erotic stories

The third anniversary party of the Jamisons was going well. Cindy Jamison, smiling broadly and her ice-blue eyes sparkling, walked out of the kitchen as the last of the dinner dishes were taken from the table by her husband, Howard, and their two party guests, Ralph and Norma Taylor. Cindy was happy; happy because the dinner had gone perfectly, her special potato flambe having earned well deserved praise, and because as she looked at her tall, handsome husband, she realized just how much in love with him she was.

She kissed him fondly on the cheek as he passed her with the gravy boat. "I love you, Howie," she murmured.

Howard grinned, and kissed her back. He looked down at Cindy, once more feeling the stirrings of love and physical attraction which had first excited him, and had never once stopped making him want her over the past three years. Her full, ripe figure nearly burst the tight bodice of her white dress, and the plunging neckline disclosed more than just a casual view of her sun-bronzed breasts, breasts which he knew had been first caressed by him--- Cindy having been not only a virgin but a shy, hesitant maiden before their marriage.

She turned and went into the living room, and for a long moment Howard watched the smooth enticing undulations of her buttocks, the twin globes a rhythmic reminder of the warm wet passion she stored between her well-curved thighs. There was just enough dinner wine in him to let his thoughts roam to what was going to happen later, after the Taylors left, and he and Cindy were alone, and in the privacy of their bedroom...

His revery was interrupted by the entrance of Ralph Taylor. He walked out of the kitchen wiping his wide, muscular hands on a dish towel, his face a picture of pleasantness. "Howie, my boy, let's open the champagne now!"

"Champagne?" Howard asked, baffled.

"You don't think that I could let you folks celebrate without a little of the bubble-juice, do you?" He laughed jovially. "Heh, heh, Norma brought two magnums with her, along with your present."

Cindy, lighting a cigarette as she sat on the couch, said, "Ah now, Ralph, you didn't have to buy us a thing."

"Nonsense! No employee of mine is going to be let off his anniversary without something to liven things up. Especially a star salesman like Howie, here. I know how it is with old married couples, Cindy; after all, I'm going on ten years in the ball-and-chain, and so I've got a little deal for you both which will perk up everything, believe you me!"

Cindy wasn't too sure what Ralph meant, talking about a gift to "perk up" their anything but dead marriage, but she smiled anyway. After all, Ralph was the manager of Auto Circus, Morriston's biggest and most prosperous used car lot, and Howard worked under him. Ralph was a big, impressive looking man, liking to dress well and flashy; right now he wore a double breasted blazer cut Edwardian, gray striped pants, and polished loafers. As usual there were three cigars poking out of the handkerchief pocket, and a pearl and diamond tie-tac in his wide, striped tie. Cindy liked him, not only because he was her husband's boss, but because Ralph was so jovial and fun-loving, ever smiling and with a joke to tell---even if some of them embarrassed her because they were a bit too riske.

Ralph, she knew, often said things in a round-about manner, a carry- over from his work when he would talk about a car in almost teasing buildup to interest a prospective customer. So she wasn't concerned that his comment wasn't clear to her and knew that by the end of the evening all would be explained.

"Yes, Cindy," Ralph said expansively, "I can just picture you now with the gift. I can't wait to see how things developed!" He started laughing in his hearty, gravelly laugh, and was joined in by his wife, who was still in the kitchen but who had evidently overheard his conversation.

"Oh, Ralph," Norma said loudly, "you card!"

She and Howard then came out of the kitchen, her arm linked in his in a gesture of friendship. "Are you sure you want to expose them to this?" she asked Ralph, again the emphasis falling so that the Jamisons knew a double meaning was hidden in her words. "Perhaps we haven't timed it right!"

The Taylors erupted in more laughter, the Jamisons looking at them with bewilderment. They were both jokers, Howard reflected, Norma just as quick with the puns as her husband. He grinned anyway, caught up with the humor of the situation, and gripped Norma's arm tighter. She was a good- looking woman, thinner than Cindy but no less desirable, with her multicolored hostess gown falling over pert, upthrust breasts and thin, tightly molded buttocks and thighs. Her raven black hair, cut in a boyish bob, cameoed her round, innocent face, but Howard knew from the way she reacted to some of Ralph's spicy stories, she was well experienced in the ways of love...

"Ralph, honey," Norma continued, releasing her arm and walking across to where her husband was lighting a cigar, "Where's my bag?"

"By the front door, where you left it," came the reply. He released a stream of smoke. "Want me to get it?"

"No, I will." She crossed to the front door of the Jamison home and opened it. Reaching around the corner she retrieved a large straw shopping bag from the porch. "We hid this on the way in," she explained, shutting the door again. "We wanted it to be a surprise." "It is that," agreed Howard, still mystified.

They all grouped around Norma and her bag as she opened it. Out came the two magnums of champagne and a gayly wrapped present.

"Ooohh," cooed Cindy, "what's in the present?"

"You'll find out," Ralph promised, "but only after some champagne." He chortled, obviously enjoying his role as gift-giver. Cindy picked up the rectangular package and shook it; there was only a faint rattling from inside it. The box was quite large, decorated by "Happy Anniversary" paper and a big red ribbon, and a tingling of expectation ran through her. She loved to receive presents, and Howard often brought her home small, inexpensive, meaningless gifts, just so she'd have something to open. She loved him for this; this, and for many other reasons.

Howard went to the credenza in the dining room and got four cocktail glasses, then went back to the kitchen for a bucket of ice. They sat around for a little while after that while one bottle of champagne cooled, Cindy lovingly staring at the large gift, trying to guess what was in it as the Taylors made jokes about its contents. Most of the bottle was consumed, adding a certain glow of merriment to the festivities, when at last the time came for the box to be opened.

Cindy, of course, was chosen as the opener. Slowly, carefully, she slid the bow off and then slit the paper... underneath was a plain cardboard carton advertising dog food. She looked up questioningly.

"No, we just had to use the box for all the parts," Ralph said. "C'mon, open the thing."

Trembling with anticipation, Cindy obeyed, and inside the carton were other boxes, only these were clearly marked.

"Howie!" Cindy exclaimed, "look at this!"

Howard was pleasantly shocked. The main gift was a brand-new color Polaroid camera, an expensive model with adjustable lens and shutter speed. Then there was a strobe flash attachment, the kind which was rechargeable, and then... well, he wasn't quite sure what the third item was.

"A timer," explained Ralph, "it allows you to be in your own pictures." He held it up and showed how it operated. "See, you set this thing for up to fifteen seconds, then get in range and the camera takes your picture. Then one minute later, you have your photo, automatically."

"My God, Ralph, you shouldn't have," Howard gulped. "This is so expensive..."

"Ha ha, what's money if not to spend, I always say!"

"Well, gee, thanks Ralph... thanks a lot!"

"Don't mention it, my boy! Don't mention it!" Ralph picked up the Polaroid and opened it up. "I've got one just like it, Howie. Had nothing but fun with it. Hand me a roll of film there, and I'll show you how it works."

The balance of the evening was spent in snapping pictures of each other and Ralph showing his star salesman the intricacies of the adjustments and flash. The rest of the champagne was consumed, and then everybody switched to bourbon or scotch, and at one point Cindy, feeling the double effects of the alcohol and the overwhelming generosity of her husband's employer, had her picture taken while bussing Ralph lightly on the cheek. One minute later everybody took turns looking at sweet lips touching the now slightly alcoholic reddened cheeks of Ralph, while he was grinning from ear to ear into the eye of the lens.

Howard saw it, and strangely, perversely, an odd feeling crept into his body. He studied the shot, seeing for the first time his wife kissing another man. He was not jealous, not in the least. It was all done in innocence and in the spirit of the occasion, but still, it was a novel experience, as she had never allowed herself even this slight intimacy with anyone before. It somehow strangely excited him... and then he passed the photo to Norma and the tingling went away.

Later, as Norma and Cindy were talking of womanly things in the living room, he and Ralph ended up in the kitchen together, mixing drinks. He was still overcome by the magnitude of the gift and said so. "Wait until your anniversary, Ralph. I'll put on the party and---"

"Cut it out, Howie, my boy. Glad to do it. Just seeing you and that wonderful wife of yours having fun is enough for me." He put his arm around Howard's shoulder. "I really like you, my boy. You've done a fine job at Auto Circus, a fine job. You deserve a nice present, you really do."

Howard, embarrassed, murmured his thanks for the compliment. He could feel his face flush.

"Now tell you what I'm going to do for you, Howie," his boss said, a peculiar leer transforming his face to an almost satyr-like countenance, "I'm going to give you a little hint."

"Yes?" Howard thought it might be about the job. Some inside information which would help his career. He listened eagerly. "What is it, Ralph?"

"Use the camera... in the bedroom!" Ralph said, and then started to laugh. "Get some real nice candid shots of the ol' wifey!"

"What?" Howard backed away, both shocked and embarrassed by his boss's suggestion. His off-color jokes were one thing, but never had he spoken so bluntly! It must be the liquor in him, all that champagne and bourbon... "I don't know what you mean, Ralph," he said. The idea of Ralph's was unthinkable! "Perhaps we'd better go in the living room and..."

"You mean to tell me you didn't think of the possibilities?" came the reply, interrupting Howard. "C'mon, Howie, boy," his boss chided, "that's the beauty of the camera. You don't have to take the film in to be developed. Whatever you shoot a picture of is all your own affair." He nudged Howard with his elbow, winking as he did so. "See what I mean now?"

Howard knew his face was flame red. Sure, he realized what Ralph had in mind; he wasn't naive! But to think of lowering his wife to such things, like... like she was some nudie model in a man's magazine! "Please, Ralph," he said, squirming uncomfortably, "the girls are waiting."

"All right," Ralph said, suddenly sobering. He picked up his glass and started for the living room, a small hint of indignation in his voice. "But I'm telling you, there's nothing to be ashamed of, using the Polaroid for... special shots of each other. Everybody who has one has the same ideas. Really turns the gals on too!

Howard followed Ralph into the other room, strangely silent. He loved, revered and yes, respected his wife. The lewd implications of Ralph's suggestions burned his brain, and he was as ashamed for his wife's sake as he was for himself. He liked sex, loved making it with his wife... but gutter-talk and locker room snickerings about their private love life were another matter...

Yet his emotions were ambivalent. The high-principled resolve not to court his wife's indignation and hurt by even mentioning the incident just now to her wouldn't blend with a remembrance of the picture of her kissing his boss. The photograph grew from a hazy thought to a crystal-clear portrait of her soft, tapered body bending to passionate responsiveness. That strange tingling in his groin began again at the thought, and a slight jerk of his penis told him that he was getting excited.

Stop it, he told himself... this is absolutely crazy, thinking like this... but still Ralph's seed-like suggestion whirled in Howard's brain, gathering momentum, and when he looked at his wife sitting on the couch, he couldn't help mentally stripping her of her clothes and seeing her as if in a photo...

By the time the Taylors paid their respects and said goodbye, Howard was filled with lustful dreams of Cindy nude and voluptuous on the bed, standing on the bedroom rug, stretched out on the couch. Quickly he downed another scotch to try and steady his nerves, and mentally berating himself for such lascivious preoccupations.

Besides, he knew damned well that if he ever dared to suggest such activities, Cindy would be righteously indignant. Surely not that! Not on this night of their anniversary! Still the images came back to haunt him. He groaned, feeling his cock suddenly begin to ache with anticipatory excitement.

