BlkMthr.zip -- 1/16

WARNING:
     This story is fiction and should be treated as such.
     The following story contains descriptions of explicit sex.
If you're not an adult or reading descriptive sex stories upsets you, do not
read any further.
     I'm not the author.  I don't have the talent.
     I can only be the "TheEditor," (grobert@soho.ios.com)


                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 1

      A light drizzle and a leaded sky with scudding clouds greeted Lonnie
Cannel when she awoke in the half light of the early morning.  She had left the
bedroom window open slightly, and the cool air which blew through the crack
rustled the flowers on the nightstand and rippled across the thin sheet which
covered her.  She stirred; frowning at first as she unconsciously tried to
cover herself with more, then became fully awake and saw that the blanket was
knotted at the foot of the bed.

      Damnation, she thought, sitting up abruptly to grab the blanket.  Another
night of tossing and turning.  She hated to sleep alone, and that was the
problem.  Her husband, Roger, was gone on another trip.  Business, always
business, him and his new job at Skopos, Incorporated.  He never had time to be
a husband to her any more, and she... well, she was little more than a pretty
doll for him to use when he was around.  She wasn't a wife, she was just
someone -- almost like a whore -- for him to have sex with, always available.

      Piqued, she stopped unfolding the blanket.  Sleep was gone now,
impossible in spite of the early hour of the morning.  She stretched languidly
on the bed, releasing the last of her stupor.

      Lonnie Cannel was a wife any man would be proud to have.  Her husband
called her a "sex machine that can cook," and said it with a grin.  Her long,
raven-black hair cascaded down over her shoulders as she stretched, curled
around her full breasts and made a contrast to her blush-red nipples and
aureole.  Her breasts were still firm and taut, even though she was the mother
of a fifteen-year-old daughter, and she was increasingly glad that she had
followed her doctor's regimen when Jennifer was born.  The exercises she'd done
faithfully had prevented the slightest trace of stretch marks from the birth,
and she could walk around in a bikini and still look like she was Jennifer's
older sister and not her mother.

      The sheet had slid down to her girlish waist and her round, tapered
thighs.  She kicked the sheet aside with her long, slim legs and stood up,
flouncing her hair and yawning.  She was naked, as she always slept; naked and
desirable.  Her face went well with her body, a sort of pouty, sensual,
flirtatious look about it with its small nose and full ripe mouth and large
hazel eyes.  There was nothing aloof about her; it was pure animal, pure
female.

      Lonnie giggled to herself as she crossed to the window and shut it.  A
little shiver of delight passed through her stomach as she recalled the number
of men who stared at her, their eyes and the bulge in their loins hard and
wanting.  And of their propositions even though most of them knew that she was
married -- not that she had ever been unfaithful.  Of course, a little coy
flirting never hurt anybody, and it made her feel so good.  She'd never let the
game get out of hand, and she didn't intend to, but it was nice to know that a
woman of her years could still attract, still arouse men on a basic, primitive
level.

      Not that her husband seemed to take all that notice.  Damn, damn -- how
long had it been this time since she'd had Roger inside her?  She leaned on the
window sill and stated out at the wind-whipped yard and answered herself: too
long.  If it hadn't been for the bright visits and constant chatter of her best
friend, Cylvia Oliss -- who also happened to be the wife of Skopos'
vice-president in charge of marketing -- well, if it hadn't been for Cylvia to
help take her mind off things, Lonnie didn't know what she would have done, how
she could have managed this long...

      When Lonnie had called herself a whore, it had been with a slight tingle,
a secret thrill the way forbidden thoughts can do.  She enjoyed the sex which
she gave her husband, wanted and needed it, and was at the moment naked and
desirable -- and desiring.

      "Hurry up, Roger," she moaned aloud to herself.  "Hurry up and get home."
Roger was due in sometime today and she ached to see him again.  It was always
like this, when he was gone.  Not so bad at first, but progressively more
frustrating until by the day he leas expected back, she was nearly crazy with
her anticipations and pent-up needs.  I could have him make love to me from now
until Christmas without stopping, she groaned inwardly.

      She smiled ironically as she turned from the window and lay down on the
bed again.  Her mother had given her interesting advice when she'd first
married, advice which was now a sore point between her and Roger.  Her mother'd
said: "You keep a man with good looks and a hot body.  Anything else he can buy
in a store."  Sure -- only you needed the opportunity to use that burning
little trap between the legs.

