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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 she got drunk. That way, it would be easier to pretend that everything was all right, that nothing was troubling her; she might even, with a slight tipsiness, be able to join in the conversation that went around the table, might even be able to laugh at Ralph's sly innuendoes and comments and Norma's ready agreements to them.

She drained her fresh glass of champagne and extended it to Howard to be filled again, smiling, feeling already a little tight and missing completely the intensity in his dark eyes, the way he began to slur his own words, the smiling all-knowing endorsement of the Taylors as they exchanged glances across the table...

The rest of the evening, to Cindy, seemed to be a blur. She had vague remembrances of an endless succession of fresh bottles of champagne being brought to their table; of the four of them moving down to the lounge area; of dancing with Howard and pressing close to him, feeling the hardening bulge of his penis in his pants as he whispered intimate words in her ear; of Howard saying, in a pronounced slur, that it was time "he and the little woman wen' home to bed, yessir, time to take the bull by the horns an' bring her around you unnerstan' Ralph."

The next thing she was fully cognizant of, after that, was sitting beside Howard in their car with the cold night air blowing in through the opened windows. Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy and her head light, airy; she licked her lips experimentally, and then leaned against her husband's shoulder.

"Howie, where are we going?"

He, too, had been sobered considerably by the chill night breeze. He was still nice and tight, though, just tight enough so that he was on edge with anticipation. In spite of its bad beginning, the evening had turned out very well; he had gotten Cindy drunk, as he had planned, and she had loosened up considerably, even to the point of smiling and tacitly forgiving Ralph for the set of photos of the night before, of that he was almost certain. She was warm and cuddly now, sitting next to him, in an obvious loving and permissive mood; it wouldn't take much to convince her of the rightness, the propriety, of allowing him to take more intimate pictures of her with their new Polaroid. He just had to be very careful how he went about it...

"We're going home, honey," he whispered. "Home."

"Mmm, that's good," she murmured. "I... I think I drank too much tonight, Howie."

"No you didn't, baby," he assured her.

"I... I'm sorry I was so... so bitchy the first part of the evening," she said softly. "It's just that I was... well, that I was upset about... about a few things."

"It's okay, honey, I understand."

A few moments later they were pulling into the driveway of their small, middle-class cottage in one of Morriston's older sections. Howard parked the car in the garage, and they got out, arms about one another, and went into the darkened interior. He switched on one of the low-watt lamps on an end table as Cindy took off her coat and put her purse down on one of the chairs.

"How about a nightcap, Cindy honey?" he suggested.

"Oh Howie, I don't know. I've drunk so much tonight..."

"Just a little one," he said quickly.

"Well... okay. But a little one, now?"

"Sure," Howard said eagerly. "Sure, baby."

He mixed two gin-and-tonics in the kitchen, spiking Cindy's liberally with gin and enough fresh lemon juice to conceal the oily taste of the liquor. He carried the glasses into the living room, handed his young wife hers, and then sat down beside her on the divan.

She sipped tentatively, smiled at him, and then took a larger swallow. "Mmm, good," she said. She felt safe and secure, now that they were back in their own home, and a little contrite for the way she had behaved tonight. But, as she had told Howard, she'd been upset and everything had seemed to be drawing in on her at the same time, crushing her under its weight. Now, with the liquor to take away the sharp edge of her problems, she wasn't as sure as she had been that things were going to go wrong in their perfect marriage. After all, Howard still loved her--- there was no doubt of that in her mind at all. What, then, could be terrible enough to override that abiding love? Especially since she loved him as deeply as he did her?

Still, though, there was one nagging question permeating her mind. If she had been fully sober, she would never have broached it aloud to Howie---but the drinks had loosened her tongue enough so that, now, she did; she had to find out the truth.

"Howie," she began, "Howie, did you... well, did you say anything to Ralph about those... those pictures you took of me the other night?"

He frowned slightly, looking at her. "Why do you ask that?"

"The way he and Norma were talking tonight," she replied. "It was as if they... they knew all about them."

Howard moistened his lips. "You're attaching too much significance to those photos, honey," he said. "There's nothing wrong in them, you know. Just some harmless intimacy between a husband and his wife, that's all."

"Howie," she insisted, "did you tell Ralph about them?"

"All right, if you must know---yes, I told Ralph about them. I couldn't help it; he kept asking me and I... well, I just blurted it out."

"Oh Howie, how could you!" Cindy looked as if she were about to cry.

"Hey now," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. "There's nothing to get upset about, for God's sake. Here, drink your drink."

Obediently, Cindy took a deep swallow from her glass, shuddering a little as the strong liquor raced hotly into her stomach. He had told! She had known he had, of course, but his admission brought a renewed sense of anguish to her. He had no right telling about the photos; they were a private thing between the two of them, something personal, something exciting and...

Cindy sat rigid. Exciting? Had she just thought that the photos he had taken of her were exciting? No... no, she couldn't have... and yet, there was no doubt that she had thought that self-same thought. But why? Did she really think they were exciting? Herself lewdly displayed like... like those women in the other photos she had seen last night, Ralph's photos---displayed in an obscene provocative pose before her husband...

Exciting? No... no... and yet Howard had obviously been excited by them at the time, just as she herself had been undeniably excited by the lewd carnality displayed in those other snapshots. Oh God, oh God...

She drank again, emptying her glass, and when she put it down on the coffee table she felt a terrible rise of guilt once more. And with it came the need to unburden herself, to tell Howard that she had looked at those pictures of Ralph's last night---but not that she had fingered herself while looking at them, never that. Still, she had to tell him that she had seen them, that she had been aroused by them...

"Oh Howie," she blurted out unable to hold it back longer. "I opened that envelope you brought home last night, the one from Ralph. That's why I was so upset tonight, because I opened it and I saw those terrible pictures, and I... I was excited by them. I was, Howie, and that's the reason I was so upset. Howie, I actually got turned on looking at those dirty pictures!"

She flung herself against his chest, and Howard held her tightly to him. He could scarcely conceal his elation. So she had seen them, just as he had expected---and, as he had hoped, been aroused by them! Good, good; now he had to proceed carefully, carefully, lest he cause more shame and guilt inside her, break the thin shell of sexual freedom which was beginning to construct itself around his lovely young wife's old-fashioned and ingrained moral ethic...

"You mustn't feel bad, baby," he soothed, kissing her hair. "There's nothing wrong in wanting to make love after looking at other people doing it; it's a natural reaction. A perfectly natural reaction that almost everyone has."

"But the... the people in those photos were doing such... such awful things to one another..."

"There's nothing awful about giving pleasure to your husband or wife," said Howard wisely, tenderly. "It's the whole foundation of a marital relationship, honey. If it pleases the one you love, then it can't be wrong. You believe that, don't you?"

"I... I guess so."

"If, for example, I was pleased taking pictures of you with our Polaroid, pictures of you in the nude, you'd want to do that for me, wouldn't you? You'd want to take off your clothes and let me photograph you, wouldn't you?"

"But... but you couldn't be pleased doing such a thing, Howie! You're not that kind of man..."

"Honey, I like to look at you, at your naked body. It pleases me, it excites me tremendously. I like to look at you in photographs, look at you there in full-color; any man would, any real man..."

"Howie, what a terrible thing to say!"

"It's true, honey," Howard said, feeling pressure building in his loins as he spoke, knowing he was going to win, that his strategy was working. "I like to look at you in the nude, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like to look at other women in the nude, too. Not to touch or anything," he added quickly, "just to look at and get excited by, that's all. And you're not any different than I am, not really; you're just like other women in that respect, too. You got excited looking at those photos of other couples making love and I did, too. When I saw them, I got so excited I thought I was going to have an orgasm right on the spot. But it wasn't them I was thinking of loving, Cindy; it was you, you my darling. Looking at those photos of other people doing it made me want you even more than I ever did before!"

Cindy could hardly believe her ears, hearing her husband's confession. He had felt the same as she last night, as hundreds of other people did every day if what he said was true. Why, then, did she feel so much guilt about her own photos and the ones she'd looked at the previous night? If he was right, then she shouldn't have any guilt at all with her own husband. And yet... Oh, she didn't know what to think now; if only she were sober, if only her brain wasn't spinning, spinning...

"I'll prove it to you, sweetheart," Howard was saying in his mellifluous voice. "Ralph gave me some other pictures tonight. I didn't want them, but I took them anyway; how could I say no to my own boss? We'll look at them together, honey, you and I sitting here right now. We'll look at them together, and what will happen is that we'll both become very excited. You'll want me more than you would otherwise, and I'll want you the same way."

"Howie, no! We can't!"

"Why can't we?"

"It's... it's wrong!"

"No, it isn't wrong, Cindy. I've told you that. Now trust me, baby, just trust me."

"Howie..."

But he was already taking the envelope of pictures Ralph had given him in The Gandydancer from his coat pocket, opening it, taking out the richly colored, glossy photographs inside. "Here," he whispered, holding them and pulling her head away from his shoulder, "here, honey, look with me..."

Cindy didn't want to look. She was trembling and she didn't want to look, she kept telling herself that---and yet her head turned and her eyes focused on the picture, and a small cry burst from between her moist, pink lips.

"Howie, oh God!"

"Look at it, Cindy darling. It's exciting, look at it, it's exciting, look at it..." His voice droned on, mesmerically, and Cindy found herself staring at the photo in his hand, staring at the young, fresh-scrubbed-looking, collegiate boy and girl performing a sixty-nine--- her moistened lips locked tightly around his hardened, lust-swollen penis; his lips pressed firmly, tongue extended, to her glistening pink vulva; lips on penis; lips on vulva...

A low moan of commingled desire and perplexity burst from the young wife's throat, and she felt the soft, warm area between her tightly pressed thighs flower wide with the building secretions of her arousal. Beneath the cocktail dress, her nipples hardened into turgid buds, the way they had hardened the night before. She could not seem to take her eyes from the photo, and her breath began to become labored.

"You like to look at pictures like these, don't you, darling?" Howard's voice droned.

"Yes," she heard herself reply in a half whisper, unable to control the mounting flood of passion which threatened to consume her in fiery lust. "Yes, yes yes!"

Quickly, Howard shuffled the photos, bringing another into view. The same couple, the same oral love, a somewhat different position. Cindy could see all of the young man's masculinity, his sperm-heavy testicles, the wide girth of his great penis half-buried in his beautiful young companion's ovaled mouth. She gasped, drawing close to her husband, her hand sliding down involuntarily to rub almost spasmodically along his thigh.

Howard shuffled the pictures again again----again. The same couple in each, the same pagan rites of fellatio and cunnilingus. But the positions, if such a thing were possible, grew more bold, more provocative---seemingly impossible positions: standing, with the girl turned completely upside down, her legs locked around his neck; sitting, with the man's head buried far up between the wide-spread, alabaster thighs of the girl, his legs locked around her neck and she supporting him with her hands and arms...

Cindy was breathing heavily with her intense arousal now, proof positive to her panting husband that she was as acutely excited by these photos of others enjoying sex as he was. "Darling!" she mewled. "That's enough, that's enough! I want you, Howie, honey, I want you to love me, please, please!"

But Howard was oblivious to her pleas, for his mind was centered on two main objectives: to get his chaste, enchanting young wife to pose for him for more Polaroid pictures; and to get her to perform the self-same acts of oral love which were depicted in the photographs he held in his hands.

He moistened his lips, thinking that his first step would be to get her to undress and pose for him yes, that was it, she was highly inflamed with desire now and she would be slave to his whim; he sensed this beyond any doubt, knowing that, at last, she was going to be his on his terms...

"Cindy," he whispered in her ear, his right arm circling her shoulder, his fingers gently kneading her soft, resilient breast, "Cindy, I want to take some pictures of you, darling, some pictures like I took the other night. They excite me, honey, just like these photos excite you. You want to please me don't you, honey, you want to please your husband?"

"Yes... yes, I want to please you, Howie, but... but I'm so excited! I want you to make love to me, Howie, please..."