"That was nice, wasn't it, sweetheart?" Cindy said, cuddling up to him. "And the camera. How can we ever repay them?" Her words were slightly slurred, a condition which always happened to her after the third drink. It didn't mean she was drunk, Howard knew, but that she was high and feeling good.

"Sure, Cindy," he said, trembling. There was a pulsing hardness in his loins now, and without really knowing that he was saying it, he said to her, "Say, honey, are you tired yet?"

"No... not really."

"Well, let's fool around with the camera some more." He grinned at her, realizing that the liquor had gotten to him, too. "You know, just a couple of shots now that they're gone."

"All right," she said brightly. She went to the couch and sat down, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knees after smoothing her skirt. "Maybe one we can send my folks."

"Right!" Howard quickly snapped a few innocent ones, but his mind was on the ones he wanted to take...

"How about moving the skirt up a bit now?" he suggested casually.

"My... my skirt?" His wife looked uncertain. "I... I don't know, Howie. Do you think it would look right?"

Howard waved his hand as if to shrug off the worry. "Ah, who's to see? The picture would stay right here, honey. Just you and me." He smiled reassuringly. "Go on, raise the skirt."

"All... right, if you want," his pretty young wife replied, and bunched the material in the folds of her waist. She would never have consented to do this, she realized, if it hadn't been for the liquor she'd consumed. It seemed to loosen her strict moral code... perhaps dangerously? No, there wasn't anything to worry about. If her husband wanted a picture of her like this, then why not? It was no different than one in her bathing suit, was it? "But promise me," she added, "promise you won't take it out of the house."

"Never," he replied. He held his breath and snapped the shutter. Then one minute later he sat down with her and showed her the portrait, and he found himself breathing harshly as he admired the smooth, firm swell of her naked thighs as she sat almost nude from the pelvis down... the aching built steadily in his pants... he quickly got up, trying to shield the now quite apparent bulge. "Let's take some more like that! It was fun!"

"Howie---" came the plea, but he ignored it.

"Put your legs up on the couch. That's it. Now lean back and arch your back so that your breasts are out..." He feverishly sighted the camera. "There! That's it! Yes!" Click!

Howard impatiently waited for the film to develop, and then he gazed with ever-increasing excitement at the photo. "Hot damn!" he said chokingly under his breath, "Ralph was right!"

"Let me see, Howie," Cindy asked, and he handed her the color shot. She gasped, never before seeing herself so provocatively posed, so... sexy! Redness creeped up from her breasts and neck and enflamed her cheeks. "Howie!" she gasped, but her eyes were still glued to her picture. She was stretched out on the cushions just as before, her firm, ripe, quivering breasts straining against the binders of bra and dress... her lips glistening wetly where she had moistened them with her pink tongue seconds earlier... and her sun-tanned legs and thighs were exposed in all their dark silkiness...

"Another!" Howard commanded hoarsely. "This time lie down and lean forward." He fingered the camera in anticipation. "I want to see your breasts," he blurted in his excitement.

"Howie! What a thing to say!" Yet in spite of her indignation, she did as he bid. For some unexplainable reason, this moral and most proper young woman---a sensual female only in the darkened confines of her marital bedroom and never with anybody save her husband was caught up in the mounting fever. A small, irrational tingling started growing in her loins and inner thighs, and she could tell her vagina down between her thighs was beginning to moisten with the lubrications of building sensuality.

No! she thought, this is a bad thing to be doing...! But she looked up at the lusting face of her husband, dropped her eyes to the pulsing bulge clearly evident in his pants, and her own desires grew still more. He's liking this... she concluded. I'm not... I'm highly ashamed at my display, but it's getting Howie excited, and I guess that's what's making me feel so passionate... certainly it can't be these erotic pictures of myself...

Stifling a soft moan of inner protest, Cindy lay down on the couch, leaning forward so that the full expanse of her rounded breasts were in view. Again, strangely, she became aware that she too was becoming excited, that her turgid nipples were rising into tantalizing little buds, pressing against the very edge of her bra's cups. Stop! This just isn't right! she moaned to herself. Hurry, Howie, hurry up with the picture!

"Wait a minute, honey," her aroused husband said. "Let's make it a little better." He put down the camera on the coffee table and bent over his trembling wife. He fingered her skirt, the electric contact as he brushed against her skin making her gasp. "Let's see a little of your panties..."

He had gone too far! Cindy, her eyes clearly showing the agonizing choice she had to make now, her sense of decency by saying "no" to her own husband, or her desire to please him by saying "yes." She pressed her thighs together tightly, stopping him.

"Don't be such a prude!" he suddenly snapped. The alcohol, the growing lust-fever of the snapshots, all had now combined to make him lose control in bitter words.

Defiantly, now angered at her husband, Cindy cried, "What a thing to say, Howie! I'm not a prude!" And to prove she wasn't, she spread her legs, letting him take her skirt and roll it to her waist. There was a sharp intake of breath as Howard gazed down with feasting eyes on the tender, barely covered pubic triangle of his young wife. "This... this is going to be the last one, though," she said miserably. "No... no more of these awful pictures."

"Sure, sure, honey," Howard agreed, hardly cognizant of what she had said. "We'll go to bed after this one." He angled the camera so that most of the picture would be of her delicious breasts and panties, making sure that the soft warm curls of pubic hair which managed to peek out from under the legbands of her panties were clearly visible. "To bed," he repeated hoarsely and snapped the picture.

"Wow!" he gulped when a moment later he held up the shot. Everything was in perfect focus, a fine photo. Once more his wife was before him, the flimsy white bikini panties she wore a teasing cover to her sweet, tempting vaginal slit... and the rounded spheres of her breasts were all but fully exposed, ready to break loose from the wispy bra which covered her nipples. "Oh, wow!" he cried, and his mouth watered.

Cindy was sitting up now, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. She was nearly in tears. She got to her feet and saw that her husband was busily thumbing through the naughty collection he had just taken, and unsteadily she walked to the bedroom.

She couldn't look at herself as she undressed, and slipped on her white nightgown with the same averted eyes. She couldn't look at herself, not now, not after what she had allowed Howie to do with her. Oh, God, But I do love him... She slid under the sheets and turned off the bedside light, plunging the room into darkness.

She lay there, waiting for her husband to come to her, upset by his lusting behavior, still more distraught by her own. She had let him do his will with her, and worse, she had become excited as he had. True, it wasn't because of the pictures---of that she adamantly refused to admit--- but only because seeing her husband wanting her so much made her react.

What a terrible way for their third anniversary to end! Oh, if only the Taylors could have foreseen what their gift would have meant, she was sure that they'd never have given it! And where was Howie? Was he still looking at those damning pictures?

"Howie!" she called out. "Please come to bed!"

"C-Coming, honey," came the wavering reply. "I---I was just having another drink!" His strong, masculine form suddenly filled the doorway, and then the lights went on again. Cindy shielded her eyes with her arm. "Turn off the lights," she said.

"In a minute, honey. In a minute." He shed his clothes quickly, and then he was on the bed beside her in a kneeling position, naked, his erect and pulsating cock already standing out from his groin. "You're beautiful, Cindy," he murmured, and slowly slid the sheet away from her, exposing her again.

"Howie," the trembling young wife responded. "Howie, I love you so much!"

"Mmmm!" he answered as he unbuttoned the nightie at the throat and let it fall away from her body, a cascade of filmy white. He roamed his hands over her, playing with her breasts, tweaking her nipples into vibrating firmness. He had never stopped marveling in her beauty, her wide-eyed, almost shy way she came to him, as though she was a virgin every time, as though he was the only man who could arouse her to where her passion overcame her "first time" reluctance. And he was the only man!

Then he looked at her, smiling, and in his hands were those filthy pictures! Cindy gasped, cringing down in the bed as she saw them. "Put them away, Howie," she protested.

He grinned lewdly, his face a mask of desire. "Why? They're only of you, my darling. Here, see this one?" He cast a shot of her on the couch in front of her eyes... and once more she saw herself smiling provocatively, her throbbing breasts rich and full, her skirt high and her soft white panties in full view...

"Please! Howie," she moaned, and twisted her face away, but as she did so, she glimpsed down her body, at her breasts which were now unhampered by a bra, at the flat plane of her trembling belly, at the soft, lovely spread legs and the soft pubic down which covered her pink vaginal opening. For one terrifying moment she saw that inexplicably her cunt was shining with the excited honeyed dew of her secretions...

She was excited! And strangely, by those damnable pictures!

The force of the realization was crippling; a blow like a tornado, filling her mind with a lurid feeling of degradation and shame. Her eyes filled with hot tears of self-abasement, and in agony, she grabbed the pictures from her husband and threw her se l f in his arms. She wouldn't admit her arousal, not to herself, and especially to her husband. What would a man think of his sweet, loving wife, then? Terrible things! She gripped the heaving, naked chest of Howard, afraid he would cast her aside as some whore, some defiled harlot sick of mind and body, if he knew what those few snapshots had done to her...

"Howie, love me," she pleaded desperately. "Love me slow!" she dropped the photos to the bed, where Howard still saw them, and as he once more spied the curls of golden fleece peeking out of the silken legband of her panties, his cock leapt to a new, full-blooded high. He arched his groin, moving his hardened shaft up and down along her upper belly, for he was still on his knees and she was sitting up... he groaned, feeling the heat of his long-building sexual fire become a raging inferno inside his lust-bloated penis and sperm-filled balls...

He leaned back and in doing so his cock neared her breasts. For a moment he shut his eyes, letting the remembrance of those tantalizing lips in the pictures play in his passion-filled brain, and thinking of their softness, their butterlike pliancy on his own lips, he began to ache for them to kiss his pulsing cock. He groaned, sliding uncontrollably up on the bed, angling so that his cock was to his nubile wife's trembling chin.

His hand snaked along the covers to the pictures. His fingers felt their edges and even though he couldn't view them, he knew now from memory what each contained, and the thoughts drove to new urgency. As he had so many times in the past when aroused to such a point, he dismissed what he knew was her natural aversion to such an act, and groaned to his wife;

"Kiss me, Cindy... kiss me there!" His hardened penis was almost to her ruby lips; all she had to do was bend her face a scant few inches, and her mouth would be closing over the sensitive, fully grown head...

A shudder passed through Cindy. "No... no... not that, Howie! You know I... can't... not there!" She turned her face away, her features contorted in a look of revulsion as if to kiss him, to suck his penis was a foul, bitter thing to do. "Not down there," she whispered, and she moved forward, her arms encircling his head and pulling him downwards, full length along the bed. "I... I know you want me to, but don't make me," she sobbed, "I want to make you happy, but not that way. Please!"

As before, as always, the urgent and overwhelming desire to have his wife's delicate, soft, warm mouth close around his prick died; the image of her mewling and crooning as he spurted his white hot sperm into her throat vanished with reluctant regard for Cindy's abject repulsion of the act. This was the only flaw in an otherwise wonderful relationship, and at no time in their three years of making love had he been able to prove the eroticism of lips against vagina, mouth against penis. He held her tight, feeling her warm body undulate uncontrollably against his body, her soft belly and pelvis grinding against his penis until her refusal was forgiven and his disappointment forgotten.

"Oh... baby!" Cindy moaned. "Darling, darling don't be mad. I need you inside me so much!"

"Yes... yes," he heard himself say. He drew her closer to him, moving one hand down to encase the soft, smooth curves of her buttocks. She glued her mouth to his, darting her pink tongue in and out and along his teeth, and then brazenly moved her hand down to grasp his cock. Her cool contact made Howard quiver and he pressed his lips harder against hers to show his appreciation. She strained the full length of her body, grinding and pushing, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide and poised his penis against the snug mouth of her hungry young cunt, the thin, hair-lined lips of her innermost desires relaxing with the overwhelming need of him to enter.