      The opportunity was going to come in a little while, she hoped.  The very
thought of Roger taking her, spreading her thighs and hammering his hardened
penis long and deep inside her belly was exciting.  She cupped her breasts as
she sat on the bed, examining the nipples, slightly startled at the way they
suddenly began to harden.  She moved back so that she could lean against the
head rest and look down at them and tweak the nipples between her thumbs and
fingers until they were fully enlarged.  It was overwhelming her, this
manipulation of her sensitive breasts, just as it always had.  Some women
aren't aroused by their breasts being touched, others are teased only if their
nipples are softly stroked.  But Lonnie had always had nerve endings more
exposed than most; sometimes even wearing a brassiere sent waves of delicious
feelings soaring through her.

      Now, as she stared down at the white globes jutting from her, she was
doubly excited by the realization that soon, very soon, her husband would be
placing his hands on them, caressing them, kissing them hotly... With a low
mewl of passion, she let one hand slowly move from her breasts and down her
smooth, flat plane of a stomach, down to the soft curling fleece of her pubic
triangle, then out around her thighs and buttocks, then dipping once more to
the lips of her pussy.  Closing her eyes against the guilt in her mind she let
her fingers open the swollen, moist lips, part the pubic hair, and slide in,
finding the clitoris waiting and eager.  She circled the quivering bud,
spreading the rising juices in a slow caress, groaned softly between clenched
teeth as her probing finger felt its way to her open, wet cunt- hole.  Her
thighs widened to her squirming touch, and she pinched the tender pink skin of
her vaginal lips and mouth, luxuriating in the sharp pain as her hips jerked
upwards.

      Then she jammed her fingers into her hungry pussy, and she pressed
herself tightly to the mattress as she masturbated, writhing and twisting, her
thighs pumping in time to her plunging fingers.  The cords of her neck stood
out and the mattress squeaked as she lashed and bucked with the fever of her
sexual urgings.

      "Oh... God... oh God," she moaned.  She felt like a panther, rubbing
herself this way, and she knew that if just the thought of Roger returning did
this to her, his real arrival would be absolute heaven.  "Oh... God... I
want... Roger!"

      Suddenly she heard a car stop in front of the home, and a door slam.  In
another moment, the car slipped into gear and sped away.  Who could that be?
she asked herself, her hand frozen in midstroke, still in her cunt.  Is it
Roger?  He's taken a taxi home?

      As if in answer, the front door of the house opened loudly, and she heard
the familiar sound of his footsteps.  She quickly removed her toying fingers
and whipped the sheet over her.  A warm flush ripped through her... Roger,
Roger, hurry to me, please... I need you so much right now.  Then the bedroom
door banged, and a muscular, tall man with cropped brown hair and a round, open
face entered, his hands gripping the handles of two suitcases. "Hi, honey!" he
said breathlessly: "Took the first flight I could."  He dropped the bags just
inside the door and came toward her.  "Boy, it's good to be home again."

      "Shh," she said.  "You'll wake Jennifer."  She laughed delightedly. "Shut
the door and come here and give your wifey a big kiss.  God!  How I've missed
you!"

      He did as she asked, and then his arms were around her and her lush lips
were against his as she clung to him.  "Darling... darling," she whispered in
his ear.  "I love you, my darling."

      Roger kissed his wife again, then pulled away from her.  "I don't have
much time.  Have to be at the office, you know."  He grinned at her and began
to loosen his shirt and tie.  "Just enough time for a quick shower and change."

      "Business," she pouted.  "Why don't you spend sometime with your wife any
more?  Are you tired of her?"

      "Lonnie, you know better to that," Roger said.  He stood up, freeing
himself from the near- tentacle grasp of his fevered wife.  He unbuckled his
pants and removed his shirt.  "That's why I took the early flight, just so I
could see you."

      Impulsively, she let the sheet fall away from her nude body and stretched
out, letting his eyes feast on the thighs and breasts and legs he loved so
well.  She raised one leg and let it part so he could see the black pubic hair,
slightly damp from her fingerings, and her teasingly puffed vaginal lips.  "All
of me, Roger?" she asked in a husky voice.  Little butterfly sensations flitted
in her tummy as she saw the effect her  display was having on her husband.  She
licked her lips.  She felt so wicked; but he was her husband after all!