"Afterward, baby," he breathed in her ear. "After we take the pictures, afterward..."

"Yes... yes, afterward..."

Howard was trembling with his own arousal now, partially brought about by the pictures he had just viewed with his wife and partially because of what lay only moments ahead now. His cock was a thick, quivering fence post in his pants as Cindy stroked his thigh, stroked it higher and higher. He began to unbutton her dress, whispering the whole time, "I'm going to make you naked, baby. We'll take some pictures and then we'll make love, slow and easy and then hard and fast. Will you like that, honey?"

"Yes! Oh yes!"

His fingers worked feverishly, pulling the dress down to her waist, baring her rich, cream white breasts with their ruby-capped nipples and pulsatingly dark areolaes. He squeezed them lightly, his prick jumping now, and then he could stand it no more. He leapt to his feet, picked up what was left of his drink, and pressed it into Cindy's waiting hands. "Drink this, honey," he instructed. "I'll be right back..."

He ran into the bedroom, urgency controlling his every movement now, and located the Polaroid camera and all its accessories. As an afterthought, he also removed the copy of the Polaroid Club News from the envelope on the nightstand. Then he carried everything back into the living room, made sure Cindy was still on the couch, her bare breasts reflecting the pale light from the lamp, checked the camera for film, and then peered through the view finder. Again, his cock leaped as he saw what the completed print of the picture he was about to take would look like. He snapped the shutter with fingers that were almost palsied.

Sixty seconds later, he was seated beside his young wife and pulling the finished color print from the back of the Polaroid. His eyes gleamed as he looked at it, at the sharp, defined perfection of the color and detail---the rigidity of Cindy's nipples atop their globular white mountain peaks.

"Look, honey," he droned. "Look at yourself almost naked, look, look."

And Cindy looked, staring at her half-nudity with moistened lips, her pussy flowering yet wider with more arousal secretions. Her brain was a seething mass of alcohol and sexual need; she was nothing more than a slave now, and Howard her master...

With exigent hands, he located the copy of the Polaroid Club News and gave it to his voluptuous wife. "Take your clothes off while I set up the camera," he commanded huskily. "Then read some of the advertisements in here. Read them aloud to me, Cindy. Do you hear me?"

"Yes... yes, darling, I hear you..."

Howard was trembling almost uncontrollably as he set up the tripod for the Polaroid and prepared the fifteen-second timer, watching Cindy strip the cocktail dress completely off and then, as if in a hypnotic trance, slide her panties down so that she stood naked and lovely before him, the soft, fleecy blond triangle of her pubic hair wet with the seeping juices of her passion. "The paper," he breathed to her. "Read the ads in the paper!"

Obediently, the desire-and liquor-drugged young wife picked up the Polaroid Club News and began to read in a voice that was cracked with the heat that consumed her body:

"'Experienced couple with knowledge of the mystic Eastern arts desire exotic photos with non-Western or unique poses. Box L563, Polaroid Club News, Los Angeles.'"

She paused to moisten her swollen pink lips, then read another:

"'Want pix you've never dreamed existed? Want poses to stagger the imagination? Send for our special set right away! Replies from couples under thirty only. Hurry! Box N198, Polaroid Club News, New York.'"

Another pause, then:

"'The 145th Position---guaranteed! We're not kidding! You've never seen anything like this before! Will exchange for good, erotic poses involving three or more. Box---'"

"That's enough!" Howard shouted. "That's enough!" He had the camera ready, and his eyes were blazing with excitement, the front of his trousers bulging hugely with his fully erect cock, the material stained with the beginning droplets of his seminal emission. "Sit down on the floor, Indian fashion, facing the camera!" And as his nude, sculptured young wife obeyed, "That's it! Now lean back a little, so that your breasts are lifted up! Yes! Yes! Open your thighs a little more... oh Jesus, beautiful!"

He activated the timer, then began to undress hurriedly, his eyes never leaving his mesmerically-staring wife sitting there so provocatively on the carpeting. At last he was nude, his swollen prick jutting out like a quivering spear from his loins, the head slickly-red and pulsating. The camera clicked off the picture, and as he waited his hand dropped almost reflexively to the trembling girth of his cock, began to stroke it lightly in anticipation.

On the floor, Cindy murmured, "Howie... Howie, don't do that! Howie, that's... that's terrible! Come to me, baby..."

"Not yet!" he gurgled. "Not yet!" It was time to remove the finished print from the Polaroid, and moments later he held it in his quaking hands. Beautiful! Oh Christ, what an erotic shot! I can see her cunt, spread open and glistening wet... and her clit too, throbbing there... oh, Jesus, Jesus!

"Howie," moaned Cindy pleadingly, "Howie, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, Howie I'm on fire and I want you..."

"Goddamnit, not yet!" he shouted. He was busy at the camera again, setting the timer, his cock shaking as if with some inner vibratory power and his balls aching with the buildup of a tremendous load of sperm. "Get on your knees, Cindy, side-ways to the camera. That's it, that's it! Move your arm up so I can see your breasts jutting down! Good! Now raise your right knee up closer to your tits, honey! That's it, baby, I can see your pussy now!"

"Howie..."

"Just hold it like that, just hold it!" He set the timer and then ran over to her. He had to get in this picture, he had to! He knelt behind her, oblivious to her cries of pleading, and held his cock less than an inch from the full soft entrance to her warm, wet cuntal passage, turning his face to the Polaroid, holding himself still in spite of the oscillations which coursed through his entire being.

The camera clicked off the shot, and he jumped up and ran to it. The picture was every bit as erotic to him as the previous one, more so because he was in it now! He was kneeling there with his great prick almost touching his kneeling young wife's cunt! Oh Christ, never had anything been this exciting before!

Again the timer was set, and again he joined Cindy on the floor. She was just kneeling there now, with her head hanging down, and she was whimpering softly. He went to his own knees again behind her, his hands on her waist. "This is going to be a good one, baby! I'm going to put it inside you on this one now!" He guided his swollen cock to the warm, butter-soft opening of her vagina, inserted the head inside. Cindy moaned, trying to drive her buttocks back against his rod, to impale herself and still the crescendoing passion inside her, but Howard restrained her with his hands hard at her waist.

"No, no," he told her. "We have to wait for the camera, goddamnit! Now raise your leg a little so the full sight of my cock in your cunt will be exposed to the camera. Goddamn you, Cindy, do what I tell you... ah, that's it! Oh Jesus, this is going to be something... now hold it, hold it...!"

Click.

And then other pictures were taken, more provocative ones, and each time Howard withdrew his cock and ran to the camera again. As the pictures came out, showing Cindy's passion-contorted features and his own, showing his cock pushed into her widespread cuntal passage, he felt his penis leap as if with orgasm. God, oh God, what sights! He was going to blow his wad any minute! But first... yes, it was time to have her do what he had long wanted, and to do what he had long wanted to her; it was time for oral love, for his lips on her pussy and her lips on his prick. Yes, yes! Jesus, what a shot that will make, what a shot, what a shot!

He set the timer, ran back to his trembling young wife. "Turn over," he commanded. "Turn over, Cindy! Lay down on your back!"

There were tears on her cheeks as she obeyed. "Howie..."

He moved quickly up along her body, holding his quivering cock in his hand again, guiding it toward her head. "Kiss me, Cindy! Kiss my cock, Cindy! Hurry, baby, hurry! I want to kiss you, too! Kiss your cunt, Cindy!"

She recoiled. Had she heard correctly? Yes, yes, she had... she realized that even through the fog of passion and liquor. He wanted her to perform the same perversions they had seen in those photos, do what the other people had been doing... but she couldn't! Yes, it turned her on to see the others but to take a man's penis between her lips... my God, even Howie's, her husband's... was unthinkable! She couldn't, she just couldn't!

"Howie, I can't! Please, please, don't ask me!"

"Hurry up, the camera's going to go off!" he shouted, trying to push his moist-headed prick against her lips. But she twisted away, moaning.

"No, Howie, I can't, I can't!"

"Damnit! Don't you want to please me? You said you wanted to please me!"

"Not this way, Howie, not this way!"

Click.

"Oh Jesus, you ruined the shot! You ruined it!"

"Howie... for my sake, please Howie..."

"Damn you, what's the matter with you?"

"I can't do that, Howie, I just can't do it! Please understand! Whatever else you want, but not that! Don't ask me again, please!"

He jumped to his feet, staring down at her. His cock was jerking as if with climax again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before his testicles would erupt his building load of sperm. He had been so close, so goddamned close... But there would be other nights, he would see to that. He had to content himself with the fact that he had gotten her to pose for the Polaroid for him, in the nude and... yes, with his cock inside her, too! Tonight was a victory, in that sense, the first victory! The second would come soon enough, he knew that. He just had to be patient with her, patient...

"Howie," Cindy moaned, writhing on the floor in both passion and discomfiture brought about by Howard's actions. "Please, love me and make it all right... no more pictures, I beg of you! Love meee!"

"All right!" he shouted. But before he did, he ran to the camera one more time and set the timer. Then he went back to his vibrating young wife, knelt behind her, inserted his cock. She buffeted back against it immediately and he didn't restrain her this time; might as well get a good action shot...

He drove his swollen, soon-to-bursting cock deep inside her, feeling the head slam off her cervix, hearing her moan loudly in pleasure-pain. His balls slammed resoundingly off the moistened slit of her vagina below as he drubbed into her, and he leaned his upper body low over her back, teeth biting lightly into her shoulder, hands finding and squeezing her swaying breasts.

Click.

The sound of the camera shattering seemed to act as a trigger for Howard's boiling desires. He imagined in his mind what the finished print would look like, the eroticism of it, and he could hardly wait until he could pull the print from the camera back. But then the swirling heat in his loins became overpowering, became the only thing that mattered, and he heaved and bucked up into the soft, warm cunt of his kneeling wife with insane vigor, striving to empty his testicles of the great load of sperm seething there...

Cindy felt Howard's gigantic cock thundering into her cunt, filling it, the head ramming hard off her cervix and she knew she was going to cum any moment. She had never in her life been this excited, and the knowledge that the excitement had come as a direct result of looking at dirty pictures, of partaking in them herself with the man she loved, was like a hot knife of confusion in her brain. She wanted Howard, wanted to please him, and yet it was becoming increasingly apparent that she didn't know how; her vagina alone, so moist now and so filled with his masculinity, apparently wasn't enough any longer to satisfy her man. It would take more and more, she thought dazedly as her orgasm spiraled higher and higher, more and more to please him... more pictures... more eroticism... and, oh God, even sucking him with her mouth.

And then all thoughts save for the crescendoing passion vanished from her mind as she buffeted like a rutting animal back against her husband's invading cock, striving for the crest, almost there, almost there, feeling him hard and deep within her, feeling his hands curving down around her back kneading and manipulating her breasts, almost there, and then... and then...

"Oh God, Howie Howie darling, I'm cumming! Howie, I'm cumminnnnnnggggg!"

But Howard only barely heard her wild cry of release, for his cock in that moment had begun to jerk out of control and torrent after torrent of hot, boiling sperm burst along the full length to thunder into her cunt, commingling with the juices of her own release to form a flood-tide of passion that poured out around his spasming shaft and flowed in thin rivulets down her straining thighs as she murmured mindless, incoherent words of delight and he breathed fire-hot breath against her neck.

And then his prick gave one last spurt of his seed and began to deflate almost immediately inside her wet, clasping vagina and they both sank forward on the carpet, spent and in a state of near-unconsciousness.

Oh Jesus, that was good! Howard thought satiatedly. One of the best ever, even if it was so quick. And it's going to be better and better, once Cindy starts to come around fully...

And Cindy, lying there with the full weight of her husband on top of her, his warm sperm flowing hotly inside her cunt and belly, was thinking different thoughts now in the lulling aftermath of her tremendous orgasm. She was thinking about the pattern of her life, and how it was changing, how she could no longer deny that after what had happened here tonight. But changing for the better, or for the worse? She didn't know yet; she just didn't know yet...