There, Howie... right there. Now!

He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her waiting passage, feeling her fevered, pulsating vagina almost greedily clasp his cock and absorb it. She wanted all of him tonight, and Howard was amazed that in spite of the rejection of the picture taking, she seemed almost wanton, almost completely lost in the world of sexual abandonment... he couldn't understand her, but didn't try, not with her pussy pushed forward until the head of his cock was pressed hard up against her cervix, her motions of a muscle spasming tempo. She held him tightly, not only with her clasping, smoothly sliding vagina, but with her widespread legs, kicking them out to the side and locking her slender ankles tight around his driving hips. He increased his own strokings, fucking into his wife with almost maniacal fury. Oh, God! He wasn't going to be able to last long tonight! Sometimes they would slowly and softly make love for hours, but not now, not at this rampaging, furious pitch! He was going to reach orgasm soon!

"Oooooohhh, Howie! You feel so good! So good!" his now voracious wife whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes! Yes! That feels so goooddddd!" Then she began to babble incoherently, and he knew that Cindy was fast approaching her own climax, and that spurred him on to new, more powerful strokes. Her knees drew up as she raised herself even higher off the bed and her moistly splayed cunt bucked wildly back up against his ramming penis.

"OOOOOOOhhhhhh... OOOHHHGodddd!" she cried out as if tortured. "I'm... I'm there! I'm theeeeerrrrrrreeeee!" With a sudden, deep throated groan, Cindy Jamison erupted underneath her husband, and in doing so it released Howard's dammed-up explosion. His cum churned through his swollen testicles and through his penile shaft, bursting through the unseeing eye to flood his wife's hungrily milking pussy. Again and again giant spurts of creamy seed flowed from him until at last he collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her own mewlings of gratification.

As sanity returned to him, Howard edged his body off his wife and rolled over. Cindy, nearly asleep, kissed him lightly on the cheek and curled herself up in a warm ball.

"Good night, honey," she murmured drowsily. "Happy anniversary."

"Sleep tight, honey," he replied thickly, and then put the covers over her. As sleep overtook him, Howard thought that his wife was damned good in bed, in spite of her Victorian hang-up about oral or other forms of sex. He looked at her tenderly, and for some reason, he seemed to view her form, nestled as it was with but a sheet over her and the gown beneath her, as a picture.

A simple snapshot... one he would love to add to the few shots he'd taken this evening. But he knew it was one he'd never get. He sighed and turned over, shutting off the light and plunging the room into darkness again.

Ralph was sitting in the glassed-in cubicle which served as his office when Howard arrived at the Auto Circus lot the next morning. He waved, his round face beaming cheerfully, and motioned for Howard to join him.

"Morning, Howie," Ralph said enthusiastically as Howard entered the office. He shook the younger man's hand. "How's the head today?"

"Not too bad," Howard confessed, his voice a little rueful. "I guess I did over-indulge a little, though."

"Nonsense, my boy. Anniversary celebrations were made for over- indulgence." Ralph indicated the client's chair before his molded plastic desk, and then went around behind the modernistic furnishing and seated himself in his swivel chair. He cleared his throat, meeting Howard's eyes; his own were twinkling. "Did you and Cindy, ah, go right to bed after we left, Howie?"

Howard felt heat inadvertently rise on his neck and cheeks as the remembrance of the previous evening's activities with his wife sprang full-blown into his mind once more. "Well, we... I mean, that is... not exactly..."

Ralph chuckled softly. "Tried out the ole Polaroid, eh?" he said sagely. "Norma and I thought you probably would."

Howard searched for words, but none of an appropriate nature came to his mind. He finally managed lamely, "It's a very nice camera, Ralph. We... we appreciate such an expensive gift..."

"Did you---take some pictures of Cindy, Howie?" asked Ralph with a sly intonation.

Howard's face grew an even darker red. "P-pictures?" he stammered.

"Sure," said Ralph, winking. "Like I told you. In the bedroom."

"I... I..."

"Did you try out the timer?"

"The... the timer?"

"The fifteen-second timer, Howie," Ralph said patiently. Then he leaned forward across the desk, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "How far would she go, hey, boy? Just a little cheesecake, I'd guess. The girls are usually pretty shy at first."

"I... I don't know what you mean, Ralph." Howard was fidgeting nervously in his chair, his face flaming now.

"Oh come on, Howie," Ralph said, leaning back in his chair again. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Almost everybody who gets his first Polaroid-with-timer has the same ideas and does the same things. They're great little intimacy arousers. Get you hornier than hell, especially if you use the timer so that you get shots of you and the wife making it."

Howard stared at his employer with widening eyes. He had known Ralph was open and frank to the point of coarseness at times, but never had he expected to hear such personal comments coming from the man. Why, he was practically suggesting that he, Howard, engage in lewd practices like... well, like voyeurism, for God's sake! Self-voyeurism, at that!

Ralph opened the walnut humidor on his desk and selected an imported cigar. He snipped off the end with a tiny pair of gold scissors, lighted it with a gold lighter, and blew a cloud of blue-gray smoke at the ceiling. "You're not going to tell me you're less of a red-blooded man than I thought, are you, Howie? Especially after our little talk in the kitchen last night."

Howard bristled a little at that, feeling some of the heat leave his face. "What do you mean by that, Ralph?"

"Why do you suppose Norma and I gave you that Polaroid, my boy?"

"I don't know," came the reply. "Why did you?"

"Because I thought you'd appreciate the potential of such a gift, Howie, that's why. I got my first Polaroid four years ago, from Norma's sister, and I appreciated the potential right away. You seemed like the same kind of fun-loving, new-frontiers type that I am; if you hadn't, I wouldn't have allowed our friendship to bond as tightly as it has. Hell, I figured: why should I be having all the kicks, just because I've got a little more money in the bank than old Howie boy."

"You... you mean, you and Norma have...?"

"Taken pictures of one another? And together, fucking? Sure we have, boy. Why, thousands of people do the same thing all over the country these days. It's the in-thing with those in-the-know." He paused, measuring the younger man candidly. "But, of course, you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Uh, well, sure I did, Ralph. Sure I knew that."

Ralph allowed his smile to widen. "That's what I thought. I didn't really believe for a minute that I'd underestimated my star salesman." He chuckled softly, then leaned forward across his desk again. "Now come on, boy, give a little. Did you get some good cheesecake shots or not last night?"

Howard moistened his lips uncertainly. Ralph had put him in an awkward position: what he and Cindy did in the privacy of their own home was their business and no one else's---but then again, Ralph was a good friend and his boss, as well; and he was in a position to do Howard a great deal of future good. After all, hadn't Ralph been instrumental in getting him his last promotion and pay raise from the company president? Besides that, Ralph had more or less put this business of picture-taking on a masculine-pride level; Howard was one who would never admit to being a lesser man, much less to being naive in the ways of the world.

It wouldn't do any harm, really, he thought, to tell Ralph about the photos he had taken of Cindy the night before. It was all innocent anyway; Cindy would never approve, naturally---but she would never have to know.

Howard managed a smile, licking his lips again. "Well," he said, "as a matter of fact, Ralph, I... I did get some pretty good shots, at that. Some... some cheesecake, as you say."

"I thought so," Ralph beamed. "Pretty hot, eh?"

"Sure," Howard said, having committed himself. "Sure, they were pretty hot ones, Ralph." Ralph laughed. "Nude shots?"

Howard felt himself flushing again. "Well... well, not exactly. But they were pretty good anyway. Cheesecake you know."

Ralph opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a small manila envelope, which he placed on the glass top in front of Howard. "Not anywhere in the neighborhood of these, I'll bet," he said.

Howard frowned, looking at the envelope. "What's this?"

"Open it up and take a look, my boy."

Howard did that, extracting several glossy full-color photographs which had obviously been taken with Polaroid cameras. They were blown-up five-by-seven prints, and Howard sucked in his breath sharply as he saw what they graphically depicted. "My God!" he managed to whisper.

The top photo was of a lithe, buxom brunette with an angelic face. She was lying completely nude on her back on a rumpled bed, her slender legs raised and wide-spread so that the whole of her naked loins were displayed to the eye of the camera. Her hands were cupped teasingly around her pubic triangle, framing the wide-splayed splendor of her softly hair-fringed cunt. She was smiling coyly between her ruby-nippled, alabaster breasts.

Howard blinked and looked at the second photo. Another sharp intake of breath, and a small gasp. The same angelic brunette was in this one, but with her also was a dark-haired, handsome male. The brunette was straddling the man's loins, her widespread loins lowered down on the man's hardened penis, so that fully half of its huge length was sunk into her open vagina. She was holding its base between her thumb and forefinger, her small pink tongue held tightly between her full red lips and her eyes squeezed tightly shut in ecstasy. Her other hand was squeezing her left breast, very hard, so that the jutting nipple seemed to point directly at the camera.

Quickly, with beads of sweat lacing his forehead and a rising harness in his loins, Howard thumbed through the other pictures. One showed a different, gray-templed man kneeling between the opened thighs of a petite blonde with pear-shaped breasts, his long tongue snaked out so that it touched the swollen bud of her pink clitoris nestled between fleece-like blonde pubic hair. Another depicted a voluptuous raven-haired girl barely out of her teens with her coral-colored lips voraciously encircling the erect, swollen prick of a muscular hirsute man while he used the middle finger of one hand in the wet, glistening area of her soft pink cunt, her leg being raised so that the full extent of her womanhood was presented to the viewer's eyes while she sucked the man's cock and toyed with his sperm-heavy balls. Still another photo showed two couples, both in their mid-thirties, engaged in an orgiastic group session which Howard could not believe upon first sight, since it involved cunnilingus, fellatio, sodomy all at the same time. The final snap was of two blonde girls and a huge German Shepherd dog, the animal's long hot lolling tongue probing the pubic region of one of the girls while his wet red penis sawed into the upthrust cunt of the second.

Howard was sweating profusely, his breath coming in short gasps as his own genitals tingling with arousal, when he put the group of photographs back on Ralph's desk. "Good Christ, Ralph," he managed, "where did you get those?"

"They're really something, aren't they?" Ralph asked, snickering softly.

"I've never seen anything like that in my life!"

"And these're just one small example of what can be done with a good old Polaroid camera, Howie," said Ralph. "I've got other ones at home--- wilder ones, if you can believe it."

Howard wiped his forehead with the back of one hand. His throat felt dry. "But where did you get them, Ralph? They... they don't look like model-posed pornographic pictures..."

"They're not," Ralph told him. "All the people in these photos are just like you and me, Howie average American citizens just out looking for a few kicks. They all belong to an exchange-photographic organization--- The Polaroid Club. Norma and I are members ourselves."

"You... you are?" Howard could scarcely believe what his boss was telling him; he had thought he knew most everything about Ralph Taylor, his likes and dislikes, his interests and directions. He had never suspected for a moment that Ralph would be involved in this... this... well, this dirty picture club. Still, the photos were extremely stimulating, more stimulating than anything he had ever seen before. Just thinking about them made his prick tremble and begin to rise again...

"The way it works," Ralph was explaining, "we subscribe to this monthly newspaper the Club produces. Couples write in, describing themselves and their photos, what they'd like in return, and so on. Then we exchange pictures."