      Roger Carmel gaped with utter fascination at the breathtaking sight of
his wife stretched out so wantonly on the bed.  It was a replica of the vision
he had beheld the previous two weeks as he'd lay in his motel bed and stared at
the yellowed ceiling and wished his cock was in something warm and moist like
her cunt and his arms were tight around her as he spewed his seed into her
womb.  It was an erotic spectacle and he swallowed tightly.

      "... Lonnie..." he whispered hoarsely.  He dropped his pants, and stepped
out of them, leaving them to puddle with his shirt and shoes on the floor.  He
was now only in his underpants and socks, and his cock began to thicken with
pulsing blood, hardening from the lascivious sight of his wife tantalizingly
smiling at him.  He glanced at the clock on the dresser.  There wasn't time...
he had to get to work.

      With a frustrated moan, he tore his eyes from her and walked stiff-legged
to the bathroom.  "Tonight, honey.  Tonight we'll make love.  I'd, I'd like to
now... but there's not enough time."

      Lonnie wanted to cry with the overwhelming agony inside her.  She'd done
everything she could to interest him, and still his business was more
important.  She fought back tears of frustration as she heard the shower go on
and her husband step into the tub and pull the curtain closed.  Again she
touched her throbbing vagina, gently managing the warm flesh.  She rubbed
harder and harder as the spray in the bathroom beat a tattoo against the tub,
and she felt her cunt palpitate against the palm of her hand with heavy sexual
excitement.  Then the shower ended, and after a few moments, Roger reappeared,
rubbing the drops of water away with a large bathtowel.

      "Roger," Lonnie groaned, her voice provocative and husky.  "Roger, don't
get dressed... please, not yet."

      Roger came over to the bed.  "Honey, you've got to understand.  I've only
got an hour."

      The sight of his soft cock, nestled against his balls incited still
further passion from the starved young woman.  She patted the bed beside her.
"Sit down, Roger.  Just for a minute.  That's all.  Spend a minute with me."

      Her husband sat on the edge of the mattress as if he was giving himself
running room to escape.  He couldn't keep his eyes off Lonnie, in spite of his
vow to be on time at the office.  There was so much to do... the meeting
scheduled for ten...  But right before him was the sensuous, squirming details
of her nakedness resplendently clear, from her erotic red nipples downward to
the delicate triangle of soft, black pubic hair beneath her still flat, almost
virginal white plane of her abdomen.

      "Darling, don't I please you any more?" she said plaintively.  Her hand
was encircling his waist now and slowly slid over his hips and thighs and into
his loins.  He groaned with the sensations of her feather-light touch.  The
erection which had half begun when he'd first undressed and she'd displayed her
body so salaciously had gone down in the shower.  When he'd emerged from the
bathroom, toweling himself dry, his cock was thoroughly limp and his thoughts
were entirely on what he and his assistant, Martin Oliss, were going to say at
the meeting.

      But now he found that he couldn't move from the bed.  His penis did all
the moving -- straight up, leaping into full, raging erection.  His wife's hand
was around it now, tenderly stroking it up and down as only she could, and then
she took his heavy testicles and softly rolled them between her fingers.

      She looked up at him, smiling cattishly.  "You like what I'm doing, Roger
darling?"

      Roger didn't answer.  He couldn't, his tongue stuck to the roof of his
mouth.  His heart hammered with the beating of his transformation from
businessman to lover... there was no way of stopping it, he realized.  His
cock's large hardness couldn't be denied.  Neither could his wife.  He glanced
at the clock with agonized eyes.  He wasn't going to make that meeting at this
rate.

      Then, suddenly he didn't care.  His wife's ministrations and sensuous
provocations were too much.  Nothing else mattered to him now but plunging his
aching cock into her delightful flesh, and Roger reached for Lonnie, his hand
slipping gently beneath her dark tresses and drawing her head to him.  Their
lips met momentarily and then broke apart... reaching out but not quite
touching.  He drew her closer, grasping her lower lips between his teeth and
pulling the moist, soft flesh into his mouth... his teeth slipped off and his
lips enfolded her as he sucked her lips into his mouth.

      "Darling... darling," she murmured as he sucked.

      Lonnie felt a tingling shock run icily into her.  Her darting tongue
wedged beyond his lips, back inside, over the roof, and across the front of his
teeth, caressing... always caressing.