After a long time, Howard raised up and lifted his wife in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. They crawled between the sheets on their bed, and Howard went to sleep almost immediately; but he did not cuddle next to her as he usually did, did not speak to her except to say goodnight, and she had the ominous feeling that she had failed to please him tonight, in spite of the fineness of both their orgasms---failed to please this new Howie who had replaced the quiet, sexually-conservative old one.

Cindy lay beneath the comforting warmth of the bedcovers for some time after her husband left for work. She gazed at the square of diffused light which lit the window shade, knowing she should get up and start the housework, but not wanting to.

She just wanted to huddle there and think miserably of her troubles. Again and again she played over the events of the previous evening: the evening with the Taylors where it became all too apparent to Cindy that they knew of the photos she had allowed Howard to take of her that first night---knew and snidely made comments, mortifying her to the quick!

She moaned involuntarily, momentarily reliving that horrible scene with the Taylors. Were Ralph and Norma as hedonistic as they appeared to be? Was their Polaroid being used for the same immoral purposes? It must be so, for hadn't Ralph given Howard those awful pictures and the newspaper---the ones which had so aroused her own cravings that she had played with herself? The sweet, mentally tortured wife rolled her head back and forth on the pillow. Yes, yes, the answers were all yes.

And worse was the way that Ralph, the manager of her husband's job, was now seemingly becoming a manager of his private life as well. His influence seemed to seep more and more into what she and Howard were doing and enjoying, and this was intolerable. Before... before that horrid camera had been given, her husband had been so kind and gentle in his ways of love, had seemed to understand that she wasn't some salacious glutton, but a sensitive, moral wife. But no longer! She seemed to be unable to keep up with his growing needs, to expand into the world of abandoned, licentious sex where nothing mattered except debauched eroticism.

Only the liquor, that never-ending torrent of alcohol which she had drunk last night, had loosened her to the point where she too was aroused by lewd pictures---though, she now decided with a shudder, nowhere near as strongly excited as her husband was by them. And the drinking had also made her able to participate with Howard, to actually be naked and be made love to before the camera!

The pictures... the pictures... everything seemed to center around them. Howard had been more interested in them last night than he had been in making love to his own wife! His constant running back and forth to set the Polaroid, his snappish answers to her pleas for understanding and patience at her ignorance, of his still more angry response when she refused to take his penis in her mouth...

Oh, God! The whole mess was getting completely out of hand! What could she do? How could she once more garner her husband's attention? She dwelled on the subject, lying there in bed, brooding over the loss of his interest in her, over the way he was turned on by the pictures, over the way she was excited by them... She suddenly sat upright, her hand across her mouth.

No! I'm not like that! I don't like seeing others in private displays of sex acts... of seeing myself do them... no, it's my husband who's like that now, thanks to Ralph Taylor... not me! No, not me! Yet the more her conscious mind rejected the idea that she was incited by such photos to almost overwhelming passion, the more her subconsciousness admitted it. Deep, deep down, underneath all the excuses and rationales she could muster, beat the emotional heart of a truly pagan woman of lust.

All it would take to strip the layers away and bare her soul was the right combination... a combination that her husband and Ralph and Norma Taylor were busily working on, and one which fate would soon take a hand in as well.

At the moment, though, Cindy Jamison was in the throes of agony over her inability to please her husband. What could; she do? The pictures... she had the feeling that in them lay the answer.

It was no good, she said to herself with a sigh, and got up. She padded to the kitchen after throwing a robe around her, put on the coffee and then idly ambled into the living room. There, strewn before her morose, anguished eyes, were the evidences of last night's crime. The camera... still where her husband had left it, the scattered pictures of them in living color performing like two animals, the other pictures and the newspaper on the coffee table. Guiltily she scooped up the photos, averting her eyes from them lest they be offended in the light of the sober morning after, and wrapping them in the paper.

The kettle whistled, and she went back to the kitchen with her bundle. She poured herself a cup of hot coffee and sat on a stool beside the counter and glanced unavoidably at the paper. Inside were the pictures... and outside, staring back at her in black and white, were the little ads she and Howard had read to each other last night.

She re-read them, sipping her coffee, and two distinct things happened. One, a growing, almost gnawing tingling started again down between her legs as she cast her thoughts momentarily from her own grief and into the homes of the advertisers. The average Mr.-and-Mrs. Joneses who were posing naked on their beds and rugs, happily cavorting before the film of the camera and anxiously waiting to swap their experiences for others...

Her subconscious was at work again, building the fire of prurient desires faster than her consciousness could bank the flames. She tightened her inner thigh muscles, wishing away the featherlike proddings of her sensual nature... and, of course, was unable to.

The other thing which happened was the sudden emergence of an idea. The images of the advertisers enjoying themselves in this fashion once more reminded her of Howard. Was not her own husband like the ones in the ads? Didn't he receive a special thrill from exhibiting his sexual passion in front of a lens... and seeing the very same of others? Yes!

And in that instant, the perfect answer burst in her mind. The innocent young wife, so less worldly than other supposedly bolder and more swinging people, suddenly considered exchanging photos... of becoming one of the multitude of members of the Polaroid Club!

The thought made her gasp! She couldn't! That would only be going yet deeper into the pit she was now finding herself falling into. But... the situation as it was certainly was unbearable. She had to find a solution... even if it meant lowering herself. She viewed the blatant, shocking step the way a mountain climber might look down into a chasm while dangling at the end of his rope. To her, the exchange of lewd photographs would be like the climber dropping to a ledge where he could find room to breathe and a way back to the top; something he couldn't do while holding onto the rope where he was.

Still, the whole concept boggled her imagination. Trembling, she downed the coffee and then poured herself another cup. Could she? No... no!

But what other alternative was there? This way she would be pleasing her husband, wouldn't she? Yes, and not only would the pictures themselves make him respond, but she could learn from them as well. She knew that she had much to learn about the techniques of sex-play, that she was inexperienced in the arts of loving a man physically; Howard's reactions were proof of that. She could study the positions---as one would a textbook illustration, of course, she hastily told herself and be a better wife for it. The third reason for "taking the plunge" was actually not a conscious thought at all, but perhaps it was the strongest motivation of all. It was the fact, which she would have hotly denied, that she was excited by the pictures as much, even more, than her husband. She wanted to see others making love, and only the ingrained prudery instilled since birth by her narrow-minded parents prevented her from seeing this and recognizing the emotion for what it was.

The more she mulled over the solution, the more firmly convinced she became that it was the best and only way out. Now excited over the idea, she pored over the ads, looking for one which sounded as though written by sensitive, understanding persons who were suitably a long way away. No, no, not that one... nor this one... perhaps... wait, here's one! She read it carefully:

"Good looking man, mid 30's, well endowed, and beautiful wife would like to exchange intimate photos with similar couple. Varied poses, all good and detailed. Discretion assured. Box C123, Chicago, Illinois.

Yes... about the same age and same background, married and everything, Cindy thought. And they'll keep it a secret, and they're all the way in Chicago...

What harm could be done in trying? What could go wrong? Who could get hurt, and it just might be the one thing to wring Howard and myself back together. I've got nothing to lose except a few cents worth of postage!

Now fired with seal to carry out her plan, Cindy rapidly dressed in a bright yellow silk blouse with a blue antique design across the front and a pair of matching stretch pants. She hummed, smiling as she combed her hair and applied the little makeup she used. Then she returned to the kitchen and got the photographs of herself and Howard, took them to where the wrapping paper and twine was kept, and in a few minutes had a wrapped and addressed little package to send to Box C123.

She didn't put on a return address yet... she didn't know what it would be. Although Cindy was pretty sure that the couple at Box C123 would be trustworthy, she wasn't going to take any chances. That would be disastrous! Instead, she got the idea from the box number to get one of her own. There wasn't time to rent one from the paper... so she'd take out a post office box, right at the main station in downtown Morriston. That way there'd be no chance of anybody finding out where she lived.

The main post office was situated on Second and Market Streets, a large graystone mausoleum of a building built back when authority was measured in how thick the walls were and how high the ceilings. Inside were the operating rooms of the post office, as well as rooms for the few state and federal agencies of which Morriston could boast, such as the Marine and Army recruiting offices. The ground floor, though, was all for the post office, one entering a long, ill lit but wide marble corridor through either side of the building. There were windows all along the hall, some for stamps, others for money orders, still others for a combination of things, and most of them closed. In the middle was a large bank of post boxes in three sizes; the small ones running along the top half, then a few rows of medium sized ones, and then a series of large ones at the bottom. Beside the bank was a window which, by its sign, handled parcel post and the post boxes.

Sitting on a worn wooden stool, his arms lazily draped on the marble counter, was the window's clerk, Steve Samuels. He was bored, not feeling well from drinking too much the previous night, and his bad leg, two inches shorter and smaller than normal because of a birth defect, ached. Besides which, he had read all of the comic books and men's magazines that were scattered around the back of the post office, and he had nothing to do until quitting time. He sighed and rubbed the leather shoe, alleviating for the moment the heaviness of his extra thick built-up heel and sole.

When Cindy Jamison hesitantly approached the window, he suddenly perked up, leering over at her and smacking his thick, rubbery lips. Hey boy! was that owe hell of a woman there... He smirked, noting the twin wedding bands on her finger and knowing full well she'd been fucked and fucked and fucked by her husband.

He couldn't keep his beady eyes off her, his brain fermenting with lascivious thoughts. Her slacks were the tightest pair he had ever seen on a woman, highlighting her rich thighs and pert young buttocks as she walked towards him, and for a crazy instant the clerk thought he could make out the narrow line of her cuntal split. Her breasts strained against the thin blouse, moving rhythmically as she came, and again the afflicted postal clerk couldn't help his erotic thoughts. Is she wearing a bra? Is that all her flesh and was that faint ridge the seams of her bra?... or tight, berry nipples, swaying without hindrance? He licked dry lips. That lucky bastard of a husband, sliding into that luscious body every time he wants it... Too bad I ain't fucking it on the side.

Cindy Jamison saw the clerk, felt his burning gaze on her body, almost blushing at the blatant way he all but undressed her. She had lost much of her original courage and conviction by the time she had parked her car nearby, and it was only with the desire to do something to save her marriage, even as drastic as this, which kept her going into the post office and to the window. The blatantly leering clerk was almost the last straw, almost sending her running out of the building and back to her home.

It was terrible the way he kept staring at her, as though she was some sideshow freak. And him, so small, so ugly, so... so creepy! He wore thick glasses with an odd green tint to the lens which magnified his eyes until they looked frogish and bulging. His skin was the color of oatmeal, yet there was a Mongolian cast to his features like the half- caste Indians of the Amazon or the south-of-the-border mulattos of Tampa's Ybor City. His sparse black hair was greased flat to his narrow skull.

"Yes?" the postal clerk said to her, and his voice matched his looks. It was thin, bitter, raspy... and Cindy could only think of the word, dark, to describe its hint of malice.

"I..." she faltered, her throat parched and tight. "I... want to open a post office box."

"What size do you want?" Samuels asked.

So simple a question, yet for the life of her Cindy couldn't think clearly enough to answer. She was tongue-tied, gripped by panic and indecision now that she was faced with actually going through with the operation. The postal clerk leaned forward and repeated the question. Finally she managed, "A small one. Yes, that's it, just a small one, please."

"Fill out this card," the postal clerk instructed, bringing out a three-by-five printed card. "Name, address, and---"

"Address?" Cindy asked, "but I don't want---"

"Have to have the address down, Ma'am. Postal regulations. We're not allowed to rent boxes unless you have a permanent address. We even have one of the mailmen confirm that you live there, too, so don't put down a false one."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of that!"

The postal clerk chuckled. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He leaned forward again. "Here, use my pen." He studied the twin globes of her magnificent breasts as they moved while she wrote out the information on the card. He could tell she was nervous, that there was something the matter... and his tricky little brain started considering possible reasons.