"You mean this Polaroid Club is a nationwide thing?"

"Sure. There are four chapters---one in New York, one in Florida, one in Chicago, and one in San Francisco-Los Angeles. The New York Chapter puts out the newspaper. Hell, you can buy a copy of it right here in Morriston, under the counter of course. Costs a buck a copy." "Here in Morriston?" Howard was incredulous.

Ralph laughed. "Uh-huh. Why, you'd be surprised at some of the locals who are members of the Club; you really would be, Howie."

"You... you just exchange photos, that's all you do? I mean, you hear so much these days about wife-swapping...

"That's not our bag," Ralph said with a slow smile. "We're strictly out for our own kicks, together. Oh sure, some of the others undoubtedly go in for that sort of thing---witness some of those pictures you just saw- -but that's their business, not ours. I mean, what the hell?"

"Sure," Howard said.

"There's not a damned thing wrong with this picture exchange that I can see," said Ralph. "We're being faithful to our wives, aren't we? Those of us who are in the Club for personal gratification, I mean. All we're doing is getting ourselves and our wives turned on watching some other people doing it, and they're doing the same thing watching us. And it does get you turned on, Howie boy, believe me."

I believe you, all right, Howard thought. I can remember how excited I got last right, taking pictures of Cindy---and they weren't anything more than some harmless cheesecake. I wonder if I dare...

He shook his head, as if to clear it. No, there was no use thinking about trying to carry his thoughts past the pure day-dream stage. Cindy would never allow him to take pictures of her stripped completely naked, even though she had agreed to the cheesecake photos of the previous night, and she would most definitely never allow anything as lascivious as self- photos of the two of them making love. For God's sake, even if she did agree to go that far, she would certainly not agree to let anyone else, much less strangers, see the photos.

And he shouldn't expect her to, damn it; what was the matter with him? Cindy was a sweet, moral girl, faithful and passionate and able to satisfy his every need up until now---so why was he thinking about asking her to do something which fairly shouted of perversity and lack of respect for privacy and personal intimacy? Why should he be so excited at the possibility of seeing more of these photos which Ralph had just shown him? Why should the thought of watching other people making love and performing perversion on a regular basis bring the sweat out on his forehead, and bring a tightness to his chest and loins? Well, he couldn't explain it; it was beyond his comprehension. He knew only that the idea of seeing Cindy in a provocative position in a photograph, as he had for the first time last night, turned him on like he had never been turned on before. And the sight of these photos of strangers today had had the same physical effect on him.

He realized Ralph was speaking to him. "... do you think, Howie boy?"

"I'm sorry, Ralph. what did you say?"

"I said," Ralph repeated, "what do you think of the idea of the Polaroid Club?"

"Well, I... I suppose it's all right," Howard said hesitantly. "For other people, I mean." He averted his eyes.

"But not for you, eh boy?"

"No, I... I don't think so, Ralph."

Ralph smiled knowledgeably. "Sure now? I can tell by your face that you're interested, Howie."

"No... no, I'm not, really, Ralph... I'm not." Howard got quickly to his feet, conscious of his sweat-sheened face and neck. "I... I think I'd better get to work. There are some contracts that have to be drawn up..."

Ralph also stood. "Okay, boy," he said. "But think it over, will you? We'd be mighty glad to have you aboard; it's really a wild bag." He chuckled. "And if you're worried about Cindy going along, I've got just the remedy."

Howard had turned toward the door. Now, without conscious thought, he found himself turning back to his superior. "What kind of remedy?" he heard himself ask.

"Take these pictures with you when you go home for supper tonight," Ralph said, pushing the photos and the manila envelope across the desk toward Howard. "And on your way, stop and buy a copy of that newspaper I was telling you about---The Polaroid Club News. I'll tell you where you can pick it up. Then you leave the paper and the photos where Cindy will be sure to find them..."

"No, I couldn't do that," Howard said, shocked. "It's... not right! Cindy would never forgive me..."

"I think you're underestimating not only your wife but women in general, my boy. Why not give it a try? You're interested, I know you are. You can't fool old Ralph. Take it from me, all you've got to do is put the bug in the wife's ear, get her on the track. Once they see the kicks involved, they're only too happy to go along. I know, boy; Norma was the same as Cindy, shy and retiring, when I first heard about the Polaroid Club. Now she's open and much warmer---and hell on wheels in the rack, let me tell you!"

Howard felt uncomfortable in the face of all this candidness, the unexpected admissions and ideas and concepts which he had been subjected to this morning. He wanted to get out of there, get to work so he could think more clearly. "I... I don't think so, Ralph, I don't think so..." he managed, groping his way to the door, opening it, walking swiftly toward his own small cubicle.

He did not realize until he had entered it and seated himself at his desk that he held the photos Ralph had shown him in his right hand...

Howard left the Auto Circus at five that night, for his hour-and-a- half supper break. The lot stayed open until midnight seven days a week, and this was his week to close up five of the seven days.

He had not had a good day. He had bungled two sales, unable to keep his mind on the demanding task of promoting a customer's confidence in himself and the vehicle he was selling, and had fouled up a contract for a regular volume buyer. He hadn't been able to get his mind off Ralph's words of that morning and of the photos which seemed to be burning a hole in his jacket pocket.

At four-thirty, he had known that there was no use in kidding himself any longer; he was going to take Ralph's suggestion about leaving the photographs and a copy of that newspaper where Cindy would be sure to find them. He had gone in to see Ralph, taken a deep breath, and asked where he could buy a copy of the Polaroid Club News.

Ralph had winked boldly at him, saying, "I thought you'd change your mind, my boy. And you won't be sorry, either; no sir, you won't be sorry at all. Now the place you want to go is Winkler's Used Books, over on Shafer Avenue..."

Feeling a strange combination of guilt and mounting excitement at what he was about to do, Howard drove over to Shafer Avenue and found Winkler's Used Books, a small neighbor hood secondhand store set midway in the block. Somewhat self-consciously, for he had never so much as purchased a girlie magazine in the past---although he had managed to sneak a look at some of them from time to time---Howard went inside and asked the grizzled, bald-headed old man behind the counter for a copy of "a modern swinger's newspaper," as Ralph had instructed him.

The old man didn't even glance at him twice. He reached under the counter, produced a small, six-page, roughly printed news-sheet, and demanded a dollar. Howard gave it to him and, clutching the paper tightly under his arm, he hurried back to where he had parked his car.

He sat inside for a time, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, a curious fluttering sensation in his lower belly. He glanced over the paper, marveling at some of the ads there, growing excited by them; it was as if he couldn't get enough air in his chest. Jesus, but I'd like to send away for some of the photos mentioned in here. If they're half as good as they claim, they ought to really be something...

With trembling fingers, he took the manila envelope of pictures from his coat pocket and glanced through them again. His prick seemed to jerk spasmodically in his pants as he once again saw the lewd, tremendously stimulating acts being performed in the full-color splendor of the Polaroid snaps. The ones that really turned him on the most were those depicting oral love: soft feminine mouths closed eagerly, hungrily over the lust-hardened cocks of their husbands; masculine lips and tongues paying devoted homage to the warm, secret, tender cuntal valleys of their wives. These he would put on top, so that they would be the first ones Cindy would see when she opened the envelope; maybe they would convince her of the beauty, of the rightness, of oral love...

He started to fold the newspaper around the photos when a sudden frown creased his forehead and he stopped. Some of the other photos, besides those depicting oral by-play, were pretty raw for the uninitiated eyes of his naive young wife; instead of being turned on, being interested and excited by the newspaper and snaps as he intended, mightn't she become repulsed and sickened by viewing such blatantly carnal acts as sodomy and seance a trots and bestiality? Yes, yes, of course she would! He couldn't include those pictures, not now, not at this early date just the milder ones, the ones showing a man and his wife making love in all the possible ways...

Quickly, Howard sorted out the photos, putting those he deemed too blatant for Cindy's eyes into the glove compartment; the rest he inserted inside the folded Polaroid Club News and put into the manila envelope, sealing it. Then he started the car and, with hot blood pounding in his temples, he drove directly home.

Cindy met him at the door, wearing a thin hostess gown and holding a freshly made martini in her right hand; her hair was carefully combed, as it always was when he came home. Even after three years of marriage, she never failed to greet him with a drink and a kiss and an alluring outfit, as if they were still honeymooners. This was one of the reasons Howard loved his beautiful young wife so much, one of the reasons he had always felt himself to be very lucky...

Cindy kissed him warmly, handing him his Martini. "You're late, Howie," she chided in a mock pout.

"I... had to stop off on an errand for Ralph," he told her.

"Well, dinner's in the oven. A casserole. Okay?"

"Fine, honey."

She kissed him again, and then her eyes fell on the manila envelope which he carried in his right hand. "What have you got there?" she asked. "Something for me?"

Howard was momentarily tongue-tied. Of all the stupid things! He had come into the house carrying the envelope out in the open, instead of under his coat where Cindy couldn't see it; what was the matter with him? He just wasn't used to this kind of thing, he supposed, not used to it at all...

He took a long swallow of his drink, and that seemed to oil his throat muscles so that they worked again. He said, "Well, uh, they're pictures, honey---pictures Ralph gave me. He says they, uh, are ones some friends of his took with their Polaroid and he wanted us to, uh, see what could be done with ours."

"Oh! Well, let's look at them, Howie. I'm kind of anxious to see them, after that buildup."

"Uh, I'd rather not, if you don't mind, honey," Howard said lamely. He was fouling things up, fouling them all up and he knew it and he kept getting himself in deeper; Christ, why couldn't he be as blase as Ralph was about these things? He laughed nervously. "They're not, uh, my kind of pictures---or yours."

Cindy frowned slightly. "What do you mean, Howie?"

"Well, they're sort of... sort of like the ones I took of you last night." Howard 's face flushed. "You know, daring and... and like that."

"Have you seen them?"

"No, but Ralph explained them to me," he lied.

"Why in the world would Ralph give you photos like that, Howie? Dirty ones, I mean?"

"Oh, they're not dirty," Howard said quickly. "Just... just daring, that's all."

Cindy frowned again. She felt a small sense of foreboding, as if there were something Howard was not telling her, as if there was some motive behind his boss having given him these "daring" photographs. She thought back to the previous evening, and to the snapshots Howard had taken of her---with her skirt hiked up and her panties showing; thought back to how excited he had been, how obviously aroused by the sight of her posing so provocatively before the eye of the camera and in its sixty- second lasting capture of it. A small involuntary tremor coursed through her soft young body. She must never let Howard do that again, take pictures of her like that; it was wrong and it was wicked, and it had no place in a happy, fully consummated marriage such as theirs.

She said, "Well, if they're that kind of pictures, you take them right back to Ralph. You tell him we don't want anything like that. I don't understand him at all, giving them to you in the first place."

"He, uh, was just trying to be friendly, I guess," said Howard, wanting to end the discussion as quickly as possible. "But I'll take them back, don't worry."

"I won't honey," his young wife said. She put her arm around him, softening. "Come on. Let's eat before the casserole gets cold."

They ate a leisurely dinner, and Howard managed to steer the conversation to many things of little consequence, so that Cindy would forget about the manila envelope. He had slipped it into their bedroom as she was setting the table, putting it on the nightstand by their bed. Now, if only she wouldn't remember it and make him take it with him when he went back to Auto Circus tonight...