      Roger leaned forward, his momentum carrying them both back onto the
pillow and he crushed his mouth harder against hers, his arms pressing her to
the pillow.  He raised himself and rolled, half sitting, so that he was beside
her. Lonnie lay back against the sheets obediently, her arms wide and her legs
slightly spread...

      "Yes, Roger," she whispered softly, her lashes shadowing her cheeks as
she closed her eyes.  "Please take me... take me..."

      "Yes, yes..." he managed to say.  He ran his hands over her throbbing
breasts and down her belly, into the sob, fleshy folds of her cunt where
moments before she had played with herself.

      Lonnie moaned, her body alive to his caresses.  Her creamy satin skin was
a lamina of hot desire.  God! she wanted him!  Her body cried out to be loved
tenderly and totally... as he was doing now.  She wanted him to merge with her,
crawl up inside her and possess her and quell the raging torrents that were
building up in the very depths of her soul from his maddening strokings. Dear
Lord, her husband -- the only man she could give herself to without fear of
guilt -- was making her deliriously happy.

      "Oh yessss," she whimpered.  "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there.  There... oh
yes, therrrrre!" she moaned, helplessly caught up in the tingling pricks of
lust that were dancing through her.  She sensed the dewdrops of  moisture
rising between her open thighs as the exposed hair-lined lips of her pussy
began to spasmodically contract wetly against one another.  Roger ran the tip
of his tongue around the rim of her ear and plunged it deep inside.  Her whole
being seemed aflame with a febrility of surging senses.  She couldn't wait much
longer or she would go mad!

      "Ohhhhh!" she cried.  "I want you inside me!  Now darling!  Now!"

      Lonnie twisted her husband's hair, pulling him violently over her.
"Please, darling!  Please!"

      The strange obscenity of her passion-filled pleas excited Roger to a
frenzied, blinding furor.  He sensed his cock and testicles aching with
blood-filled lust, and then suddenly grow flame-hot as one of his wife's hands
closed like a steel trap over the thick, glistening penis.  It pulsed wickedly
against the palm of her hand as she slid up and down the hard flesh, and insane
with lust, he didn't need further urging.  He grabbed her jutting breasts and
rolled on top of her, her legs wide and cradling his hips.  The flowering lips
of her cunt widened, and she guided his hardened cock to the wetness between
her legs, her groans of desperate agony seething in his ear.  She rubbed his
swollen penis along her open pink slit and parted the soft, resilient pubic
hair unto it was nestled teasingly in the entrance to her vagina.

      Her husband clamped his fingers into the full cheeks of her buttocks and
rammed his body downward.  His swelling cock disappeared into her cuntal tunnel
with a wet sucking sound.

      Lonnie groaned.  Her body tightened into an arch of hardened passion  as
the initial entry split the walls of her vagina.  Then she writhed under the
rising heat of her delirious sensations, her belly squirming.  She raised up
under the pressure of his fingers, the glistening prick sliding out until its
coronal ridge caught at the straining lips of her cunt, then surged in again.
Up and down, faster and faster... and Lonnie's face contorted with passion and
her nostrils flared open as her breath burned her lungs.

      Roger felt the smooth raw flesh of his passion-aroused wife's pussy clasp
him tightly, pulse against his pumping shaft until his balls felt ready to
explode, and he lost all track of time as the excruciating pleasure rocked
through him.  He drove deeper and deeper into her vagina with each thrust of
his buttocks.  His wife twisted her head from side to side, flaying her hair
against the white pillow, and rode his cock like a bitch in heat.  She drove
her hips up, screwing every inch of his cock and routing the huge head around
in her seething belly, causing Roger to gasp and quiver.  A fierce storm
whirlwinded through him as his penis sucked deep in her pussy and battered her
cervix.  He felt the eruption of his boiling sperm starting deep in his groin,
and knew he was about to come.

      Lonnie sensed it, too.  She could feel her husband's cock swelling and
straining against the moist ribs of her fleshy vaginal walls.  She begged:
"Please... not yet.  Not yet... wait for me, wait... please!"  Her legs splayed
wider and she bucked and writhed on the wildly squeaking mattress, her loins
insatiable.  "Now... harder!..."

      Not even Lonnie, crazed with desire building for the last two weeks, or
her husband, a rutting animal of pagan demands, would have been so wild and
free if they'd known that less than four feet away, two small eyes were
watching them with glittering, unbelieving intensity.