Cindy handed the card back. The clerk picked it up and squinted carefully at what she had written, memorizing her home address. He grinned intimately and asked, "I see you only want the box for yourself. Don't you want your husband to know?"

The unsuspecting wife reeled with the impertinence of the question. It was almost as if this little, gnarled gnome across the counter could read her mind! Could see the obvious state of her confusion and embarrassment and was capitalizing on it for his own sick, perverted amusement! He continued to stare at her from behind his thick lensed glasses, and for one horrid second, Cindy almost blurted out the truth: that she wasn't going to let Howard know what she'd done because he might think ill of her... or other things might happen between now and when Box C123's pictures arrived which would make this whole questionable idea unnecessary. Then she would simply forget she had done this, never return to the post box, let the rent run out on it and the memory fade...

She hoped the latter would be the case, that nobody would ever know what depths she had been driven to... and now this smirking postal clerk was prying where he had no business being!

"It's a... personal reason," she said, trying to sound curt but knowing that there was a weakness, a dread in her voice.

The clerk nodded and took the card away for a moment, then returned with another slip of paper. He handed the slip to Cindy. "You now have Box 34004, near the end. That'll be three dollars and fifty cents for three months."

Cindy dug into her purse for the money and paid. The clerk made out a receipt. "The combination for the box is on the first slip I gave you; the second one is for your records." The way he said it made Cindy think that he could tell she wasn't going to keep the receipt, but was going to throw it away at once.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice. She stuffed both papers into her purse and then brought out the thin package of pictures. She used the clerk's pen to write her new return address on the wrapping, then handed the parcel to him. "I want to mail this."

Samuels didn't reply, but weighed the package, put on the stamps and a first class sticker and threw it on the table behind him. "Forty-three cents, please," he said, turning back to her.

She paid, waited for the change, and then with chin held high, she walked away. As she neared the post office entrance, she couldn't help experiencing a sudden, uplifting of the spirit. She'd done it! She'd actually gone through with it, renting a box and mailing the pictures! Elation and giddiness swept through her as she realized that she had found the courage to follow through with her idea. Although still not completely convinced as she had been at home about the wisdom of her move, she was proud of her determination.

Steve Samuels, the postal clerk, chuckled to himself as he watched Mrs. Cindy Jamison's trim buttocks pass from his heated view. He rubbed his thin, rough skinned fingers together. Yes sir, he now had an idea what was upsetting that sweet little housewife so much. Now to confirm his suspicions! He got off his stool and limped over to where a large, thick postal directory was kept. He took it down from the shelf, thumbed through its pages until he found what he was looking for. With a triumphant grin across his face, he slammed the book shut and dragged himself back to where he'd put Cindy Jamison's envelope.

The postal book, the size of a major city's phone directory, does not exist in the eyes of the federal authorities. It's existence is hotly denied---but it does, covertly, in every post office in America, and every day it's used by postal clerks like Steve Samuels. It is a private, insidious invasion of each citizen's rights, a direct refutation of the first amendment to the Constitution, and a callous disregard by the government for the right of legal hearing. It lists the names and addresses of whoever the government considers a pornographer or a user of pornography, as well as of other "anti-state" dangers.

The terror, the horror of such a book is the fact that the government authorities who carefully compile this ever-expanding list decide themselves on what is pornography and dangerous and immoral for the public to read. It has no bearing as to court decisions, on the law's definition of what's good or bad, but on some narrow-minded, blue-nosed bureaucrat bent on stamping out his own prejudiced views of prurience. This is why it is kept a secret, for it is highly illegal.

Yet it's there, sitting on some shelf.

And it's used. Used as a powerful stranglehold over the freedom of the individual to live in his own "pursuit of happiness."

It is a prime example how the incompetent, sometimes dishonest and oftentimes ignorant public servants, in Washington D.C. have covertly expanded their power so that we, the PEOPLE, now serve THEM.

It served the weaselly postal clerk, Steve Samuel's evil purposes now. For in it was listed the name and address of the Polaroid Club in Chicago. He slapped the package Cindy had mailed against his thigh and scrambled back on his stool. He fondled it, feeling the hard squares of the pictures, and grinned. Then he slipped the package into his coat pocket and wished it was time to go home.

He could have opened the package then and there---the post office has the power, granted by the Congress of course, to open and search any piece of mail it so desires. It can read the most secret letters an American citizen wishes to write; do so, and without fear of legal action against it. Even the police cannot infringe on the private lives and possessions to this extent---they require a search warrant to enter a house, and a damned good reason for doing so beforehand. But the post office can, at will, invade this privacy, for whatever reason they choose to fabricate.

But the clerk didn't open the package then. He was going to wait until he got home that night, for he had his own, dark plans for the contents...

He didn't bother with dinner that night, but hurried to his dingy, weed-choked clapboard house set in the industrial section of town. He set out food and water for his German Shepherd named Ringo, patting the large animal's head at the thought of what might be in store for the dog as well as for himself, then went inside the house, his thoughts constantly on the package which was burning its way through his pocket. And now he was ready to act. Carefully he slit the paper and withdrew the pictures with palsied, talon-like fingers.

Yes, yes... he drooled as he thumbed through them. God yes, they were every bit as obscene, as lust-provoking as he had thought they might be. He snickered loudly to himself. In just a few days, that lovely girl who now writhed in sexual abandon in the pictures he held would be doing the same for him. Yes, yes, he could hardly wait... and he mentally put himself in the place of her husband in the photos, spearing the sweet, tender cunt of Mrs. Cindy Jamison with all his perverted desires. Ohhhhh, his testicles already ached with the steam of wanting to fuck her! To fuck Cindy Jamison... and more! Other, exciting and lascivious things which weren't shown in the pictures!

Feverishly, he took the set of photos into the bathroom. He pulled the black colored window shade down, then drew the curtains closed. Then he opened a cupboard near the toilet and took out his photography equipment, set a piece of plywood across the bathtub, turned off the regular light and the small red one on instead, and set to work. He soon had a duplicate set of the pictures.

He examined each one meticulously, poring over the details of the naked young Cindy Jamison and her husband fucking until each pose was imprinted on his brain. His bulging eyes followed the contours of her smooth firm buttocks and the soft rounded spheres of her beautiful breasts, their turgid nipples rising high with excitement. He trembled, his thin, venous penis turning to a rock hard rigidity. He could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on that snooty little bitch who had obviously dismissed him as so much dirt today. He had forced many a woman to be fucked by him, but never anything like her... never anything so pure, so innocent, so sheltered.

He groveled at one picture after another, staring at the sweet, unsuspecting wife's nude reclining figure. One photo which held him particularly was where she had drawn one knee up even with her hip, the smooth white flesh of her inner thigh gleaming faintly in contrast to her husband's darker body. The soft blond hairs of her vagina were plainly visible around the outer lips, and he involuntarily drew in a shuddering breath at the lovely sight. The thought of her helplessly mewling under him in the same position goaded his organ into greater throbbings. He silently opened the fly of his pants, easing the pain slightly. He slowly massaged the heavy thick foreskin back and forth over its jerking head, tiny droplets of white seminal fluid already seeping from its tip.

The rod he held in his hand was his great equalizer for his shriveled, ugly body and short stump of a leg. He'd soon be seeing if this Mrs. Jamison would treat him like a dog when he rammed deep between her open thighs and buried it far up inside her aristocratic little belly...

He stood there, staring at the second set of pictures, stroking himself into a hardness which threatened to explode into streaming torrents of hot spurts at any moment. For a second, he considered it, but then thought of a better idea. He stopped his manipulations, not wanting to risk losing the building load of sperm, and went into the living room and the telephone.

He dialed the number of a nearby garage. The head mechanic answered, and the now wildly excited postal clerk asked for Jack Reagan, another of the mechanics. There was a pause, and then a young, firm voice came on the line. "This is Reagan."

"Hello, Jack," the clerk replied. "This is Steve Samuels."

There was utter silence for a moment. Then: "What do you want?" Reagan said in contemptuous tones.

"Now, you shouldn't talk like that, Jack," the clerk said, grinning. "After all, I'm only trying to help you, you know."

"The hell you are, you son of a bitch."

The clerk suddenly flared up in anger, his face a hot red. "Don't call me names, Jack. You hear me? Never!" He calmed down after the outburst, knowing he controlled the situation. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be fired by now, and that would be terrible, what with a six-month- old baby and everything. Think about it, Jack."

"I am," came the trembling response.

"You wouldn't find another good job so easy, either, Jack. The postal authorities would see to that... They don't like men like you; men sick and dirty of mind who are helping destroy the moral fibre of our country."

"Save the lecture. What do you want?"

"Your wife."

"No!" came the horrified gasp. "Not Sally, not again!"

"Yes. Sally, and again!"

"But... but you promised!"

"That was before, Jack."

"Before what?"

"Before the authorities raided a pornographer's house over on the south side of town. Before they found a letter of yours..."

"God! no!" Reagan moaned.

"I went to bat for you again, Jack. All they had was the envelope actually with your address on it. I told them that it must have been a mistake, that I know you and that you're a good, clean, all-American patriot, the pillar of the community. They aren't going to do anything to you... yet! But if I should say something..." he left the threat of what the postal authorities might do to Reagan unsaid, only snickering triumphantly into the mouthpiece.

Reagan's voice was leaden. "So now you want to get paid."

"That's right. I want my little, ah... reward and I want it now. I'm waiting at home. Call that sweet little wife of yours and get her over here fast. I won't be waiting long."

Again there was a long, deathlike pause. Finally Reagan, his voice indicating the surrender he felt, said, "Okay. I'll do it. I'll send her over in a cab, but please be gentle with her this time. And... this has to be the last time."

"Heh, heh," Samuels chuckled. "Of course, Jack. Of course it'll be the last time. And I promise that soon you'll get back those pictures of you and your wonderful wife you tried to send through the mails." He chortled some more, then rang off.

Young, titian-haired, angelic-featured Sally Reagan sat apprehensively squeezing a handkerchief between her small hands in the back seat of a taxi cab as it sped across Morriston. Her slender, high- breasted body was rigid with the foreknowledge of what was about to happen, and a nauseous feeling eddied in the pit of her stomach.

Oh God, she prayed to herself, please don't let it be as bad as the last time. Please, don't. I... I don't think I could stand it!

She twisted the handkerchief convulsively, and an almost inaudible moan of despair burst past her soft, moistly red lips. In her mind's eye she could picture the almost obscenely ugly Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels, with his slobbering, rubbery lips and his claw-like hands and his... his horribly huge penis! She moaned again, loud enough so that the cab driver glanced up into the rear-view mirror, frowned, and asked her if she was okay.

She quickly replied that she was and sank lower in the seat, twisting the handkerchief into a twisted rope in her fingers. Why, oh, why, had she consented to come tonight? When Jack had telephoned her from work, and told her of Samuels' call to him and what the weasly blackmailer wanted, she had almost become sick as all the disgusting perversions of that last time flooded instantaneously back into her conscious mind. She couldn't go through the same hell again; she couldn't! And yet she had known that she had to, knew that now as well. If she didn't... submit to Samuels' demands, then the depraved Postal Clerk would have Jack fired, would ruin him completely through some evil stretching of the truth. And Jack's was a specialized job, which would make it very hard for him to get another. Too, there was the baby---little Jimmy---to think about, and the fact that they'd just bought a small, modest home and had to meet the payments on it promptly or risk losing their equity...

No, she was doing the right thing. She could endure another night of horror at the hands of the lust-insane civil servant, if it meant saving her home and her husband's job---and if it meant that those... those photos which Samuels possessed would never be exposed to nationwide gutter distribution.

Those damnable photographs! Why had she ever allowed Jack to take them of her, with the Polaroid his brother had let him borrow? She should have known better, but she had done it in a moment of passion, wanting to please the man she loved and that, too, was the reason she had decided to send them off for exchange, with Jack's eager approval, to members of the Polaroid Club whose newspaper Jack had somehow found. God, if she'd but known Samuels was going to find out about them, get his hands on them, blackmail the unsuspecting Reagans in such a perverted manner... But she hadn't known, and now it was too late; she---and Jack, too, although he didn't have to suffer the indignities she did---was completely at the mercy of the warped Postal Clerk.

