on her again! It stayed with her the rest of the afternoon. They lunched in a smart place on Union Street, and Michelle seemed possessed of a wooden leg, belting one scotch on the rocks down after another. Back at the apartment, she mixed even more drinks while they awaited their "escorts."

Jana was feeling no pain by the time the two men got there, yet that feeling of impending doom took an immediate surge when Michelle said, "Jana, I want you to meet Henrich. And this big one here is Ted. Gentlemen, this is Mrs. Jana Johnson."

They were polite enough and well-dressed. Henrich had a slight accent and a look that she didn't like. Ted was rougher, bigger, quieter, and tough with a cynical smile below his broken nose. Henrich introduced himself somewhat formally, saying he was in "Transportation. Ted there is in security." Jana got the distinct impression that Ted was a private detective or had something to do with plainclothes work for the police.

They sat around and chatted about the coming evening. Right before the doorbell rang, Michelle had given Jana a pep talk, telling her not to let it all hang out, but to try and concentrate on other things and just have a good time... going out on the town for a change and having a ball. Now, the red-haired housewife sat, trying to appear gay and sophisticated to Henrich.

"Ve vill show you the sights, North Beach and the topless- bottomless clubs."

"Henrich," Michelle cut in, "maybe I didn't tell you on the phone, but, well..."

Her words died in the air and they all looked at one another. That is, except for Jana who felt embarrassed because no one looked at her.

"Vell, vhat?" Henrich asked, hissing the S out.

"Well... I don't think Jana... I don't know if she's ready for that."

"Ready?" Henrich looked at Jana in mock amazement. "Ready? My dear Michelle, I must say you can be condescending when you wish to be. What you're saying is that Mrs. Johnson, a mature, married, and, I must say attractive, female isn't 'ready' to see a naked woman dance on a stage. You make it sound like she's not quite old enough, or hasn't had enough experience to see something so risque, is that it? Or," he added teasingly, "perhaps it is beneath her?"

"No!" Jana was surprised how quickly she interrupted. "No, that isn't it at all."

"No?" Henrich looked superior. "Then perhaps it's too much for Michelle. Perhaps she is using you to hide behind"

Michelle and Ted both erupted in raucous laughter. Jana joined in self consciously, playing the role of the big city sophisticate even though she didn't like it. No matter what, she had her pride, and she wasn't going to let them be patronizing to her. Cannel was a small town in population only. Down on the peninsula, they were as sophisticated as anyone. "No," she said, pretending to be worldly. "As a matter of fact, I'm dying to see one."

"You sure?"

Michelle asked the words with such obvious condescension, asking the question as if Jana were five years old. Anger flushed in her. No matter what, she didn't like being made fun of. No one did! The red-haired wife's back stiffened. "Of course. Can we go now and not waste time?"

Henrich glanced at his watch. "Yes, I think we can catch an earlier show."

Ted grinned at her. "We're just being friendly. Don't want to scare you."

"Don't worry," Jana said, flirting a bit with Ted and enjoying her audacity. "I've been around a bit."

Henrich, Ted, and Michelle exchanged a smiling look that annoyed Jana, for she didn't share in whatever confidence they were exchanging. Finally, Henrich said, "Shouldn't we get prepared for the event?"

"Fine with me," Ted said, getting a flat cigarette case out.

Jana's back bristled. Perhaps she was all wrong, but she thought she knew what was going to happen. She couldn't speak as she watched Ted carefully take a thin, dark brown cigarette out of his case and carefully hand it to Henrich who sniffed it, smiled, and just as carefully handed it to Jana. "Very good," he growled.

Jana held it like it was a bomb and passed is to Michelle with a pasty smile on her face. Michelle leaned to her, her voice lowered. "This is hashish. The very finest. Have you ever bad any?"

Numbly, Jana shook her head. She knew what marijuana was, but wasn't sure what hashish was. Whatever it was, she didn't want any. "Just take a few drags of it, and if you don't like it, stop."

That sounded fair and none of the others seemed at all alarmed. It was a bad scene, an uncomfortable situation to be in, yet she was determined to bluff it through. Again, her feeling of dread came over her in a rush.