                                *    *    *    *

      Jennifer Carmel opened her eyes with a start, blinking rapidly in the
darkened bedroom.  She had been awakened by the front door opening loudly, then
the thunk of a couple of heavy things hitting the floor.  At the time she
didn't realize that what she had heard were the suitcases her daddy had carried
into the bedroom.  Jennifer strained her ears to catch any more sounds, but
everything was silent, save for a muffled kind of talking coming from the
direction of her parent's bedroom.

      Daddy was home!

      With a thrill, the young teenager jumped out of bed, landing lightly on
the carpet in her bare feet.  She was a lot like her mother, only in younger
miniature.  Her pert face had the same frame of coal-black hair hanging
loosely, the same color in her lovely eyes, and the same up-thrust

nose and full lips.  Her father had given her a pale, almost iridescent quality
to her skin and thinner arms and shoulders than her mother's, and a slightly
higher cast to her cheekbones, which made her all the more sensual and
provocative.  Her breasts were smaller because they weren't quite as developed
as he mother's, but they never would be as ripe or full; they were as if carved
by a master ivory craftsman, small pointed cones which had peaks of
black-berry-like nipples.  Her buttocks were almost boyish, lithe and feline
like some predatory cat's.

      She was wearing her favorite nighty, a soft pink peignoir, Empire cut
with a small red bow bunching the material under her breasts, acting as a sort
of loose bra to jut them like display goods on a shelf.  Not that she needed
support for her breasts -- they were firm and resilient like unripe peaches.
The gown fell just below her thighs; it had once been a set with a pair of
matching panties, but after Jennifer had discovered that wonderful playground
between her legs, she made sure that the panties were conveniently lost.

      Jennifer was a lot like her mother mentally and emotionally as well as
physically.

      She heard the shower go on then, and smiled to herself.  Daddy was taking
a shower; she couldn't go in the bedroom now.  But she would in a little while,
and run up and give him a big kiss.  Maybe he'd be in his bathrobe and naked
underneath and she'd accidentally brush against him and feel his thing against
her leg.  She liked doing that...

      Not that she'd ever seen him naked.  She hadn't seen any boy naked,
except for the few little babies she'd changed while babysitting.  All they had
were little worms between their legs which wouldn't get hard no matter how much
she diddled them.  She'd heard that a man's thing... his penis! -- was large
and could get like stone.  She'd been told that by her best girlfriend, Tamera
Oliss.

      Jennifer sat down on the edge of the bed and passed the time while her
father was in tile shower by thinking briefly of Tamera.  It was neat having
her parents so close to Tam's parents; mothers bridge-club partners, their
fathers working for the same company.  Tam was a grade higher than she was, but
that didn't stop the popular and vivacious girl from being friends -- really
good friends -- with Jennifer.  And Tamera  was going steady with Vic Statler,
the high-school's star half-back, a muscular, handsome boy which made all the
girls swoon (including Jennifer), just as if he had stepped out of a movie
magazine.  How had Tamera ever latched onto such a boy?

      Jennifer had an idea how: sex.  Tam was, well, "experienced," Jennifer
was sure, and probably from Vic... but what a way to go!  Just thinking about
those strong arms around her made her go all goose-pimply.  Not that Jennifer
had ever asked Tamera about it; that would be bad taste; but after that episode
in the girl's shower room last April...

      Jennifer had walked into the deserted locker room after staying late to
practice volleyball.  She'd undressed and walked into the showers, and there
was Tamera!  The older girl was sitting on the floor, her back to the tile, the
spray of the shower beating down between her legs.  And her hand was down
there, rubbing as fast as it could.  Tamera was moaning and her eyes were
clenched; thinking she was in pain, Jennifer had rushed over and asked what she
could do.  Tamera had told her, after she'd gotten the innocent girl to lie
down beside her and spread her own legs wide...

      The thought of Tamera's cool fingers on her little pubic lips made
Jennifer blush, and she averted her eyes from the image in her mirror.  They
didn't talk about such things in her sex and health class, but she knew
instinctively that adults would disapprove.  Tamera and she had gotten together
a few times after that, to play with each other's pussy -- and once Tam had
persuaded Jennifer to let her be kissed there, but Jennifer had gotten scared
after a couple of minutes and made Tam stop.