Sally, distraught and helpless, looked up then through the window at the black night outside. Let this be the last time, she prayed. Please, God, let this be the last time.

She rubbed at her damp eyes with the handkerchief, peering out through the window. The surroundings were now familiar---an old, dingy, run-down section of Morriston and a shudder coursed through the frightened, tormented young wife's warm, vibrant body.

They were almost there.

Sitting in the front room of his ramshackle house, his wizened hands busily working among the contents of the wooden coffee table before him, Steve Samuels grinned in drooling anticipation of the arrival of the tender young Sally Reagan. Oh, he was going to fuck her good tonight! He was going to subject her to every trick in the book, goddamned right he was!

He would do to her, he reflected, the same things he would do to that uppity Mrs. Jamison... sort of a preliminary to the main event. And Mrs. Cindy Jamison was a main event, no doubt about that. His cock throbbed with aching desire as his fingers worked almost independent of his mind, with practiced ease, for his was a task he had performed many times before.

On the coffee table were a small cigarette-rolling machine, several packages of wheat-straw papers, a scarred wooden cigarette box, and a large cellophane bag filled with a dark brown, shredded leaf that resembled tobacco but wasn't tobacco at all.

It was Acapulco Gold, the best marijuana money could buy.

The weaselly postal clerk chuckled lewdly as his dexterous fingers fashioned yet another pot stick. He'd been damned lucky to get grass as good as this, and he'd had to pay a premium for it, too; but it was worth it, every penny. Good stuff like this really turned them on, these young bitches like Mrs. Sally Reagan (and yes, like Mrs. Cindy Jamison as well); it made them forget their inhibitions, their fear and hatred of him, so that they were his complete slaves to subjugate and to do with as he would. They never forgot a session with Steve Samuels, the perverted government employee boasted to himself; and they were never really the same afterwards...

His huge German Shepherd, Ringo, came bounding in from the kitchen, where Samuels had put out a large bowl of raw meat. The great animal, sleek and bright-eyed, its long red tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, sat on its haunches next to its master, tail wagging. The Postal Clerk chuckled again, finished rolling one last cigarette, and then leaned back on the sofa, reaching down to pat Ringo on the head.

"So you're eager, too, eh, my friend?" he chortled. "Well, don't worry. You're going to get your share of young Mrs. Sally Reagan tonight- -just like you've gotten your share of the others. And you're going to get plenty of young Mrs. Cindy Jamison, too, of that I promise you. She's going to feel your prick jammed all the way up to her hot little titties, Ringo, don't you worry."

The lewd mental image of the beast's speckled red cock buried in the tight, warm, clasping pussy of the haughty Cindy Jamison caused Samuels own prick to leap into erection. Damn, he was horny tonight! He was going to really fuck little miss Sally, all right---but first, there would be games to play. Games he had perfected with a half-dozen other unsuspecting housewives in Morriston, housewives who had foolishly attempted to send lewd, pornographic items through the United States mails. Games which left them slavering and begging for his mammoth cock to rip their cunts wide and fill them with hot boiling cum...

The evil clerk began to rub his erect prick through his pants, slowly, tantalizingly, his wizened face split into an animalistic grin of lust. It had been a fine day, The Finest Day, when the government had passed the new Postal regulation allowing the Department to open anyone's mail without them being present, under the guise of checking for obscenity or subversive activities or even upon the slightest suspicion of anything illegal or immoral. And the most beautiful part about that regulation was, he could do it himself, on his whim, without asking permission of his superiors!

Oh, it was a grand day, the day of the passage of that regulation! He had complete access to the entire mail input and output of the city of Morriston; he could open letters, packages, registered envelopes at will--- and he had. Intuition and the illegal directory of names had led him to suspect certain ones, and at least half the time he had found some kind of incriminating material. He had several mild photos and some letters that were written by respectable wives in the community that, on the surface, were seemingly innocent; but turned over to the wives' husbands, they would be damning. And, of course, he had found some juicy items as well, like the photos Jack Reagan and his wife, Sally, had taken together. They were really something! But all he needed to open negotiations with the erring wives was one small indiscretion, just enough to use as a threat and as a fulcrum to lever them into his house and his bed. His list of names was ever-growing, too, and his insatiable cock, his perverted, insatiable brain, had at long last began to reap their rewards. Some day, he might have as many as twenty-five or thirty young, beautiful Morriston wives at his beck and call, for as long as the Postal regulation allowing him to indiscriminately open the public's private mail was in effect, he could never be thwarted. He had power, power, POWER!

Faster and faster the wickedly-grinning clerk's hand rubbed back and forth over his swollen prick as he gazed into the future, planning impossible orgies with a dozen women and more, planning games and perversions which boggled even his imagination. His glazed eyes sought and found the old wall clock.

Hurry up, Mrs. Sally Reagan, he thought. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

The taxi cab stopped in front of the dingy, clapboard house---the place which beautiful Sally Reagan, in her own mind, had dubbed The House of Humiliation. She shuddered again, her trembling fingers digging inside her purse.

The cab driver turned to look at her over the seat. "You sure this is the place you want to go, lady? Looks like an opium den, or something." He laughed.

"Y-yes, this is the place," Sally quavered, convulsing violently at the driver's innocent comment about "an opium den;" if only he knew what went on inside that house! She found a dollar bill, shoved it into the driver's hand, and then got out of the cab.

She stood on the cracked sidewalk a moment as the taxi meshed gears and pulled away from the curb, trying to compose herself. How should she behave this time? Not like the last---whining, piteous, obviously fear- wracked, obviously filled with hatred for her tormentor---for that only made things worse, only made Samuels do more foul things to her helpless body. No, this time she would be like ice, like a mannequin; she wouldn't plead with him, curse him, scream at him. She would let him use her as he would, and in that way get it over with as quickly as possible so that she could go home to the safety of her own house, where baby Jimmy slept in his crib under the watchful eye of the babysitter, where Jack would come to comfort her in the night.

Straightening to her full height, the long-legged, slim-hipped, black-haired young wife walked quickly up the tangled, jagged path to the front door of the house and rang the bell.

It was opened almost immediately, and the evilly-leering countenance of the Postal Clerk, Steve Samuels, materialized only inches from her own face. In spite of herself, Sally gasped and took a faltering half-step backward to see once again, up close, the ugly, twisted features of this mentally deranged man.

"Well, well, it's about time, Mrs. Reagan," croaked Samuels, opening the door wider. "My cock has been hard for half an hour, just thinking about you and your fine young body, heh heh. Come in, come in."

Sally's eyes inadvertently dropped to the front of his pants, saw the bulge there, the stain on the material, and she shuddered again. But then she composed herself and stepped past him, careful not to touch him, and walked proud and tall into the cluttered living room.

Samuels, licking his rubbery lips, followed her and said, "Sit down on the sofa there, Mrs. Reagan. In front of the coffee table there." He laughed obscenely. "As you can see, I've set out a few photos from my album for you to look at. And you're in them. You and your husband, Jack. I know you'll be interested in seeing them again, even if you have seen them before."

Sally closed her eyes, blinked them open, and crossed to the couch, sitting down as Samuels had directed her. She didn't look at the pictures displayed on the corroded surface of the table.

The wizened clerk crossed to her and stood in front of the table, looming over her, looking down at her silky black hair, at the full swell of her rich, creamy breasts, at the taper of her soft downy thighs. His cock leapt violently, and his balls ached with the buildup of his semen.

"Take your dress off, Mrs. Reagan," he husked. "It's warm in here. Make yourself comfortable."

Like a marionette, the evil clerk's voice its strings, Sally stood woodenly and pulled the simple cotton shift she wore over her head and tossed it aside. Then, quickly, she sat down again, clad only in a thin, wispy bra and panty briefs. She wouldn't look at Samuels at all.

His breath quickened as he saw her half-naked before him, and his eyes traveled like hungry beetles over her firm, resilient flesh. Her breasts were high and proud, good breasts, but not as good and as voluptuous as those of Mrs. Cindy Jamison, he reflected. Still, he wanted to see them in all their splendor, nakedly presented to his lusting eyes.

"Take your bra off, Mrs. Reagan," he commanded, his hand dropping down to his bulging pants and stroking lightly.

Obediently, the tormented young woman reached behind her and unhooked the fasteners of her gauzy bra. She let it fall away, leaning back a little to pull her firm, pinkish-red-capped breasts up high as she knew he wanted her to; there would be no need for him to tell her lewdly what to do on this night.

"You have nice tits, Mrs. Reagan," wheezed Samuels, rubbing his swollen cock. He had unzipped his fly now, and his fingers were traveling eagerly over the surface of his shorts. "Very nice tits. I like them, Mrs. Reagan. I like them very much."

Sally stifled the low groan which threatened to escape her throat, and remained sitting there almost like a statue. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Oh, God, what kind of filthy things its he going to do to me tonight? No... no, I can't think about them, I can't think ahead... have to make my mind a blank, a blank...

Samuels came around the coffee table, still massaging his huge prick with his fingers, and sat down next to the beautiful, almost completely naked young wife. His rubbery lips were parted wide, and thin rivulets of saliva coursed out at their corners. His eyes were fever bright. "Won't you have a cigarette, Mrs. Reagan," he said gratingly. "It will relax you while you look through the pictures. These are good cigarettes, Mrs. Reagan; you've had them before, remember?"

Pot! Her mind screamed. Oh, no, not more marijuana! She remembered the last time, how he had forced her to smoke one of the little brown cigarettes, and another, how she had become giddy and light-headed, responding to his commands almost eagerly as the fear and disgust left her body under the influence of the drug. But wait... maybe that was the best thing now... yes, for if she allowed herself to become high under the emotion-numbing drug the evening would go quickly and she would not be fully cognizant of the certain perversions he would perform upon her unwilling flesh. Yes, she had to get high, very high... pretend it was Jack touching her body as Samuels would surely touch it, pretend that her loving husband's penis was being thrust inside her when the time came instead of the grotesque monster of this gnome-like fiend... yes, that was what she would do, that was how she would survive this night...

Almost eagerly, Sally Reagan's fingers sought the scarred humidor on the table next to the pictures and next to an odd looking, black-cased, slender thing she had never seen before. She opened the box, extracted one of the crude brown cigarettes, and placed it between her soft, moist lips. Beside her, Samuels snapped a lighter into flame with his left hand, his right still stroking his blood-heavy penis, and lit the cigarette.

The young wife drew smoke into her lungs, holding it there as he had taught her that first time, releasing it finally. Then she repeated the process, and a third and fourth time.

"That's fine, Mrs. Reagan, that's just fine," Samuels croaked. "Now the pictures. Look at the pictures while you smoke. Look at them, now."

Already, after the first deep drag, the marijuana cigarette was beginning to have an effect on the tense young woman, relaxing her somewhat, making some of the fear and loathing and hate di sappear, and she reached out and lifted the stack of photos. She held them up to her eyes, drawing on the stick again, then began to shuffle through them.

She knew them well, these snapshots. Jack and she had taken them together that night several months ago, with his brother's Polaroid. God, she wished she had never seen them, wished they had never existed! But she had seen them, and they did exist, and she looked at them, at one after another of them...