She didn't remember. Howard fixed them each another Martini after dinner, gulped his down, and told her he had better get back to work---to relax and enjoy her drink. Then he kissed her, and she whispered, "Come home early and love me tonight, Howie darling." He said that he would, kissed her again, said good-bye, and left quickly, feeling once more that odd mixture of guilt and mounting excitement as he backed the car out of their driveway.

Cindy, smiling happily and with a warm glow spreading through her from the Martinis, sat back on the divan in the living room and sipped the remaining liquid from her glass. She stretched languidly, thinking, I feel so good tonight, so warm and loved and happy. I'm a lucky woman, a very lucky woman, to have a wonderful husband like Howie, who has a very good job and Is a good provider and is a very, very, very good lover.

She giggled softly, and a warm, pleasant ache began between her tender young thighs. She sighed then, squeezing her legs tightly together, wishing Howie hadn't had to go back to work tonight. They could have had another drink together, and then gone to bed, as they did sometimes, and made love for hours and hours, slow and sweet and good. That was the kind of mood she was in tonight, the mood to make love very, very slowly for a long, long time...

Well, Howard would be home at midnight or so and they could make love then. She would have to content herself with waiting, maybe watching a little television and, yes why not, having another drink. She was feeling a little audacious tonight, and even though she knew her absolute limit without getting drunk was two Martinis in one evening, she decided that, by golly, she was going to make herself a third!

She mixed the drink in the kitchen, humming softly and a little intoxicatedly, and then decided that she would watch television in the bedroom. She carried the drink in there, switched on the old portable set on its coaster stand by the dresser (now that Howie had gotten a raise at Auto Circus, maybe they could afford the color set they'd wanted for so long), and lay down on the bed.

It was when she reached over to set down the Martini glass on the nightstand that she noticed the manila envelope lying there.

She frowned mightily. Oh, damn! Now why hadn't Howie taken that back with him to give to Ralph like she'd asked him? Why had he brought it in here to the bedroom, for heaven's sake?

She propped herself up on one elbow and took another sip of her drink. She kept looking at the envelope, lying there sealed, and she began to wonder, disinterestedly at first and then with increasing attraction, what the pictures inside were like. Howard had said they were similar to the ones he had taken of her last night, daring and naughty probably, like those were. Some friends of Ralph's, he had said. Did other wives allow their husbands to take pictures of them, as she had allowed Howard last night? Did they---would they dare even go farther than she had, actually undressing to bra and panties or even to... well, to the buff?

Cindy sipped again of her Martini. The liquor was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. Her ardor of a few minutes earlier, instead of waning, seemed to have gained intensity, so that she felt a moistening down between her legs, flowing out to dampen her inner thighs; and she felt, toes a boldness that she had never experienced before, an irrational desire to do something she shouldn't do---something like opening that manila envelope and looking at the pictures inside.

I wonder just how naughty those photos are, she thought. I'll bet they're very naughty, and if they are, I should have Howie speak to Ralph about giving them to us. But I can't do that until I know for myself what they're like.

Impulsively, then, stifling another slightly tipsy giggle, Cindy reached out and grasped the manila envelope. Her fingers fumbled at the sealed flap, finally got it open; and then she was drawing out the newspaper wrapped photos and holding them on her lap. She let them lie there, on the warm silken mound of her lower abdomen, as she drained the last of the Martini. Then she opened the newspaper, saw the photos, and held them up to her slightly blurred eyes, squinting at them very close.

Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked rapidly several times, her eyes seemingly held transfixed by the full-color carnality which she held in her hands. Her brain was spinning with the combined forces of startlement and undiluted gin.

My... my God! she thought. This is... it's filthy! It's pornography, that's what it is, plain and simple pornography!

She wanted to cast the offending photos from her, but a curious perversity made her grip them more tightly between her fingers, made her eyes remain fastened to their glossy detail. The top snapshot showed a sweet-looking brunette straddling a dark-haired man; both of them were nude, with their privates fully exposed to the camera, and his... his penis was pushed halfway up into her open vagina!

Cindy swallowed hard, looking at the expression on the young woman's face. It wax one of sheer, unadulterated ecstasy, lids drooped, mouth parted and moist, with the tip of her wet pink tongue showing; she seemed to be oblivious to the camera, caught up in the sexual frenzy of the moment, of the feeling of the man's hardened shaft imbedded deep within her cuntal passage. And she was manipulating her own breast, squeezing it passionately in her ardor...

Staring at the angelic young girl's obvious enjoyment, Cindy felt a quickening of her breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside of her mouth was dry, and she ran her pink tongue over her lips several times, trying to dispel the arid, cottony taste.

Her now-trembling fingers pulled the first photo aside and the second came into view. She gasped, and a little spiral of unwanted heat wended its way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her stomach and chest, hardening the firm, ruby crests of her snowy breasts. A man, distinguished and older, crouched between the widespread thighs of a small, well-proportioned blonde, his long wet, seemingly hard, tongue curled out to flick over the swollen naked pubic area and the erect clitoris of the passion-tensed girl!

A wave of puritan revulsion took hold of Cindy, and again she wanted to cast the offending photos from her. But again, she did not; again, she stared at the photo, at the man, at his tongue touching the innermost secret of the blonde girl. Oral sex! Perversion! cried the half- intoxicated mind of the young wife. The very same terrible thing Howie wanted to do to me so many times! Oh, God, and I'll bet that if I flip over to another photo it win show the disgusting sight of some woman with her mouth around a man's penis...

A cascade of shame flowed through her, causing her to flush a violent crimson. She was no better than the... the lascivious people in the photos! Thinking filthy thoughts, working herself into an impossible froth... Suddenly, she wished again that her husband were home. She was aroused now, aroused by the gin and the thought of lovemaking and yes, aroused by the perversity of the Polaroid snapshots which she held in her quaking hands.

"No! No!" she moaned aloud, but even as the words left her lips she was pulling aside the top photo, revealing the one which lay beneath...

And there it was! Just as she had feared---a girl, a young-raven- haired teen-age girl, with her lips firmly ovaled around the lust-hardened penis of a thin muscular man! And she was enjoying it, yes reveling in the taste of the man's huge penis! She was actually groveling in the very thing Howard had for so long wanted her to do to him.

A low cry of despair tore from Cindy's throat, and she was finally able to push the photos away from her, to fan out in disarray on the bed beside her. She lay there, trembling, opening and closing her legs in a vain effort to dispel the tingling, flowing excitement which the lewd pictures had built to a fanning inferno between her soft, pulsating thighs.

Howie, she thought confusedly, Howie, I need you, I wish you were here right now! Howie, I want you, I want you to love me, Howie...

Her hands went out on either side of her to clutch the spread, and her fingers encountered the rough newsprint of the paper around which the photos had been wrapped. Something to take her mind off her mounting desire, her confusion and repulsion at the sight of the pictures which that... that lecher Ralph Taylor had given to Howard... Yes, she would read the paper, that was it; read the paper and calm herself that way...

She lifted the paper, unfolded it before her eyes. The masthead struck her with the force of a sharp blow: The Polaroid Club News. What was this? Her eyes traveled down the front page, over the four columns there. It wasn't an ordinary newspaper, it was... oh, God, it was some kind of newspaper of the same kind of people who were in those photos she had just looked at... advertisements for the exchange of lewd pictures, placed by people from all over the country, sick people like Ralph Taylor must be sick, oh, God...

Man and wife will exchange erotic poses with similarly motivated couple. Nothing conventional. Oralism preferred. Box ---- Cleveland, Ohio...

Couple with German Shepherd would like to swap snaps with dog owners everywhere. These are the wildest ever! If you don't believe us, query Box ----, Atlanta, Ga...

The tormented young wife crumpled the paper and flung it to the floor, rolling over onto her stomach. Her lower belly was on fire now, in spite of herself; it was almost as if... as if the sickness she was seeing here tonight had aroused her passions to the desperation point. Tears flowed from her eyes, and her body involuntarily squirmed on the bed. She wiped away the wetness which was obscuring her vision---and her gaze fell on one of the photos, the nearest one.

It showed a couple performing simultaneous oral love in the classic sixty-nine position.

Her hand swept it up as if with a will of its own, and her eyes grew glazed. Breath spewed raggedly from between her open, saliva moistened lips. She stared at the picture, at the auburn-haired woman in the process of running her wetly glistening tongue upward over the man's sperm-swollen testicles to the ridged underside of his hardened penis; as the man's lips pressed tightly to the gaping, pink-red softness of the girl's wide opened pussy, his nose gently tickling the tiny puckered ring of her anus.

Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cindy's mind cried, I'm sorry. But I don't care, I can't stand it I can't!

And in one swift motion, the beautiful young wife rolled onto her back, still holding the salacious, full-color photo close to her eyes, and with her free hand drew open the hostess gown. Beneath it she wore only a thin pair of flimsy panty briefs. As if a separate entity, ungoverned by her will, the hand drew the panties down, slowly, slowly, as she raised her quivering buttocks high off the bed.

Her liquor-fogged, passion-fogged brain blotted out all the evils she had been led to believe came from masturbation. There was only her urgency now, her need for release from the intense arousal of her body by the lustful activities in the photos.

She massaged the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach with the palm of her hand, around and around, raising up to pass over her breasts with their swollen nipples, causing whirlpools of passion to seethe within her. Then her hand with a will of its own moved lower and she arched her back, raising her hips high off the bed, her fingers passing through the downy- soft fleece of her golden pubic hair and intensifying further the rising crescendo of sexual frenzy.

A groan of desire and total abandonment escaped her lips, and the young helplessly impassioned wife moved her hand downward between her now- widespread thighs, wet with the secretion of her passion. She gentled her finger into the moist flesh, and the feeling generated by her own fevered fingers was so very, very good. She manipulated the soft hair-lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with the rush of blood, and her clitoris was rigid and tingling. Her index finger came in contact with the trembling flesh, and she began to gasp with delight as she felt release imminent. Her hips thrashed the bed and the air, her eyes never once leaving the photo and the lewd oralism depicted there---lips on penis, lips on vulva, lips on penis, lips on vulva...

Faster, faster, faster her finger rubbed across the sensitive clit, blanking her mind of all thoughts, all sanity; nothing existed for her in that moment except the delirious coming of her impending climax.

And then she was there!

Oh, God, she was cumming!

Her hips flailed frantically at the bed as wave after wave of intense, bursting release seized her. It was pleasure so acute that it approximated pure pain. Then, as her orgasm began to ebb, her buttocks sank back to the spread and her hand stilled but did not leave her cunt. She lay there, not moving, her eyes squeezed tightly shut now and her chest rising and falling spasmodically.

And then sanity returned to her brain. With it came abject mortification, a feeling of self-loathing that was almost as great as the delight of her still ebbing orgasm. She moaned aloud in despair, sitting up, brushing the photos from the bed and flinging them to the floor around it as if they were vermin of the foulest type. Then she threw herself face down on the bed, crying out her torment, sick with the knowledge of the act of carnal self-abuse that she had just performed on herself.

Those damnable photos! They were the cause of it all, the cause of her rising excitement into the throes of lust, her loss of self-control. Those filthy photos! Oh, damn Ralph Taylor for giving them to Howard, damn him, damn him! Why did he have to interfere in hers and Howard's heretofore placid existence; why did he have to give them that Polaroid camera, anyway? What was the matter with him? Was he as sick as the people who subscribed to that Polaroid Club News?

The questions spun and rotated in Cindy's tortured, liquor fogged mind. She felt sick to her stomach, and... impure, as if her body were harboring disease-ridden microbes. She needed the cleansing release of sleep; she couldn't be this upset when Howard came home. He must never know what she'd done tonight; no, he must never know.