"Slowly, slowly," Henrich instructed her as she took a drag from the lighted cigarette he offered her. She had watched him inhale, and she did it very gently. It had a strange but not unpleasant taste. She took the cigarette again when it came around to her and inhaled deeper on the next puff and held it down the way everyone else was doing.

After three or four inhalations, Jana could hardly feel it going down, it was so smooth. Soon, it seemed like she was doing nothing but holding her breath.

"I don't feel a thing," she said in a voice that didn't sound like her. She looked at Henrich and Michelle on either side of her, and they suddenly looked as if they were miles and miles away.

"Do you feel anything?"

"Yes, darling, I feel the world. I feel old San Francisco and it's hot and it's horny." It seemed a logical answer to Jana, and suddenly she felt the same way too. She bad never felt the world around her before. How strange, how odd not to be vitally aware of the universe around her.

She was inhaling again and liking the taste it left in her mouth. The longer it stayed down the softer it felt inside... and the softer she felt!

She sat in silence, lulled, taking the newly offered brown cigarette like a robot, inhaling and passing it along to Michelle. She could feel the pressure of Henrich' leg against her thigh, but the inhalation duped her fears. In fact, it dulled all her fears, even that feeling of impending dread. His leg felt good, and she returned the pressure slightly to let him know she didn't mind. She was going to show them she was liberal minded.

The drugged young wife now didn't seem to mind anything at all... not with that sweet smoke in her... she could feel it licking smoky and seductive deep inside... deeper than she had felt anything since that night in the bathroom. She didn't even mind thinking of that now, and she pressed her warm fleshy thigh even tighter against Henrich' knee.

The pungent sweetness of the narcotic hung heavy in the room and in the cab as they rode to North Beach all crammed next to one another. Jana liked the feeling of Ted's powerful body pressed next to her. As the taxi swayed across town, she began to realize that the pungent aroma, that deadly sweet odor, was not only in her nostrils, but in her mind as well.

She reeled under the total impact of the drug and felt giddy and silly, and was glad she had Michelle and Ted and Henrich to guide her about and be responsible for her. Without them, she would have gone where bidded and done what she was told. She felt like a butterfly borne, tossed, and turned on some mighty slipstream, buffeted about without being able to help it. The world was too large and too full of distractions for her to be able to make any decisions. Dimly, she could divine that Ted was with Michelle and Henrich was her date... escort.

She giggled, feeling naughty, going to see a topless dancer with a strange man. How many women did that? Henrich gently guided her by the elbow into a night club that advertised TOTALLY NUDE outside. Once inside, it was pitch black and Jana opened her eyes wide, trying to see where she was stepping. Henrich guided her all the way, and the four of them sat at a little table with Henrich holding her hand and gently moving his knee against her thigh. He gave her hand a little reassuring squeeze, and she squeezed back as they all looked up at a tiny, brightly lighted stage.

Jana watched, fascinated, her stare a hypnotic drugged one. Idly, she wondered if people could tell she was high. She tried to remember what it was they had smoked... it wasn't marijuana. Her thoughts seemed difficult and almost impossible to collect and regulate. She shook her head and watched a young girl mounting the tiny stage that had mirrors for a backing. Once up on the platform, the girl casually pulled her dress off her head and stood listening to the beat of the music on the juke box; she wore nothing but an Indian headband and a pair of sandals.

It was a powerful sensual shock to Jana, looking at another woman's naked body with a group of virtual strangers. The dark bar was packed, mostly with men and with the majority of them being military people. Almost timidly, the drugged housewife looked up at the girl who had short hair and a slim, boyish body. At first glance, she could have been a boy. Her hips were slim and her buttocks small and tight, and her breasts were high and small, almost non-existent when she stretched her arms above the head. Her nipples were a dark red, hard and tight, like pencil erasers. Her pubic hair was black and there wasn't much of it over her firm little mound of Venus. Even her pouting dry cuntal lips looked tight and small.

It seemed obscene somehow to look at another woman's vagina along with a roomful of strangers and see the lips form more distinctly, see the indentation by her thighs take place. Suddenly, with a barely suppressed gasp, Jana realized the girl was getting excited by standing naked before a roomful of strangers. It, the idea and the act, was exciting not only the girl, but Jana! She was astounded by the wanton strength of her own lasciviousness and sensuality. Somehow, it must be all mixed with the pungent smoke.