      But Jennifer hadn't stopped wanting to feel those strange, scintillating
feelings that she'd been introduced to in the shower room.  She never let the
boys who dated her do it to her... never!  She was going to be married a virgin
like her mother did, and anything past necking and fondling her breasts was
strictly off limits.  There were times after a drive-in movie or party when
she'd cried out her frustrations in her pillow, for a boy she'd really liked at
the time would have gotten her hotter than the hinges of hell.  But after a few
weeks the boy would no longer be important to her, and she would grow fond of
another boy, and she had known that to give into one wouldn't be good.  She
wasn't ready to settle down, to truly fall in love.

      Of course, no boy had come along like Tam's football star, but when he
did -- if he did -- Jennifer knew instinctively that she'd have an awful time
keeping her resolutions.

      So the use of her fingers had proven a salvation, a release from the
gnawing frustrations which ripped through her sensitive skin now and then.
Especially after a heavy date, for when she'd finished her cry, she'd relax,
and let her fingers do the walking...

      She realized that the shower was over, and went to the door.  It was
going to be nice, seeing her father again.  She padded out of her room, which
was at one end of the long, tri-level home, and passed through the kitchen and
living room, and stepped down the wide, shallow steps to the hall leading to
the guest room, patio, and master bedroom.

      "Yes, Roger.  Please take me... take me..."

      Jennifer froze on the landing, hand gripping the wooden railing.  That
was her mother!  She had never sounded that way before!  Was she sick?  Or was
she...!  A flash of an image came across the teenager's mind.  Was her mother
and her father doing things in there?  Were they making love?  A weird
anticipatory tingling started growing in the pit of the girl's stomach.  She'd
never seen two people make love, though she'd often wondered about what it
would look like, especially as she was masturbating. Then she would imagine
herself under the heaving frame of the boy who'd fired her sexual desires that
particular night.  She'd never really thought about her parents doing it.
They'd have to -- she was here, wasn't she?  The image of a hard, swollen penis
screwing into her mother leaped up and she trembled with guilt.  She told
herself she should go back to her room and get dressed.  She could see Daddy
later, afterwards...  and the thought of the act which she would have to
patiently wait to end made her suck in her breath.  Stop it! Stop it!

      "Oh yesssss," her mother crooned again.  "Oh yes, Roger, touch me there.
There... oh yes, therrrrre!"

      Jennifer found herself drawn down the hall, her pussy twitching with lewd
thoughts.  She couldn't do anything anyway, for the door to the bedroom was
shut.  She hunkered down by the door, every nerve and fibre of her tender young
body on fire from the forbidden thrill of listening in on her parents.  Her
heart stopped and ache dared not to even gasp.  Strange noises continued to
flood her ears from the other side, their intensity increasing with every
passing second.  With a mind of its own, her right hand inched toward the
handle.  Did she dare to open it, just a crack?

      "Ohhhhh!  I want you inside me!  Now!  Now!"

      Heavy rushed breathing and the staccato sounds of squeaking bedsprings
punctuated by animal-like groans and moans blinded the teenager's normal sense
of decency and decorum.  Goaded to an uncontrollable pitch of curiosity and
sexual arousal, she took a deep breath and slowly turned the handle down, not
making a sound.  She inched the door open, then open another fraction...

      She paled and her eyes bulged wide, and a cold chill ran crazily up the
full length of her spine.

      The foot of the bed was pointed right at the door so that she could see
the complete carnal scene.  Her father and mother were making love violently!
Jennifer could even see her father's thick, hard penis disappearing and
reappearing into her mother's softly hair-ringed pussy with each piledriving
thrust and withdrawal that he made.  Her mother had her legs splayed wide on
either side of his plunging body and periodically she would kick them high in
the air then wrap them around her husband's driving buttocks, her ankles
locking tightly behind his thighs, pulling him into her with all her strength.

      Jennifer could feel the sweat flowing freely on her young body, trickling
down beneath the folds of her pink nighty.  She had a strange sense of not
being a part of herself, the shock of actually viewing sexual intercourse that
strong on her, and she couldn't understand it.  Down between her clenched
thighs her tight, still virgin cunt was tingling like it had never tingled
before.  She thought fleetingly of leaving... but she continued to watch with
hypnotic fascination, now beyond it rationality.