After a long moment, she stood from the bed and gathered the photos and the newspaper from the floor, holding them again as if they were excrement laden. She put them back in the manila envelope, returned the envelope to the nightstand. Then she took off her gown and lay back down on the bed, slipping between the sheets, praying for the respite of sleep to ease her tortured mind.

But restful sleep, for the confused young Cindy Jamison, was not forthcoming on this night.

"Well, Howie, my boy," Ralph Taylor said jovially, "you about ready to see how those pictures worked?"

Howard had been in his office for the better part of three hours now, having come back from his dinner hour still disturbed over what he'd done. All the way home and all during the time he was with his wife he kept telling himself he wouldn't leave the corrupting manila envelope of photos and paper... but he had! He didn't feel right about it, not right at all... but the damage had been done. He was here, waiting for some customer to walk on the lot and take his mind away from what he'd done. He had resolved that when midnight came and he could go home, he would straightaway take that packet and burn it if his wife hadn't opened it yet. More than once he'd thought about calling her, telling her under no circumstances should she open it... but every time his hand went to the phone, he stopped. To tell her would be tantamount to confessing that he knew what was in it; Cindy wasn't dumb and she'd figure that she'd been set up.

Instead of a customer, in had walked Ralph. There hadn't been a customer all the while he had been back at Auto Circus, nothing to relieve the time-heavy wait. And of all the people he didn't want to see at the moment was his boss, the very man who had turned his head and suggested the whole stupid idea.

But, like the professional salesman that he was, Howard swallowed his inner feelings and smiled heartily. "Oh, hello, Ralph. I didn't see you. Aren't you supposed to be home now?"

"Hah, hah, home is where the heart is," came the answer, "and tonight I felt that I should see how my friend is doing. And you are my friend, you know, as well as my star salesman." He chuckled again. "Besides, Norma's got a bridge club meeting going on at the house. My heart is certainly not out for any of her friends."

"Oh." Howard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Not much going on tonight, I'm afraid."

"Can't expect much, not on a weekday night in between paydays. I sometimes wonder whether it's worth staying open." He sighed, looking out the window at the rows of gleaming cars and then beyond, at the all but deserted main street. "Everybody's home in bed or at my house, playing cards."

"Uh-huh." Howard tried to think of some work to do; anything so he could look busy and have an excuse not to talk. There was nothing; he'd finished the paper, and all he could do was sit.

"Like I said, boy, how do you think it will go?"

Howard felt his face color. "I... I don't know."

"What? After three years you can't figure on how your wife will react?"

"It isn't that, Ralph." Here we go again, back in the same embarrassed, defensive position I was earlier. God, I must look stupid to him... "It's just that Cindy's not all that experienced. I mean, there's a lot of difference between three years and ten." Good... throw it back on him...

Ralph laughed. "Got a point there. Norma was the same way, just like I told you. Shy as the dickens. That's why I'm telling you how to work it, my boy, because I found out the hard way." He leaned over, his breath heavy of cigar and bourbon. "Tell you what. Why don't you close up the lot and we'll go have a drink. We can talk man-to-man, and I'll give you a few more pointers.

The last thing I need now is a few pointers from him, Howard thought, but he knew it would be useless to argue. "All right," he said, feigning joviality. "Take me just a minute."

"Good, good."

A few minutes later the two of them were in Ralph's car, a one-year old Cadillac recently put on the lot and which he'd taken a liking to. Until it was sold, that is, and then he'd pick another big, pretentious car. Howard stared out the window. He thought that they would have walked up to the corner and the little neighborhood tavern, but instead Ralph had "suggested" (the suggestion a command in this instance) that they go downtown to a cocktail lounge in Morriston's fancy and plush hotel, The Constantinople. He felt acutely uncomfortable, as though again he was getting into more than he bargained for, but there wasn't any way he could see of getting out of it. But one drink or two wouldn't make any difference, could it? Besides, he could use it, he told himself; he had a bad case of the jitters at the thought of what he'd done and the storm that might be waiting for him when he got home.

A very irate and indignant wife, that's what. He shut his eyes, trying to blot out the thought.

Ralph found a parking place near the hotel. "Here we are, my boy." There seemed to be a wicked gleam in his eye, thought his salesman, and the way he's rubbing his hands together! The only time Howard had seen his boss do that was after the closing of a deal, when a customer had been badly overcharged or loaded with a lemon. Again, the nagging doubts as to "stopping for a drink" entered Howard's thoughts, but he went along, through the revolving door, into the deep-carpeted lobby.

The hotel's lounge was called The Arabian Knight, and was decorated in a mock Byzantine opulence not at all like Constantinople or Arabia in their most wicked days, but more like a Hollywood dream sequence of what life should have been back then. A pert waitress passed among the quite large crowd, dressed in a harem costume of spangled bra and pantaloons. The pantaloons were see-through gossamer, a wide triangle of gold coins woven together acting as the covering of her pubic area. She had long hair, similar to Cindy's long black, and an exciting, provocative wiggle which in spite of himself made Howard look.

Ralph's eyes were fastened on her, drawn to the rotating buttocks like air to a broken vacuum. "Hot damn!" the manager exclaimed. "She gets better looking every time I come in here!"

The waitress came over to the table where they were sitting. She smiled perfunctorily at Howard, and grinned at Ralph; she was obviously acquainted with him. Howard had the odd thought pass through him of how well? Ralph said: "Double bourbons." "Ralph, I---" Howard started to protest.

"Come on, my boy. The night's young, and the drinks are on me." He winked at the waitress. "She looks damned tempting, doesn't she, Howie?"

The girl stuck her tongue out in mock pique, then took her tray and walked off, her rear end twitching provocatively. Ralph laughed, as much at her as at Howard's embarrassment. Howard knew now he was right; he was over his head again, and Ralph was an over-powering force, a person he couldn't hope to cope with.

The drinks appeared quickly and again the waitress swished her thighs and jiggled her full, barely contained breasts. This time Ralph leaned over and patted her buttocks lightly. The scent of sex was suddenly strong in the air, and trembling, Howard picked up his drink and downed it before he realized how strong and how full it was. He exploded with the burning heat in his throat and stomach, reaching for the water back.

"Another!" crowed Ralph, laughing loudly at Howard's coughing. "And one for me!" He gulped his drink as though it was lemonade.

Another round appeared beside Howard before he'd fully recovered from the last. He vowed to keep it there on the table, but somehow he was sipping it every time Ralph raised his glass to his lips, and that was often. Got to watch it... can't get drunk... not with Ralph... not with Cindy waiting at home for me...

"Here's a toast, Howie," Ralph said on the third double. "To the only man I've known in the car business who I can trust. Yes sir, you're interested in getting ahead, but by sticking with me, not stabbing me in the back."

Howard was stunned. He realized that the bourbon was getting to Ralph---was getting to him, too, by the way the room was starting to lose its clarity---but he never bargained on hearing such strong praise. It made him feel important and proud. He vowed that he would never go against Ralph, that his manager could always count on him. He raised his glass. "That's right," he said, his tongue rolling around the words. "I'm for you one hunn'er'pershent." He blinked. "Hundred percent," he repeated.

"Heh, heh," Ralph chortled at nothing in particular and clinked glasses. "Here's to us, the swinger and the prude!"

Howard suddenly froze. "Wh... what? Me, a prude?"

"No offense, my boy," Ralph beamed. "I'm a live'r, and you? Well, let's just say that you're a little too much of a stuffed shirt at times."

The waitress appeared with another double shot. It was over-full, the bartender knowing good customers when he saw them and wanting them to stay. What the hell is this bourbon? Howard thought, his head swimming, high octane aviation fuel? Then he saw Ralph stroke the waitress's thigh with loving fingers.

"Got to hand it to you," he admitted in a sudden pang of realization that what Ralph was saying was all too true. "Got to be honest and admit it. I am conservative." He had trouble with the word, instead pronouncing it, "coservative."

"Don't let it worry you, Howie, my boy," Ralph said. "In time you'll loosen up a bit." He leaned forward, almost hitting the glasses of bourbon, and said conspiratorially to Howard, "Now, for instance, tonight, if I were you, I would go home and have nothing to do with the little woman."

"I... I don't follow."

"You're worried about how Cindy will react to those pictures, right?" Ralph didn't wait for an answer but went on. "Well, do what I did. Don't touch her. Don't fuck her for three days. Hell, make it four!" he said expansively. "She'll want it then, and all the time those pictures will be on her mind, and she won't be able to get them out of her thoughts, seeing all those wild couples doing it and not her. Got me?"

"Yes, but---"

"Now that doesn't mean you have to go without a little ass. I'm not, that's for sure. We're going to get some fun, that's what we're going to do."

"No!" Howard cried, jerking backwards. He suddenly caught on to what his boss had in mind. Another woman! To be unfaithful to Cindy! The whole idea was ridiculous! Unthinkable! "No! I couldn't do that!"

"Damnit, sure you can! You're a man, aren't you?" Ralph's sudden snarl turned into a tone of conciliation. "The trouble with you is that you were raised as a Puritan, my boy, where sex is considered a sin unless for making kids. It's not, and never has been. Sex is good, clean fun and a hot experience whenever and wherever it can be had. And it can't take away any of your love for your wife. I love Norma; love her very much, but we're not exclusive possessions of one another. I---"

Ralph suddenly stopped his talk, and was looking over across the still crowded cocktail lounge. "Ah," he said. "Here they come."

"Who?" Howard asked, afraid he knew already.

"Our fun for tonight," Ralph said with a wink. Howard's mind tumbled crazily from Ralph's strong words of wisdom, his explicitly stated faith in his salesman, and the strong drink. He stared over his shoulder at the two women who were approaching the table. He wanted to get up... to run home and bury his head in his wife's breasts and forget what was happening... but it was as if he had grown roots to the chair.

"Now don't let me down, my boy," Ralph whispered. "I'm counting on you."

Counting oil you... counting on you... the words burned home. The women were now at the table, and Ralph made room for one, a short, highly developed brunette in a thin sheath. Howard suddenly found a tall, lithe blond haired girl beside him, her luminous green eyes sparkling and her tightly encased buttocks against his. "Hi," she said musically, "I'm Bonnie."

"He... hello," Howard replied. "My name's Howard."

"Call him Howie," Ralph said. "And this here's Linda."

"Pleased to meet you, Howie," Linda said, smiling. "Where's my 'laughing widow,' Ralph?"

Ralph snapped his fingers and gave the waitress an order for two more double bourbons and two "laughing widows." Howard asked what the hell a laughing widow was and Bonnie giggled, explaining that it was three dashes of bitters, one part gin, two parts vodka, and a pearl onion. Howard grimaced, which caused more laughter.

They fell into easy conversation, far easier than Howard had thought possible. Both girls were witty, intelligent people, both divorced, and both had jobs as "models." Neither girl was anything except vague about their work, preferring to talk about what the men did. This, in spite of the fact it was obvious that Ralph was on intimate terms with Linda. Howard had an awful suspicion just how intimate, too. The drinks came, Howard sampled the "laughing widow" and promptly handed it back, and then there was another round... and another...

"Gee," Linda said at one point, "I'm sure glad you could take care of my friend Bonnie, tonight, Ralph. Like I said, since she's new in town, we had to come together or not at all. Sure nice you had a dream-boat of a friend like Howie-baby."