Jack and she, lying on their bed, with her hand circling his huge, erect penis while his middle finger was extended and half-buried in the warm, glistening folds of her wide splayed pussy... Jack with his lips pressed to one of her jutting breasts, while his extended finger tickled her erect, quivering clitoris... Jack with his mouth buried in her pubic hair, and her thumb rubbing across the swollen head of his penis... Jack with his head full between her wide-splayed thighs, his tongue pressed into the tingling flanges of her tenderly excited femininity and her face twisted grotesquely with the joy of the warm, wet contact... her, now, with her lips on his stomach while she stroked his organ and his testicles... her with mouth poised above the red, seminally-lubricated head of his member... her with her mouth closed over the head now, sucking as her fingers tickled his scrotum (God, she remembered the taste of his penis, the bittersweet flavor of his masculinity; she had liked it, because it was her husband and she loved him and wanted to please him, but now it seemed so revolting and obscene)... her with the full length of his great member pressed tight into her ovaled lips, her nose gently tickling his wiry pubic hair... the two of them on the bed, she straddling Jack, her buttocks raised to the camera, knees spread wide on either side of him, his penis inserted into the shimmering, petal-opened expanse of her vagina as she rocked back on it while kissing him full on the mouth... the same photo, only with Jack's middle finger teasing along and partly inserted in the tiny, rubbery opening of her anal passage...

"You like them, don't you, Mrs. Reagan?" Samuels intoned next to her, his fingers inside his under pants and wrapped around his trembling cock now. "You like them, and you're getting hot looking at them, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," Sally heard herself answer. "Yes, yes."

"Then lean back and put your hand down between your legs," commanded the Postal Clerk throatily. "Play with yourself like I'm doing, Mrs. Reagan. Put your fingers in your cunt, Mrs. Reagan. Ah, that's it... no, no, don't pull your panties down. Just pull them aside between your legs, and put your finger in your slit... yes, yes, now you've got it!"

Under his droning directions, the young marijuana-drugged housewife had begun to slide her middle finger slowly, slowly, up and down the moistening expanse of her tender young vaginal slit, feeling the juices of her femininity begin to flow in spite of the situation and because of her relaxed state of being. It's Jack's finger, not my own, she told herself over and over, it's Jack's finger, not my own...

Samuels, tremendously excited now by the sight of the sweet young woman slowly masturbating before him, removed the swollen, blood-engorged penis from his underpants, letting it jut high into the air as his claw- like fingers stroked it up and down. Goddamn, but this was really living! To have young married sluts like this at his mercy were the finest moments of his life, the things he really lived for... Jesus, Jesus, how he loved to torment the haughty goddamned young bitches for his own pleasure!

"Another cigarette," he wheezed. "Here, I'll light it for you... no, no don't take your fingers out of your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Keep playing with your clit while you smoke... good, good!"

The second marijuana joint relaxed the young woman even more, and she felt all her emotions go gently ebbing away, so that she was relaxed to a large degree and no longer apprehensive. And... yes, she was beginning to feel, in spite of her hopeless situation, a gentle tingling in her softly warm cunt. Jack's doing it, Jack's doing it, Jack's getting me excited like he always does, Jack Jack Jack...

She finished the second joint, and her head was swimming now, her finger moving with increasing rapidity in her cuntal valley, her eyes glazed over and her breasts heaving. The Postal Clerk, watching her and stroking his own burgeoning genitalia, snickered aloud as he saw the mounting sexuality in the young wife brought about by the marijuana and the pictures and her own manipulations. She was going to be fine tonight, a regular goddamned hellcat; he'd teach her a thing or two, son-of-a-bitch if he wouldn't!

"On the table, Mrs. Reagan," he droned. "The vibrator... yes, that. Now take it in your hand... good, good, there's a little button on the bottom... click it forward, now you've got it."

Vibrator? What... what did he want her to do with that? Sally thought in her torpor. It was an ugly thing, black-cased, resembling an elongated candle stick with a rounded head---almost phallic-looking, like a slender, ugly penis. It was slippery in her hand, and when she clicked the button forward as he had directed it began a gentle tingling against her palm and she saw that the rounded head was oscillating from side to side with a steady rhythm. Vibrator, vibrating against her hand... what did he expect her to do with...?

"Now," Samuels whispered hotly, "put it down between your legs, Mrs. Reagan!" She seemed to stiffen. "B-between my legs?"

"You heard me, you little bitch!" he flared. "Do what I tell you, goddamnit, or I ruin that fine young husband of yours! Now put the vibrator down between those hot little thighs of yours... that's it, that's it... pull the band of your panties farther over so that you can get the head of the vibrator up your cunt... now you've got it! Move it up and down, up and down, up and down... ohhh, you're doing fine, Mrs. Reagan, just fine!"

The young wife felt the tingling vascillation of the battery-powered vibrator against the moist sensitive flesh of her vaginal region and her entire body began to shudder tremulously. Oh, God, oh, God, it... it feels good! It feels good, up and down, up and down, it's sick and disgusting with him watching me doing it to myself but it feels sooo good...

She was excited now, in her drugged state, and her hips began to move back and forth restlessly on the soft material of the sofa. Samuels watched with bated breath as she moved the slender black vibrator up and down between her widely spread thighs, holding the crotchband of her panties away from the glistening wet folds of her tight, hair-fringed young cunt.

"Shove it inside now!" he hissed excitedly. "Shove it all the way up your cunt, Mrs. Reagan! Do it, do it now!"

Sally's mind seemed to rebel for a moment to reject that totally alien concept of inserting a vibrating instrument, a mechanical creation, into herself. But the marijuana, mixed with her predisposition to obey and thus bring to a hopefully rapid conclusion this night of horror, finally overcame the objection of her morality. She let the oscillating head of the instrument move along each of the tender, softly pink lips of her pussy, back and forth, and then, slowly, she inserted a little more of the head of the vibrator inside, spreading her legs as wide as she could and drawing the band of her panties wide across her open pubic area. The machine tingled inside, tingled, and she felt passion begin to flow through her as the electrical device teased the buttery walls of her vagina.

"All the way in, all the way inside your cunt!" Samuels prodded breathlessly, his hand wildly stroking his exposed cock.

And she obeyed, thrusting the tingling vibrator deep, deep inside her until she could feel its oscillating head pressing maddeningly against her cervix. The sensations brought low moans from her throat, caused her to flair her head from side to side abandonly. Her high, rounded breasts were sheened with sweat, bobbing excitedly on her chest.

The evil civil servant could scarcely stand the excitement of witnessing the subjugated young wife thrusting the vibrator far up into her own belly. He was becoming so hot now that he knew his balls would soon burst. And yet, he had to hold out for just a little while longer... his own pleasure was foremost, of course, but there was one other thing to think about as well, his true and trusted friend to think about. He couldn't cum until his friend had had his fill of this black-haired little married bitch next to him.

He turned his head reluctantly from the salacious sight of the young wife masturbating herself with the vibrator, and looked in the direction of the kitchen, his eyes glinting wickedly and his slobbering lips parted wide.

"Ringo!" he shouted. "Here, Ringo boy!"

At once, the huge, furry form of the Postal Clerk's German Shepherd came bounding in from the kitchen, panting eagerly as if it had been waiting anticipatorily for its master's call. Chuckling, Samuels patted the animal on the head, still rubbing his erect penis. Then he said to the young housewife, "Take the vibrator out of your cunt now, Mrs. Reagan. Rub your breasts with it, make them nice and hard, make your nipples tingle. Hurry now!"

Slowly, obediently, and almost hesitantly she withdrew the oscillating device from her trembling vagina, moved it up to her quivering breasts. It was wet with her lubrications and seemed to glisten maniacally in the light from the naked overhead fixture. She pressed it to her breasts, in her drugged state not noticing because of her tightly closed eyes the presence of the great, panting German Shepherd.

"Keep the band of your panties pulled over, Mrs. Reagan!" ordered Samuels. "And keep your legs spread wide. All right, good... now, Ringo, now you can go!"

The massive dog went directly to the girl, its enormous jowls parted and its long, furled tongue panting wetly, redly. Then its cold snout pressed against one of Sally Reagan's thighs, and she froze, her eyes opening and staring down at the beast which sniffed hungrily between her thighs.

My God, my God! her mind protested. Not that dog again! Oh, dear Lord, please not that dog again!

But even as she thought this, she knew what was about to happen, knew she was about to be subjected once again to the most horrible of perversions, to the sexual attack of a dog! She wanted to leave, to leap to her feet and run, to get out of that House of Horror and yet she remained immobile, knowing that she must submit, that there were things of more importance than a single night of personal depravity at stake. She pressed the vibrator tight to her swollen breasts, rubbing it back and forth across her already throbbing, hungrily aching nipples as she watched in mesmeric terror the German Shepherd lowering its huge head down between her naked, defenseless thighs.

Tail wagging excitedly, Ringo sniffed at the trembling, moist-haired slit exposed beneath the pulled-aside panties. Then its tongue snaked out with a long exploratory lick on the fluted edges of the tender-cunt, causing the young housewife to shudder violently and her hips to begin to move reflexively. The dog ran its tongue wetly the full length of the young wife's exposed slit, up and down her pink vaginal lips from the wetly flowing entrance to her throbbing clit, then back again, then up again, flicking relentlessly the juices of her flaming passion. Mewls of shame and delight, the ambivalent mixture which coursed through Sally Reagan's body, burst from her lips as the German Shepherd continued to plunder her tender pussy with its long, glistening tongue.

"Wider!" shouted Samuels' lust-incited voice. "Pull your panties wider so he can get his tongue up inside your pussy! Goddamn you, do what I say, you little bitch! Spread those legs wide so Ringo can put his tongue into your cunt!"

She did as he bid, pulling the panties over as far as she could without ripping them, and the immense dog responded immediately by flicking its long tongue into the wetly pink opening of her vagina, its cold snout pressed tightly to her vulva as it eagerly licked at the juices of her desire. She moaned aloud now, tossing her head and her body, her free hand coming down in helpless surrender to convulsively grasp the great furry head buried in her hungrily clasping young cunt.

Oh, Jesus, oh, goddamn son of a bitch! the wizened Postal Clerk thought. What a sight! That little bitch with her legs spread and Ringo's tongue flicking into her hot little cant, while she rubs the vibrator over her tits! I can't take much more of this before I blow my wad! Should I keep beating my cock while Ringo licks her pussy, and then cum all over her goddamned sweet little face? That would be good... no, no, wait! A better idea! I'll have Ringo fuck her from behind and shoot his cum into her snobbish little cunt. And at the same time, I'll shove my cock into her mouth and fuck her face and blow my cum down her throat! Yes, yes, oh; God how exciting this is going to be!

Sally Reagan was almost insensate with passion now as she felt the fire-hot tongue of the dog licking wildly at her cunt. She was past all- caring, for her mind was controlled completely by the forces of lust and drug. Her pussy was on fire, her breasts were on fire, her brain was on fire... she knew nothing else, cared about nothing else... she was a helpless slave, a tool in the hands of the evil sorcerer who sat next to her, stroking his burgeoning penis and shouting obscenities and encouragements to the German Shepherd.

It was time, it was time! thought the lust-crazed clerk.

He leapt to his feet, his cock jutting blood-red out in front of him in the palm of his hand, and screamed, "Back, Ringo! Back, boy! You're going to get plenty in a minute, you're going to fuck this little bitch like I know you've been wanting to! Be patient, Ringo! Back!"

With apparent reluctance, the huge beast drew back from between the quivering thighs of the young wife, sitting on its haunches with eyes that seemed almost as glazed as its master's. Then Samuels commanded harshly, "Take your panties off, Mrs. Reagan. Make yourself naked, you hot little bitch! Then get down on the floor, by the table there, down on the floor on all fours like the little bitch you are! You're in heat, and we have to see that you're serviced, don't we?" He cackled with almost an insane lust.

The beautiful housewife, responding like an automaton, stood up and stripped off her last remaining garment, revealing the dog-saliva soaked expanse of her naked, softly hair-fringed cunt completely to the eager eyes of the Postal Clerk, then, in total surrender, dropped down on all fours on the floor.

"Move your knees apart and get your ass higher up in the air!" directed Samuels. "Open that cunt up! Now you're in the right position, aren't you, Mrs. Reagan? Answer me!"

"Ye-yes!"

"You want to be fucked, don't you?"

"Yes, yes!"

"You want dog cock inside you, don't you?"

"Yes, oooohhhhh yes!"

"You heard her, Ringo!" screamed Samuels. "Fuck her, boy! Climb on her ass and fuck her like the bitch in heat she is!"