      She centered her gaze on the muscles straining out on her mother's inner
thighs as Lonnie Carmel struggled like a drug-crazed nymphomaniac to get her
husband deeper inside her hungrily sucking vagina.  Jennifer's father was
cupping her naked buttocks with a savage strength that cut red, bloodless lines
into the full, uplifted moons.  He squeezed her buttocks together, forcing the
walls of her vagina tighter around the thickness of his rigid pelvis, and
Jennifer studied the thin, moistly glistening lips of her mother's pussy as
they strove to milk the giant shaft of its strength.  The teenager could see
the thinly parted pubic hairs grazing teasingly against the narrow ridge which
ran the full length of the underside of her father's penis.

      Jennifer heard the almost incoherent moanings as, her parents thrashed
around on their bed.  Goaded to a mind-warping frenzy of abandon, the little
girl brought her hand down along her body and across her thighs, to rest
against her own tender pubic mound, and then to rub it back and forth through
the silken material of her shorty nightgown.  She could feel wetness flowing on
her thighs and down her inner legs, and she sat on the rug and chanced opening
the door a little bit more so that she could see better from her sitting
position.  She gathered the hem of her nighty, bunching it up along her firm,
young thighs, exposing the whiteness of them and the young, sparse growth of
her pubic hair.  Again she lowered her hand to her pussy mound and began to rub
-- faster and faster in a froth of passion and empathetic emotions.

      Her mother's mewls of pleasure were becoming more desperate, and the
glazed eyes of the daughter stayed glued on the lewd, obscene coupling taking
place a few feet away.  Jennifer's middle finger slid along her wet cunt lips
and found her clitoris, teased it with her fingernail and felt waves of
consuming lust rip through her.  She dropped her finger still lower,
insinuating it in her now thirstily throbbing vagina, pumping in rhythm to the
fucking on the bed while her thumb toyed with her erect little clitoris.

      The girl was caught up in the passion of the occasion.  She wriggled on
the rug and let her wet thighs open completely and propped one leg on the door
jamb, and the shock of the autumnal cool air in the house wafted over her
steaming cunt and gave her a new shudder of ecstasy.  The wet, sucking sound of
her masturbation was clearly discernible to her ears, and her little body
heaved and bucked from her whipping fingerings.  She secreted heavily, more
heavily that she'd ever remembered.

      Roger Carmel was grinding down faster now, and the groans and howls were
furious.  He smacked against his wife, driving her deep down into the groaning
mattress with each mighty surge.  The loud clap of belly against belly,
testicles against buttocks, were like claps of thunder.  His wife curled and
uncurled her legs in wild desperation around his hips, and both of the adults
were breathing wildly, with rivulets of perspiration streaming down their
pumping and hollowing loins.

      Jennifer wanted to scream, to wail as she became delirious with her own
maddening passions, straining to hold back the explosion which was threatening
to inundate her like a tidal wave.  She nearly went out of her mind as she
heard her mother moan:

      "Please... not yet, not yet wait for me, wait for me... please!" And then
after a few more moments: "Now... harder!..."   The young teenager's breath
rasped in her throat.  They were going to climax!  Her parents were going to
come any second now!  And she was watching it! Frantically she moved her
clitoris, her cunt, her buttocks and anus with the fingers of both hands,
impaling herself as deep as her hands would go.  She was going to come too!

      "I'm going... I'm going to come, Roger!" Jennifer could almost imagine
herself saying that instead of her mother.  She ground harder and deeper,
quivering under the pressure, gasping for imminent release.

      Lonnie Carmel screamed, "AAhhhhh!"

      And then her husband's low cry of climax came as he burst his seeds of
love inside his wife.  "Oooooooohhhhhhh, me tooooo!"

      The daughter heard the sounds of their orgasms, and watched wide-eyed as
her parents scrambled for completion.  Her mother's buttocks began small,
spasmodic jerkings up tight against her father's penis.  At the same time,
Roger Carmel groaned above his wife and his thick, fleshy cock throbbed out
milky white semen, leaping bursts of his cum which inundated her vagina and
cascaded hotly out from around the pink, wet lips of her cuntal opening.

      Jennifer could see the stream of her father's ejaculations running down
the widespread crevice of her mother's desperately jerking buttocks and pool
thickly on the sheet below.  Then, as if by remote control, her parent's
cumming triggered her own.  She strained and stretched her legs out in sudden
convulsion and the earth seemed to open up beneath her.  She lifted herself off
the rug in a trembling arch and grasped the bone wall of her pussy and squeezed
and squeezed and squeezed.