Howard reacted with pure horror. Even in his now liquor fogged mind he was able to see clearly that this had all been a trap, a gigantic plot by Ralph right from the very first to suck him down here, get him drunk, and palm off this Bonnie so that he could make time with Linda. Yet, as he looked at the flashing eyes and enticing young all-woman next to him, he suddenly wasn't mad at his boss. What the hell; everybody was having a good time, weren't they? No harm done...

There was another round, and then Linda said, "Well, let's get the show on the road, fellows. We've got to get our beauty sleep."

At first Howard thought that was the signal to break up the evening and say good-night to the girls. But he was wrong. Oh, so wrong. He found himself linked arm-in-arm with Bonnie, walking out of The Arabian Knight, across the lobby and into the elevator. He looked around confusedly. "What?" he said when Bonnie said something to him.

"I said, the party's going to move to my room now, Howie-baby. Just a private party, for us two!"

"But... but what about Ralph?"

She giggled. "They'll be right next door if Howie-baby needs help. I heard that this was your first time, but..." and here she paused, breathing hotly and wetly into his ear,"... but I don't think that you're going to need any help at all. I can tell you want me."

Wild-eyed he looked at Ralph for help, but Ralph was pressing Linda against the otherwise deserted elevator car, kissing her hotly... and Linda was kissing back with the same ardor! Numb, he staggered from the car and down the hall, his mind screaming for him to stop, but his will to resist was eroded beyond comprehension. As Bonnie put her key in the door lock, he cried out hoarsely, "Ralph! I---! I---!"

"Remember what I said downstairs, my boy," came the dark almost ominous reply. "Remember about sticking with me and going places, and about the fun which can be had. I paid for both of them, my boy... now don't let me down. Show her---and me---that you're a real man!"

With that, Howard was propelled inside the room and the door shut by Bonnie. He was alone... in a strange hotel room with... with a whore! But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful prostitute, Howard had to admit that she was one hell of a woman, bought for or not. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it would be sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit... oh, nothing more. He wouldn't fuck her or anything, but Lord, it would be nice to kiss those cherry-red lips, caress her breasts to hardness...

He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his bourbon-filled head, but it remained throbbingly swollen. Guiltily, he looked away.

Bonnie chuckled. "Howie-baby's got a hardon." She was smiling at his bulging pants. "Howie-baby's got a great big hard-on because he knows he's going to fuck me..."

Howard had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language. "Bonnie... cut it out, for Christ's sake!"

"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..." She came to him, and her breath was like a white-hot firebrand on his cheek. She touched his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached higher, higher... and touched the throbbing protuberance down between his legs!

"Ohhh God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the bed in a convulsing reaction. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he couldn't pull away from her caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably swollen penis.

"It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically, hypnotically. "You want to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it, too...

"I... I love my wife," he protested weakly.

"Sure you do, Howie-baby. All of them do. But that doesn't have anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking."

This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed. I'm a married man... what would Cindy say? I can't go through with it...! He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still granite-hard and seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. He had to compose himself! To somehow make an excuse and leave, Ralph or no Ralph...

Bonnie's husky voice whispered, "Howie-baby..."

He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes bulged.

She stood before him, stripped completely naked!

The lovely prostitute had unhooked the one article of clothing, her dress, and it lay puddled at her feet. Neither panties or bra were evident, and as he gazed transfixed at her white sculpted body, he could see she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue showing. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were displayed for him like an Aztec sacrifice, the golden down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the hotel light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startlingly alabaster white against the tan of her other parts, jutted out like ruby-crested mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly trembled with her desires.

"Well, lover? You like what you see? Would you like to kiss me? Here?" Her hands had moved to her golden triangle, and when she said "here," her fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her vagina and spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and forth, round and round.

It was a lust maddening sight to Howard. The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance. "Bonnie... please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped.

"And I'll kiss your cock, Howie-baby. I want to kiss and suck your cock... I love to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went, and the one sure way of building Howard to a point where he couldn't say no, couldn't leave this whore, had been used. He'd been denied oral love by his wife... and he had wanted to feel the soft down of a woman's pussy as it opened to his mouth with lusting desire... if only his wife understood that, wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock in her mouth... oh, God! he could feel his swollen penis palpitate wildly.

He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about his Cindy, about his adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only important thing was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to suck and be sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes! Yes!

As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his belt and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to fall. He stood before her as she stood before him, his thick, bursting shaft standing out at right angles.

"Oh, it's lovely," Bonnie crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would be." She walked to the bed, the very motion a sensual experience and lay down on the cover. "Come here, Howie-baby," the voluptuous young whore purred, "let me suck you off!"

Howard came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, and Bonnie's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, building him to still higher a fever pitch.

"God! Hurry!" Howard groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen inside his testicles another moment. "Hurry!"

As if in obeyance, Bonnie plunged her head forward and Howard felt the incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circles of fire around it. Sighing, completely enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Howard moved toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in the excited prostitute, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The very abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality by this whore overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the delicious debauchery of which he was a willing partner.

Bonnie, the practiced professional that she was, tasted the piquancy of his fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman in love with her work. Howard looked up once and watched her convoluted, lipstick rimmed lips ripple up and down his hardened shaft, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she sawed the full entirety of his penis. Never had he envisioned such an erotic sight! and he was aroused still more and his loins tensed and jerked upwards into her face all the fleshy expanse disappearing with each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of it showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips.

He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft- rimmed vagina. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks, thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds. He heard her gasp and renew her nibblings with frenzied motion. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth, and then he moved his hands down and opened her still wider and began to curl and flick his tongue at the smoothness of her pearl-white back-side. He sucked and licked while she swayed above him, completely out of control, her built flowering open wider and her secretions mingling with his saliva and rivuleting down his cheeks.

He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a lewd dance of desire above him. Howard sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his penis as she bucked and arched both her back and head in an uncontrollable quaking of body. Her breasts danced as she sucked voraciously, her pumping mouth making the pressure spiraling to a final, huge release of his building semen.

And then---

"UUUUMMMMMMMMM!" came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the warm, pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking hungrily at his deep-thrusted cock, and she snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled, tormented surge.

Then---

All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap along his penis. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious whore's maddenly bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then as quickly as it had started, there was one final spurt and he lay back, half unconscious over the power of his release.

Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last drop of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his penis jerked softly and slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still throbbing groin.

"How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively.

He could only sigh in contentment for an answer. He knew that he should feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had satisfied a woman as well. He felt a certain power, a certain pride in the fact that here, now, he had proven that his desire for oral sex had been right, and not something darkly evil as his wife seemed to think.

His wife. The thought of Cindy echoed in his mind, and a small part of his brain tried to make the self-depredation come; but he fought the thoughts away and he simply lay there, taking in the musk of the young prostitute's body perfume and the permeating odor of their consummated lust.

He felt Bonnie stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside him, smiling down in his face. She said, "I'm going to teach you things you never knew existed, Howie-baby." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like that?"

He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there were faint stirrings in his limp penis, displacing any fears of not being able to get another erection. "Yes... yes I'd like that!"

"Good." She stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms. "It'll be wonderful, Howie-baby. I promise!"

Howard had the strong, erotic sensation that she was good at keeping her word. He wasn't wrong...

Howard slipped his house key into the door lock and quietly stepped into his living room. All the lights were out; good. He had taken his shoes off on the porch and now he padded in his stocking feet across the room and into the hall... no sound came from the bedroom; good. He stopped, waiting in the still, black silence of his home, but there was only the faint and regular pattern of heavy breathing, and Howard took this to mean his wife was asleep.

He didn't know that she was feigning slumber, that actually she was very much awake, lost in a troubled, agonizing hell of self-loathing. She lay shivering under the covers, hoping that her husband wouldn't want to make love to her tonight---which was the reason behind the act, for that way Howard wouldn't wake her up---for she felt horribly ashamed, and disgusted at her inability to control her own carnal instincts.

No, Howard was unaware of his wife's true condition, but in his own way he was glad that she was "asleep" and hadn't waited up for him, perhaps to have sexual relations, or worse---to berate him for the lewd pictures and paper he'd left behind. Not now, not after three hours of wild, abandoned sexual games with that nymphomaniac whore, Bonnie. He was satiated completely, in a state of absolute contentment, and in no mood either to argue heatedly with a distraught wife nor try and explain why he couldn't get another erection. Christ! After that Bonnie, he'd be lucky to raise another hard-on in a week!

He went into the bathroom to undress, closing the door so that the light wouldn't bother Cindy in the bedroom. Quickly he stripped his clothes off, not as fast as he had done for Bonnie and this time hanging them on hooks.

He stepped into the shower and let the needle spray wash off the fragrant, tell-tale perfume of his indiscretions, the odors of mutual lovemaking which would be readily identified by his wife. He thought about Bonnie, the lovely, enticing whore, and although the light-headed joy of his repast with her didn't fade, the act of cleansing himself seemed to also add some sense of regret.

Howard stepped from the shower, mixed of emotion. No longer was he "Howie the Innocent;" no, he was "Howie the Swinger" now, and he vowed that he was going to continue to play the modern role---like Ralph. Yet, there but a few feet from him was his loving, faithful wife, whom he loved very deeply. He sighed. If only she was more open, more abandoned like Bonnie had been. Well, there was only one thing to do about it. Make her understand too that there was more to sex than just climbing on and climbing off!

He toweled himself briskly, his mind made up. Yes, the acquiescent Howard was in the past, and he was going to show her a more forceful, more worldly husband from hereon in. At first she might not like it, he had to admit, but she would soon see that he was right. And Howard knew just how he was going to accomplish this "education" of his lovely, innocent wife--- by following Ralph's advice!

He was going to go ahead with the pictures! He was going to use the Polaroid again to take more shots! Wilder ones! Ones with him in them, too, perhaps even showing his cock fucking her! His penis trembled anew and he moaned lightly as he dreamed of all the combinations he was going to do with his wife. But he knew in order to accomplish this task, he would have to handle things diplomatically, to use all of the tricks of his salesmen's trade.

Yes, that was it. To wait and bide his time... no more sudden confrontations like last night when he'd lost his cool... he would broach the subject just as if he was selling a car on the lot, only this sale would be far more important!

He walked into the bedroom and slid under the sheets. He turned over and placed his arm over his wife's back. Tenderly, with all the emotion of his devotion for her, he vowed to turn her into a completely sexually emancipated woman... like the people in the photos were... like Ralph and his wife, Norma, and all the others of the Polaroid Club were.

The Gandydancer was Morriston's most expensive and most well-known restaurant-night club, catering to those among the population who could afford two dollars per drink during the thrice-nightly shows and boned squab at ten dollars per plate. It was plush and dark, with beautiful young cocktail waitresses in sequined halter-and-panty outfits holding forth in the lounge---and maroon-uniformed waiters hovering quietly and obsequiously in the upstairs dining salon.

At nine o'clock the following evening, at a reserved table in the restaurant balcony overlooking the dance floor and performer's dais, Cindy and Howard Jamison sat across from Ralph and Norma Taylor, sipping champagne from cut-crystal glasses. The remnants of four thick Porterhouse steaks smothered in fresh mushrooms, baked potatoes with sour cream sauce, and green beans with pearl onions covered the table in front of them.

Ralph, in his usual jovial, expansive mood, raised his glass as he peered down at the performer's dais, where the orchestra was assembling and the prominent female vocalist who was featured at The Gandydancer this week was preparing for her first show of the evening. "Entertainment will be getting underway any minute now," he said. "We have time for another glass of champagne before they start. You want to do the honors, Howie?"