Slowly, Jana let her eyes wander from the girl's tight little cunt to see that she was standing nakedly right in front of her. The dancer squatted obscenely so Jana could look right up at her narrow cuntal slit and see the fluted pink edges slightly trembling. Slowly, the embarrassed young wife looked up to see that the girl was wantonly smiling down at her, snapping her fingers in time with the music, and slowly undulating her hips in a most obscene and suggestive way,

It was as if the girl was crouching, offering her pussy to Jana and to Jana alone! It was with a shock that the red-haired wife gradually realized the girl was inviting her to caress the warmly perfumed cuntal flesh and everyone in the room must know it. Jana darted a nervous look at Henrich who shrugged, and at Michelle who laughed and looked back up at the girl.

The naked dancer, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs, mouth open, eyes half-closed, turned and sensuously swayed down the platform until she was in front of Michelle who seemed to ravish the girl with her eyes. The dancer crouched before the brunette, her legs wide-split, her now pinkly glistening pussy pumping lewdly back and forth not two feet from Michelle's face.

Jana felt she had to be imagining things, that it was all the -what was it? the "hashish" they had smoked. It had to be! The girl couldn't be a lesbian. Nor could Michelle! She was just enjoying the dance, that's all. Yet it seemed so obvious, so blatant. Jana watched the girl and her straining thighs and firmly jiggling little breasts, and the whole idea seemed so wicked and so risque and wild that it excited her. It touched a chord deep in her drugged body that vibrated out of control for a moment, bringing a hot, itchy moisture to her vagina and forcing her to close her legs and squeeze her thighs together to stop the insane throbbing of her clit.

The girl dancer had hips that seemed to be attached to her body by ball bearings and stainless steel springs; she gyrated and rotated, her tight little buttocks visible in the mirror as they jumped and jiggled and grew taut as she danced. The music was growing wilder and wilder as she cupped her orange-sized breasts and seemed to offer them to the room at large, but really giving them in silent invitation to Michelle right in front of her. She stopped dancing and stood with her legs spread wide apart and slowly - as Jana gaped and leaned forward, her hand on Henrich' knee -slowly, lewdly and wantonly rotated her hips and rolled her buttocks so that her pussy slit glinted moistly in the light. Her mouth dry and her heatedly throbbing clit pounding again, Jana squeezed Henrich on the knee and looked at Michelle. The brunette was hungrily staring right at the offered cunt, her eyes half closed, her face dark and intense.

Slowly, as Jana watched, the red, wetly quivering little tip of her tongue licked her lips.

Jana fell back in her chair, letting go of Henrich and suddenly aware of his big strong hand on her knee. He ran his hand further up her thigh, whispering, "Did you see that?"

All she could do was nod, looking at the two women who seemed to be transfixed. Then, abruptly, the dance was over and the girl grinned and stood up, reaching for her dress while the room exploded in applause. It seemed as if everyone knew what was happening, and the atmosphere was heavy with a lewdly sensuous feeling; a strong surging sense of immorality. Jana sat silent in her chair, white and shaken, because she had never seen anything like that before between two women, and had never dreamed of such a thing about Michelle.

She passed a vague hand over her eyes, thinking she must be seeing things, imagining things. Yet, the dancer did look kind of boyish and she was down off the stage and dragging a chair up by Michelle and whispering to her. Jana felt shaken for two reasons: imagining such a thing about a friend; and also realizing that the wildly vulgar dance she had just seen and the non-verbal exchange she had witnessed had wantonly excited her beyond anything she had ever imagined. Her sopping young cunt fairly ached, forcing her to twist and turn under Henrich's hand in an effort to find a better way to sit. She moved uncomfortably, feeling as though her entire vagina was on fire. She felt immersed in a whole world of lewdness. Sex was everywhere in the bar. Men were looking hungrily at her as they waited for another dancer. Men were looking with the hot perfume of sex in the air! IT WAS EXCITING!

While the drugged young housewife sat in a kind of sexual reverie, "feeling the world around her" and feeling her immediate world of the sleazy dark b