The dog seemed to need no further encouragement. It ran in one graceful jump to the quivering buttocks of the girl, sniffed the moistened expanse of her pubic exposure a single time, and then climbed up on her from behind, its long, shining, wetly red penis coming into view from its concealment in the furry sheath of the animal's loins. The tapered head slid in and out of the wet covering as the German Shepherd fought to bury its cock deep in the waiting, subjugated young wife's cunt. The beast's forepaws sawed rhythmically at her waist, its long tongue lolling out on the smooth, textured surface of her back.

"He's ready, Ringo's ready!" Samuels was beside himself with fiery lust now, his hand beating his cock until it seemed to be a blur of motion, standing over the girl and the dog like some evil and perverted film director shouting arrangements for a new scene. "Reach back and take his cock in your hand, Mrs. Reagan! Put it into your cunt! Put my dog's prick in your pussy, Mrs. Reagan! Help him fuck you, put it in, put it in!

Sally's hips rotated in mad anticipation and her mind told her it was her husband, not a dog her husband, not a dog. She reached back to grasp the slippery organ pressing against the back of her thigh, its redness contrasting almost ludicrously with her soft pink cunt lips. It slipped from her fingers, but she grasped it again, guiding the huge penis into her soft, hair-fringed slit, spreading the opening wider and wider until it seemed as if she would surely split apart. The animal bucked wildly, driving his immense cudgel deep into the young wife's squirming pussy, slammed home; its monstrous balls bounced against her defenseless pubic mound as she lunged backward reflexively to meet the panting dog's forward thrusts. Her face was contorted mindlessly now, and she buffeted back against the invading prick, thinking it was her husband's cock, Jack fucking her, as the monstrous animal drove its crimson penis faster and faster, deeper and deeper, into her moist, quivering vagina.

Got to Muck her face, now, right now, while Ringo is fucking her cunt with his big dog cock! the depraved Postal Clerk thought. Got to shove my prick into that soft, tender mouth of hers and fill it up with cum, choke her with my cum!

Feverishly, Samuels lay supine on the threadbare rug, twisting his body so that his loins were beneath the bobbing, jerking head of the young woman. He held his cock up to her, like some obscene offering of wonderment while Ringo, the German Shepherd, continued to thrust his great red cock deep into her cunt.

"Suck me!" he screeched. "Suck my cock, Mrs. Reagan! Take it in your mouth! Hurry, do it now!"

The young housewife obeyed, screwing her hips back hard on the thundering penis of the great dog mounted upon her, filled with uncontrollable lust and total subjugation. Her sweet, softly warm lips opened over the naked loins of the wizened civil servant, her tongue slipping forward between them so that it was poised less than an inch over the throbbing penile head. One hand came up to grasp his huge, swollen cock tightly, and then her head moved slowly downward, boring teasingly at the dilated opening. Samuels sucked in his breath at the electrifying contact, and he groaned aloud as the young wife opened her mouth wide and enclosed the whole of his smooth, fleshy cock with her hot, damp interior cheeks. Her mouth tightened, and her tongue began to swirl around the crown like some fantastic dervish; he raised his loins high, twisting his body so that he was lying almost parallel with her, his face near her churning hips and his eyes glaring feverishly up at the jerking German Shepherd's cock buried far up into the voraciously clasping channel of the insensate woman.

Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn! his warped brain howled as he watched the firm, resilient breasts of the young wife dance tightly beneath her writhing body as the huge dog drove his flailing hot cudgel deep into her cunt. Fuck her good, Ringo boy, Muck her good! Fuck her Muck her, oh, Jesus, I'm going to cum any second now her mouth is like warm honey around my cock and I'm Mucking her face like I like to do to all these hot young bitches... oooooohhhhhhh!

Young Sally Reagan was now reduced to little more than a quivering mass of flesh between the pounding onslaught of the dog's cock in her pussy, the heaving girth of the sweating Postal Clerk's prick shoved deep between her ovaled lips. Her torso whipped madly from side to side and she rammed her buttocks with abandoned frenzy back against the animal, her mouth working voraciously over and around the palpitating cock of the toady man who bucked his loins into her face, licking and sucking his prick as if it were Jack's, her husband's, as if she were trying to please the man she loved...

And then, without advance warning, the panting, thrusting German Shepherd began to spew hot fire-torrents of sticky white animal cum from its flame-red cock, leaping like molten drops of lava into the very core of her body. Thick sperm oozed from her cunt as it clasped the jerking prick of the dog, began to trail down along the backs of her thighs.

Samuels saw the animal sperm erupting around Ringo's prick, and the sight triggered his own tremendous orgasm. He screamed high and loud, his eyes rolling in their sockets, bucking and heaving his buttocks upward to drive the full length of his huge penis into the mouth of young Sally Reagan, filling it, threatening to strangle her. Then his balls erupted their great buildup of semen, sent jets of white fire shooting the full length of his spasming prick to flow deep against the larynx of the wildly convulsed young wife, filling her mouth to overflowing so that his cum poured out around his cock locked tightly in her lips to flow down her chin as Ringo's cum was flowing down her thighs. She swallowed spasmodically to keep from choking, her lips and tongue nuzzling and licking the jerking cock of the wizened government employee, swallowing as much of his semen as she could as his testicles seemed to empty forth a never-ending stream of the bittersweet liquid.

Then, at last, it was over for the completely enslaved wife. She felt the dog's huge prick slid from her quivering passage to retreat back into its furry crevice, felt the cold snout nuzzle her as if in compliment and then retreat. And, too she felt the now-deflated cock of Steve Samuels slide from between her semen-glistening lips with a soft, gentle plopping sound. She collapsed forward in that moment, falling across Samuels' naked thighs, uncaring of that which pillowed her body, thinking in her drug---hazed mind, It's over now, it's over, Jack has cum, both Jacks have cum in my pussy and my mouth and it's over...

But it was not over, not by any stretch of the imagination. Young Sally Reagan had only begun to participate in an evening of such lewd carnality that it would leave her almost witless at its end. For Steve Samuels, with remarkable regenerative powers, had his huge, swollen cock half-hard again even as she lay exhausted over his legs and the dog, Ringo, was sniffing once again at her still throbbing cuntal region.

"Suck me again, Mrs. Reagan," commanded the civil servant. "Suck me to full hardness. I want to fuck your cunt next, fuck your cunt like Ringo just did. Come on, Mrs. Reagan, suck me some more with your soft, soft little mouth."

And Sally obeyed, mouthing Samuels erect again, so that he could fuck her---submitting to other, incredible injustices involving the perverted clerk and his insatiable German Shepherd on and on into the night, on and on and on...

And then, at last, Samuels allowed her to dress and called her a taxi. When it arrived, he led her child-like form to the door, reveling in the knowledge that he had made her this slavish zombie with his great cock and his huge dog. "Go home to your husband, now, you little slut!" he taunted. "You're nothing but a little whore, and you deserve that pimp of a husband of yours. Serves you right, serves you both right, for filling our mails with your lewd pornographic pictures!"

He cackled obscenely as she half-ran, half-stumbled down to the waiting taxi. He watched her practically fall inside, watched the cab speed away, and he thought: I did everything to her tonight that I wanted to do---except fuck her in the asshole. But that's all right, because I'm saving that exciting little game for someone else, for someone much more exciting than this little Reagan bitch.

I'm saving it for a one Mrs. Cindy Jamison.

He cackled again as he shut the door and went back to the living room, the German Shepherd Ringo at his side. Yes, this was only a preliminary, all right. Mrs. Jamison was going to be the main event, the new conquest. He could hardly wait until he saw the expression on her face when he first confronted her with her picture, because that was the one thing that really turned him on, excited him above all else.

He went to bed then and slept the sleep of the guileless, dreaming all the while of Cindy Jamison and what he would do to her, how he would fuck her and subject her to his every whim, how he would subjugate her as he had Mrs. Sally Reagan.

Oh, it wouldn't be long now, not very long at all.

And then Cindy Jamison, that stuck-up little whore-bitch, would be begging him on hands and knees for his mercy...

Cindy sat dejectedly on the living room couch staring thoughtfully into a martini glass. Her head whirled from the fifth one she had drunk since arriving with her husband and the Taylors. The talk was lively around her; the other three in a similar, lightheaded condition from drinking, though not saddened.

She hadn't wanted to be part of the foursome tonight, feeling worse than she had when Ralph and Norma had taken her and Howard to dinner at The Gandydancer. She had pleaded with Howard when he'd called during the afternoon that she wasn't feeling well, that her head ached from the previous night, that... well, none of her excuses had worked, she thought ruefully. Here she was, once more with her head spinning from too much to drink, surrounded by loud, boisterous, crude talk.

Worse, she wasn't even in her own home, where, if things got out of hand or her own emotional breaking point was reached, she could have fled to the sanctity of her bedroom. Or what was left of that sanctity, she concluded harshly. Howard had changed so drastically, especially since that night when she had allowed those nude Polaroid pictures to be taken... for since then, there had been three successive nights when he had wanted to repeat that horrible performance, to once more set up the tripod and camera and writhe in abandon on the rug, or, as the case last night, on the bed. The very sheets seemed now permeated with debauchery, with the sins of carnality, and the remembrance of how he had tried again to push her head down on his penis and the coldness with which he had treated her afterwards when she had refused to do it brought tears brimming to her eyes. She wiped them carefully and took another heavy gulp of the martini, wincing slightly as it burned its way down her throat.

And tonight, this party was the crowning blow. Howard had actually threatened her on the phone, caustically overriding her objections with brutal words. "You're coming tonight, Cindy," he grated over the phone. "You're coming and you're going to like it. Understand? It's high time you learned which side of the bread the butter's on, and if my boss wants us to go to his cabin tonight, then we're damned well going up there."

"Howie..." she'd wailed, trembling with his angered voice.

"Don't Howie me," he'd snapped back. "Get into a pair of slacks and a nice blouse, comb your hair and be ready to leave as soon as I get home at six. And have a smile on your face, too!" And with that, he'd hung up so harshly that the sound had hurt her ears.

The distraught young wife, completely confused as to what would now bring her previously idyllic marriage back together, overwhelmed by the forceful way Howard's raucous boss had taken a more than guiding influence, terrified at the prospect of a total breakdown of her life, whimpered softly on the couch of the Taylor's mountain cabin. She finished the last drop of the martini and reached forward for the pitcher on the coffee table and poured herself another. The liquor dulled the anguish which pained her, at least, and made this nightmare of an evening a tolerable thing.

The trip to Ralph's cabin retreat had taken several hours, and had been frequently punctuated by stops at taverns and cocktail lounges along the way. Ralph had also brought along a thermos of daiquiris, which he had passed around as he drove, and all the while he and Howard and Norma had discussed everything under the sun in animated, ever louder voices. The sun had already set and the air was a bit nippy when at last they pulled up in front of the stone and redwood cabin, set at the edge of a fine fishing lake in the Sierra foothills.

As befitting Ralph, the interior was masculine and a little on the ostentatious side. The living room was huge with a high oak-beamed ceiling and a large stone fireplace, which Ralph soon had filled with a huge roaring fire. The cabin wasn't so isolated as to not have electricity, but the men had trouble getting the hot water heater going, partly because it was old and cranky and partly because both of them were more than a little drunk by that time.

Cindy hadn't seen the bedrooms yet, but she had the feeling that they would be warm and homey, with great big thick double beds and feather pillows. She'd soon know, she said to herself. She and Howard were going to spend the night here, courtesy of Ralph and Norma. And while her husband hadn't said so, there had been intimations that the weekend might be extended to two nights, the four of them returning late Monday. She hoped not. God, she hoped not, for then Howard would never be away from Ralph's almost evil influence. A small shudder passed through her. What would happen with such concentrated exposure to his manager's suggestions?

Her inner torment stopped abruptly as she was suddenly brought back to the present by Norma's thin, smooth-skinned hand on her shoulder. She looked at the woman, who was smiling in a concerned, worried way, and Cindy smiled back as best she could.