"Well, shouldn't we wait for one of the waiters?" Norma asked.

"Nonsense," said Ralph, smiling. "Pour the bubbly, Howie, my boy."

"Sure," Howard said, extracting the bottle of imported French champagne from the silver ice bucket at his elbow. "Glasses, everybody."

He poured the four glasses full, and then Ralph raised his high. "To you and Cindy, Howie," he toasted. "And a long life of happiness---in and out of bed." He chuckled, and Norma laughed musically at his elbow at the comment.

Howard grinned, turning to click glasses with his lovely blonde wife. Cindy, as she had been all evening, was silent and seemingly distant; she hadn't spoken five words since they'd arrived at The Gandydancer. In fact, Howard reflected, she hadn't said much of anything all day; she'd been quiet and uncommunicative at breakfast that morning, and the only time she'd really spoken to him was when he'd called from Auto Circus to tell her that Ralph and Norma were taking them out dining and dancing that night at The Gandydancer, a gesture on Ralph's part that was more or less a corollary to the gift of the Polaroid for the Jamison's third wedding anniversary.

Cindy had not wanted to go. In fact, she'd been snappish and irritable at the suggestion, saying that she didn't care to go anywhere with Ralph Taylor. Howard had immediately surmised that her reaction was on account of the pictures and the copy of The Polaroid Club News; she had obviously opened the manila envelope the night before, just as he'd planned, although she was surely not admitting the fact to him. It was only natural, he thought, that she would blame Ralph for the content of the photos---that was to be expected. So he'd carefully set about calming her down, telling her that it was important to his job at Auto Circus that they accept the Taylor's invitation, that the cultivation of Ralph was a vital factor in his plans to advance to Assistant Manager and yes, maybe even to Manager, Ralph's position, when he retired or became a board member of the firm. Cindy had come around finally at his soothing, logical words, just as he'd known she would, and agreed to come tonight. He'd thought everything would be fine, but thus far the evening hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped; she was acting like a child, sitting there and picking at her food and barely touching the expensive champagne and not joining in the conversation---and studiously avoiding Ralph's eyes across the table. He would have to have a talk with her, first chance he had to get her alone; tell her to open up a little, for God's sake, this was an important affair.

Now, he smiled at his sweetly innocent wife and touched his champagne glass to her's.

"Happy anniversary, honey---again," he said.

"Happy anniversary," she said automatically, taking a very small sip of her champagne and putting the glass down again.

Ralph said, "Ahh, that's good stuff, all right. Best they've got here and damned expensive, but what the hell? This is an occasion, eh, Cindy?"

"Yes," she said non-committedly, still not looking at him.

Norma looked at her concernedly. Her black hair was carefully coiffured tonight, and she looked radiant and sexy sitting next to her husband; to Howard, it seemed as if she somehow radiated pure animal musk, a female animal born for one reason and not complaining at the singularity of her purpose one iota. "Aren't you feeling well tonight, dear?" she asked solicitously. "I'm all right," answered Cindy distantly.

"Sure she is," agreed Ralph. "A few more glasses of bubbly and she'll be right in the spirit of things."

Anxious to get the subject of the conversation away from his wife, Howard said, "We really do appreciate this evening out on the town, Ralph. I mean, after your generosity towards us the other night..."

"The Polaroid, you mean? Why, heh heh, that was nothing at all, my boy."

"We're just glad you could make good use of it, Howie," Norma said. "I mean, taking photos of Cindy and all for your private photo album is something no husband should miss out on when he has such a lovely wife."

"That's right," enthused Ralph. "What better way to keep the ties that bind tautly bound than to take intimate little snaps of the wife for future enjoyment?" He laughed heartily.

Cindy, who had only been half-listening to the conversation going on around her before, jerked her head around to stare across the table at the Taylors. They were both smiling with elaborate innocence, and yet... hadn't she detected an under-current of personal knowledge in their words just now? Why, it was almost as if they knew about... about the risque pictures she had allowed her husband to take of her on their Anniversary!

But that couldn't be... she and Howard were the only two people who knew about those pictures, and surely he wouldn't tell anybody, least of all Ralph...

Or would he?

She looked at her husband, and Howard seemed to be as elaborately innocent as the Taylors, smiling happily. He sensed Cindy's gaze on him, and turned to beam at her, raising his glass slightly. She turned away, feeling a growing sense of anger and shame take hold of her lithe young body.

He must have told the Taylors about the photos, she thought wretchedly. But why? What possible purpose could be served in relating such an intimate, and personal fact? Howard seemed somehow different to her since that Polaroid had been given to them, as if he were up to something, as if new and strange thoughts were circulating in his head. She had sensed that this morning, after they had awakened. She had been quiet, filled with guilt, and certainly not open to conversation, that was true; but she hadn't been unobservant. She had looked at Howard over the breakfast table, and it seemed to her that he had changed somehow, in some almost imperceptible way, almost overnight; there seemed to be a firmer set to his jaw, as if with some hidden purpose, and his eyes held a new, oddly flashing light that she had never seen in them before.

Oh, God, she thought miserably, it isn't possible that Howard has... has been influenced by Ralph, is it? It isn't possible---or is it?---that Ralph with his dirty pictures and dirty newspaper has somehow managed to completely corrupt her husband? A week ago she wouldn't have thought so, but now,---with all she had seen and felt and experienced in the past few days she wasn't so sure that such a thing hadn't happened...

Sitting there, with her tormented thoughts she had the odd sinking feeling that her perfect well-ordered little world was about to come crashing down around her ears. Everything was too Jovial tonight, for example, too gay and happy---as if it was the proverbial calm before the storm. She hoped against hope that she was wrong, that it was simply her guilt at her actions last night, her masturbation while looking at those filthy photographs, that was making her feel so morbid and depressed.

She hadn't had a good day at all, feeling low, morose, and Howard calling to tell her about the party tonight here at The Gandydancer hadn't helped matters any. She was going through an emotional upheaval, and the last thing she wanted to do was go out dining and dancing. But his arguments had seemed so reasonable and sincere that she had at last acquiesced; now, with the Taylors making snide, pointed remarks, she wished to God that she hadn't.

The distraught young wife reached out and picked up her champagne glass, an almost reflexive movement for she needed something at the moment to still the torment which raged inside her. She drank the effervescent liquid in a single swallow, amid half-heard comments of encouragement from the others present; the warmth of the wine settled in her stomach, making her feel glowingly flushed for a moment. Then she moistened her lips as Howard poured her another glassful, blinking at the smiling faces of Ralph and Norma.

"Now Cindy's joining in, Ralph said to Howard. "Look at her sitting there, pretty as a photograph."

"And an intimate one at that," agreed Norma, laughing.

Cindy groped for her refilled glass, drained that too. Then she stood abruptly, looking at Norma, at the woman she had considered a good friend. Norma was no better than Ralph. The young wife had no one to turn to, no one who would understand, not even Howard it seemed, not even her husband... She spun on her heel, hurrying off through the tables toward the restroom, her yellow, full-skirted cocktail dress rustling as she moved. Tears stung her flaming cheeks.

The other three at the table looked at one another, and Norma stood immediately, straightening her expensive party gown in lime green. "I'll go to her," she said to Howard, smiling, and hurried off after the departing Cindy.

When she was gone, Ralph leaned across the table almost conspiratorially. "She'll be all right, Howie boy," he said. "It just takes a little time for a woman to get used to the idea of change. Once she accepts it as inevitable, she'll be just like Norma."

"I hope so," said Howard, who had been having a moment of compassion for his beautiful young wife. He felt a little uncertain now about what he was doing, about the effect of his actions on the innocent Cindy; in spite of every thing, he still loved her deeply. In the back of his mind, too, was a small but persistent pang of guilt at his actions with Ralph's high-priced whore, Bonnie, the previous evening, his first excursion into marital infidelity.

Ralph, seeming to sense this hesitancy and indecision on his salesman's part, reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and removed a small envelope. He leaned forward and pressed it into Howard's hand. "Here are those additional pictures you asked me for today, Howie," he said. "Some real good ones showing all kinds of oral love, just like you wanted."

Howard looked down at the envelope, then picked up his champagne glass and drank deeply. "T-thanks, Ralph," he managed.

"Not at all, my boy," Ralph said. "Anything I can do, you just let me know. Remember, I'm looking out for your happiness, son. Yours and Cindy's."

"I know, Ralph, and I appreciate it. It's just that... well, it's not easy doing things this new way. Not at the first, I mean."

"Sure, I know, Howie. But it's all worth the momentary upheaval in your life, you'll see."

Howard nodded gratefully, sipping from his champagne again. He was becoming a little drunk now. He poured more, drank it down under the approving eye of Ralph. Yes, now he felt a little better. Cindy would come around, just as Ralph said she would; and when she did, they would have happiness neither of them had ever thought existed before. He was doing the right thing, all right, there could be no doubt of that.

Cindy---his beautiful, passionate, warm Cindy. He moistened his lips. She was better than that whore, Bonnie, any day of the week. Or she would be, once she learned the art of oral gratification. And she would learn--- soon, soon. Tonight, maybe. Howard's prick gave an excited little dance in his trousers as he thought of what would happen when he got Cindy home later on.

Could he talk her into more picture-taking? Well, not in the mood she was in now. But if he could get her a little high---downright drunk would be even better---he could convince her that it would be all right to take more photos. And she would surely be responsive, for even though she hadn't been outwardly excited by the photos he had left for her to see the previous night (that was apparent by her actions today), she had to have had enough curiosity to open that envelope and see what was inside. That meant she had to possess, deep within her, curiosity as to other things as well; hers was an untapped resource, he reasoned, just waiting for the drilling to begin. He giggled inwardly at that image---the drilling---and knew that he was now more than a little bit drunk. But what the hell? He was a new man, wasn't he? He had to celebrate his new-found way of life, didn't he? Sure he did. And he had to celebrate Cindy's soon-to-be- emancipation---perhaps as soon, he told himself again, as tonight. She loved him and she wanted to please him, had always told him that; yes, by God, maybe tonight would be the night after all! In more ways than one...

A few moments passed while Howard continued to think of what would transpire later in the evening, how he would talk his lovely young wife into taking pictures with him of an erotic nature, how he would show her these new acquisitions from Ralph, how he would suggest oralism again and again until she submitted to his every whim. He was growing excited thinking about it, and he didn't know that Cindy and Norma had returned to the table until Norma said chidingly, "Aren't you going to let Cindy have her chair back, Howie?"

"What?" he said, startled out of his reverie. "Oh. Oh, sure, I'm sorry, honey," he apologized to Cindy, taking her arm and guiding her to her chair.

"That's all right, Howie," she said, and she seemed to be composed now.

He sat down, smiling at her, his eyes bright. "More champagne, baby?"

"Yes," his young wife replied. "Yes, I think I will."

As Cindy accepted another glass of the effervescent liquid, she reaffirmed in her mind what she had told herself in the Ladies' Room: even though she felt wretched and miserable, there was no use letting the others see her condition---especially Ralph and Norma. When Norma had come in and asked if she was all right, if she wanted to talk about what was bothering her, Cindy had answered that she was fine now---drying her eyes with a tissue and forcing a smile and that there wasn't anything to talk about, really. Norma had seemed to understand; they had washed up, chatting about something Cindy couldn't recall now, and then come out to the table again.

Determined to affect a calm exterior, not to show the turmoiled nature of her inner self Cindy had decided to have a few more glasses of champagne, just enough so that she became a little high---not so that