"Something's the matter, isn't it, Cindy?" the other woman said in a condescending way. "You've been sitting here all evening, your face like a mask of tragedy."

"Oh... oh, it's nothing, Norma. Really it isn't."

"Of course it is, Cindy. A woman can tell, just like I could tell the other night when we talked in The Gandydancer. Do you want to confide in me now, Cindy? Before you explode with whatever's bothering you?"

The hapless wife hesitated, opened her mouth to say something, then caught herself and stopped. It was too embarrassing. Just how could she go about confiding to this woman that her husband had influenced Howard to the point where their whole life was nearly crumbling? Norma, the wife that she was, would certainly go to the defense of her husband, and rightly so, for what proof had Cindy? And Ralph, big-hearted and no doubt thinking he was doing the right thing, would be crushed and hurt---perhaps to the point of damaging Howard's career. No, Cindy couldn't tell Norma that.

But still, she was so low and miserable that she had to confide in someone. The martinis had helped in loosening her soul, in making her want to confess her innermost agony, and as she looked at Norma, her eyes once more filled with salty tears and two droplets began to course down her cheeks. Perhaps it would be a mistake, but if she chose her words and skirted the problem with Ralph, she could tell Norma.

She looked around to make sure that she would not be overheard by her husband or Ralph, saw them in a heated discussion on the merits of spoon fishing over live bait, and then turned back to Norma.

"It's... it's Howard," she whispered.

"I thought it might be," Norma said with pursed lips. "He's been acting almost as strangely as you have, Cindy." She stood up, glancing at the men as she did. "Let's step into the kitchen where we can be alone, all right?"

Nodding, Cindy followed Norma into the kitchen. She leaned against the old cast-iron wood cook stove, her hands clasped in front of her, not sure where to begin. Finally she blurted, "I... can't seem to make him happy anymore, Norma."

If Cindy had been a little more sober, a little less upset with her own problems, she might have noticed the sudden gleam in Ralph's wife's eyes. The spark which was almost a gloat, for in Norma's mind an entirely different set of thoughts were going on, thoughts which if Cindy had known would have sent her screaming from the cabin.

You better believe he's not happy with you, Norma thought. And he won't be... ever... until you learn what I had to learn. Your lessons are already started, only you don't know it, my sweet little innocent... and tonight is going to be a real test... when Ralph throws his wonderfully huge and talented cock into your tight, clasping cunt... or even better, between those red lips of yours...

Outwardly, the calculating wife of Howard's boss smiled with assurance and said, "I'm sure that he loves you, though."

"I don't know," moaned Cindy. "Not anymore. He... he's demanding... things of me which I... I just can't do!"

"You mean... sexually?"

Her face a livid color of scarlet, Cindy nodded. "I try to be a good wife for him. I want to please him so very much. I cook him good meals and clean the house every day and try to show him I love him in everything I do, but lately it doesn't seem to be pleasing him like it used to."

Norma took the nearly crying little wife by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, knowing that this was when she could really set the stage for Ralph... as well as herself and that strong hunk of man, Howard. Her pussy tingled at the thought of getting fucked by that handsome, young salesman. She said, "Now I'm going to give you some advice, Cindy. I'll be blunt and truthful, and I hope you'll understand. If you do, then I'm sure that your marriage will be saved."

"Yes?" There was a ray of hope in Cindy's voice. "You really think so, Norma?"

"I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't. I had to go through the same thing with Ralph, and you can see that after ten years we are still very happily together. The same can be true of you and Howard. Now first of all, a man loves a woman sexually, not by the food she cooks. He can go to a restaurant for that, and a maid can be brought in to clean the house, and a laundry can do his clothes just fine. But his wife can do something which no other woman can do---satisfy him sexually. After all, he married her because he loved her, which makes their relations much closer than he could get with say, some girl he could meet in a bar. Right?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And let me tell you this: no man is going to leave his wife if he knows he's got the best bed-partner right there at home. That's not to say that sex for its own sake is wrong, mind you; it's just not as good as with the one you love." Damned right, Norma thought, feeling another man's cock deep in my warm pussy is a thrill, and l love it, but it only makes me appreciate the heart and love I have for Ralph later, when we're making love... and the same goes for him!

Norma continued in earnest appeal. "So it's up to you to do everything and I mean everything---that you can to make your husband happy in bed. When I married Ralph, I was so inexperienced that I thought the only way to make love was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. No wonder I never really enjoyed it! I was too uptight, too worried that I would do something wrong, but Ralph was insistent and forced me to follow his lead, to join in En all sorts of wild and wonderful games. At first I hated it, but after I learned to let myself go, once I saw that what people do in the privacy of their lives can't be wrong as long as it gives pleasure to them both, I really started enjoying sex. Now," and here Norma chuckled, "now I'm as insatiable as my husband!"

"You... think that's what's the matter with Howie and me?"

"I know it, Cindy. A man likes variety and not the same old thing. It's the spice of life after all, and keeps him interested in you..."

Norma talked on, lecturing Cindy, and as she did so the sweet, innocent housewife avidly drank in her words. It was true what she said. Norma and Ralph were happy after all these years. Howard had been bitter when she refused to do things to him---with him---of a sexual nature; things like posing with him in the picture taking, things like kissing his penis and letting him kiss her between the legs.

As the other woman talked, Cindy saw that it wasn't Howard or Ralph who was at fault for her misery, but herself. Her selfish attitude, one born of ignorance and timidity, and yes, even of prudery. She was a prude, just as Howard had accused!

Well, things were going to change, and change fast. She made up her mind to that. Tonight they were going to change, she vowed. Tonight she would try to kiss Howard's penis, even if it killed her. When fifteen minutes later she walked back out to the living room, she was firmly convinced this was the way to Howard's heart, and she sat back down and poured herself another martini.

I've got to have strength to go through with tats, she said to herself, gritting her teeth. Some more liquor will help... She downed the strong drink and poured another. Just then there was the large shadow of Howard's boss hovering over her, and she looked up, startled. He grinned down at her expansively.

"Care to dance, my dear?" he asked.

"No... no, thank you, Ralph."

"Oh, come on. Norma asked your husband to, and they're having fun. See?" He indicated the couple who were dancing on the rug, and it was only then that Cindy realized that the living room had changed in the brief time she'd been in the kitchen. She had no idea that Ralph had been busily at work, having seen his lovely wife take her into the kitchen, that he had been waiting for the chance to start his work...

Low, slow-rhythmed music filtered from the large radio-phonograph combination in one corner, filling the room with almost a fog of violins and muted woodwinds. The fire had been banked, and now only the glowing embers lit the room, making deep, dancing shadows against the walls and ceiling. And there, in the middle of the room were Norma and Howard, dancing.

Dancing? Cindy couldn't believe her eyes. That wasn't dancing they were doing. They were far too close together, embracing each other passionately as though they were lovers and not just friends. And Norma was with each beat grinding her hips into the pelvis of her husband! Thrusting her breasts into his chest! Resting her sweetly smiling face on his shoulder!

Ralph caught on to what Cindy was looking at. He chortled. "Oh, ho, ho, don't get so upset, Cindy. That's just her way of dancing." He held out his hand. "C'mon, let's do the same."

Cindy found it difficult to stand after drinking so heavily, and she swayed noticeably. Ralph calmly enveloped her in his strong arms and held her close, and she in turn found it easier to hold onto him with her arms around his waist and lean against him for support. The music flowed like soft wine around her ears and she shut her eyes, dreaming that this was Howard she was with.

Ralph found that his cock was beginning to expand, to grow into a swelling, rigid pole in his pants as he held the alcoholically relaxed young wife. He slowly began to stroke her back, much as one would a cat to make it purr and with the same effects. Cindy snuggled closer, nuzzling his shirt.

Yes, yes, this is working perfectly. Both of them drunk, both beginning to be whipped into a fever-pitch. Norma must have really talked to her, all right; really explained that sex is something to be experienced to the fullest, and not rejected.

And while Norma had been in the kitchen with Cindy, Ralph had taken the opportunity to begin on Howard. He'd told him that not only was he, Ralph, proud to have him as a friend, but that Norma really liked him too. "I mean, really likes you, my boy. She's always talking about how good- looking you are, how masculine you are, how virile you must be in bed. Heh, heh. I've been kidding her that she'd probably like you to make love to her... and you know what, Howie-boy? I bet she would. I bet she would."

Howard had flushed, murmuring his thanks for such compliments, but Ralph had known it had gone deeper than that. He knew---it always did. After all, Norma was one hell of a sexy dish, and when she wanted to turn on the heat, it burned through all opposition. And as he looked over at his seductive wife now, as he held the charming Mrs. Jamison close to his ever expanding penis, he could tell that all of her burners were on. She was after Howard, and Howard is what she'd get!

And when she got him... Ralph would get that sweet, tender cunt of Howard's pretty wife! He groaned and shoved his buttocks closer, rubbing them against Cindy's thighs, easing one leg between her legs so that he pressed against her pubic area.

How right he was! Ralph knew how to motivate people, whether it was to sell a car or fuck his wife. As he talked to the stupifiedly drunk young husband, Howard began to conjure up the image of himself fucking Norma rather than Ralph---of replacing Ralph in that set of intimate photos his boss had shown him yesterday, the ones showing Norma, buff naked, and Ralph writhing on their bed, doing all the perversions and positions imaginable. It had cost Howard the price of showing Ralph a set he had taken of himself and Cindy the night before, but it had been worth it! Goddamn, his boss's wife looked like a fine piece!

She is obviously one hell of a lay! By those pictures she is like Bonnie: a cock-sucking, wild-fucking woman! But then a modicum of sobriety returned to Howard. The tingling in his cock at the thought of entering that wild pussy of Norma's wouldn't go away, though, not after the seed had been planted by his boss. Oh Christ, calm down. This its your manager's wife you're talking about. Ease of, and ease off on the booze, too, before you foul things up.

But then Norma had headed straight for him after coming out of the kitchen. He hadn't even noticed that Ralph had put on records and there was music until she'd asked him to dance with her. Impulsively, rashly, he'd agreed, and suddenly he was holding her closer than he'd ever danced with Cindy! It was all but a rape on the floor with clothes on! On and on her belly and hips ground into him, brushing teasingly against the outline of his cock. Her muscles seemed to linger there, massaging gently, slowly in time to the music, sending burning ripples of passion flooding through him...

"Having a good time, Howie?" she breathed into his ear.

"Y... yes," he answered. His voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I'm having a fine time."

"Mmmmm, good. I love dancing with you like this. Feeling you getting hard because of me..."

What? What was this? Howard couldn't believe his ears. Was this his boss's wife talking like this? Talking like that beautiful whore, Bonnie, had? What was the matter with her?

Norma's nimble, lithe body continued to caress him, and she ground her soft tits against his chest. Her lips were parted and she kept running her hot tongue back and forth along his neck and shoulder where her head touched; her breath fervid and sweet in his ear, her eyes lidded with her own sensual appetites.

Howard knew he should pull back from her before Cindy or her husband saw them like this, but the salacious pleasure of her expert ministrations rendered him incapable of doing that. All he could do was hold her tighter and slowly turn with the beat of the music and feel his penis grow and grow and grow, just like she said it was.

"I want you to make love to me, Howie," she purred. "Real love, a man's love, deep, deep inside me."

"God, Norma---" he panted.

"I saw you and I wanted you to put your cock inside me."

"But, but your husband! My wife!"

She chuckled. "Don't worry, Howie. Things will work out, you'll see. I just want to know whether you want me or not."

The alcohol, the desire to fuck this woman; all combined to break down the layers of restraint. He choked, he fought with himself, but there was no denying the ache, the almost inhuman torture which was making his penis and testicles throb with wildness. "Norma, I---"

"I want you," she whispered. "Now tell me, Howie..."

"Yes, yes I want you!"

"How, Howie-baby?"

"I... I want to fuck you silly!" he whispered back.

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