      Then suddenly she collapsed, sliding to the floor, and breathed raggedly.
She could hear noises from the bedroom, but they were noises of contentment and
not of passion.  She peered in with dull, half-lidded eyes and saw that her
mother and father were laying still.

      She beard her father say: "Oh Christ, honey, took at the time.  I'm going
to be late."

      "Wasn't it worth it?"

      "Sure, but..."

      A shock of panic went through the daughter.  Her father was getting up!
As much as she wanted to stay and see his sperm-emptied penis as he slipped it
from her mother's vagina, she couldn't risk the chance of being detected.
Exhausted, her body protesting, she dragged herself to her feet and wobbled
slightly, her nighty sticking to the damp sides of her thighs and the wet
matted hair of her cunt.  She looked around and down and saw the wet spot on
the carpet where she'd lain, and as her mind returned to sanity, she felt
shamed and a little dirty for what she'd done.  She clutched her gown around
her protectively and groped her way back to her bedroom.  But she didn't feel
revolted, only satiated with pleasure.

      Speaking of time, she told herself, once safe in the sanctity of her own
room, I don't hare much of it myself!  There was less than half an hour before
school stated, and she had to catch the bus four blocks away.

      In a frenzied hurry, she wriggled out of her nighty.  The swift change
from shameless little wanton to schoolgirl was not only necessitated by the
time, but also because it saved her from dwelling on what she'd witnessed and
done.  A blanking of the mind -- a salvation so that she wouldn't have to face
the responsibilities for her actions.  Naked, she went through her bureau and
found a clean pair of panties, which she stepped into, her fingers tugging
their elastic band until the smooth round cheeks of her buttocks and the soft
mound of her cunt were snugged tight.  She looked down to find a bra, and
caught the sight of her tight panties and the split of full young vaginal lips,
still swollen from her masturbation.

      A moment of tiny shock crowed her mind, her body blending dangerously
into the melting pot of sensuality she'd so recently partaken of.  Then she
quickly slipped into her blouse and miniskirt, and picked up her comb to
untangle her hair.  As she looked into her mirror and studied her dark waves,
she saw that her mini skirt clung to her buttocks and was more than half way
upper tanned thighs, with slight creases in front where her legs joined her
hips.  With sudden awareness she realized that she could almost see the lips of
her vagina... and another forbidden thrill passed through her, followed by a
blush as she recalled the last few minutes and one experience she'd never had
before. Embarrassed, she collected her homework and books.

      She quickly left her room, only to find that her parent; still weren't
out of their bedroom.  She didn't have time to wait, even though she would have
liked to have said hello to her father -- and then decided it was probably just
as well.  After catching them doing what they had been doing, she wasn't sure
she could look them in the eye.  She went to the front door and opened it.

      "Mom!  Daddy!" she called over her shoulder.  "Gotta run or I'll be late!
See you when I get home from school!"

      Not waiting for an answer, she raced down the front walk of her home;
letting the door slam behind her.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 2/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 2

      The offices of Skopos, Incorporated were on the fifth floor of the old
Antler Building, along Second Avenue in downtown Rapier City.  Roger Carmel
parked his Ford stationwagon in the basement garage of the building across the
street, and then walked down the street to the Antler Building, hurrying
because he was late.

      Not that he could really mind that he was late ... the interlude of
loving with his wife had made him feel better than he had in the last couple of
weeks. No doubt about it: sex was the greatest tranquilizer in the world.  He
needed the eager arms and hot body of his lovely wife more than he could tell
her; he needed her understanding and warmth and support, especially in these
final few months before the coup was realized that was going to put Skopos on
the tongue of every person in the country.

      He was sorry that he wasn't able to be around her much these last weeks,
but it couldn't be helped.  A little effort now, a little sacrifice, and the
whole Carmel family would be able to retire with ease, and he could start
making up the lost time.

      Roger frowned as he thought of his beautiful young wife, Lonnie, pouting.
He was doing all of this for her, couldn't she understand it?  She wasn't very
understanding about what was necessary, always demanding more of his time and
attention than he could afford to give, as if the future didn't matter.  It was
always now, now... but that was like a woman, he consoled himself.

      The morning fog pulled up its skirts and dissolved among the tops of the
buildings..  The street was full of ten o'clock businessmen hurrying and
stenographers dawdling and women shopping.  Roger paused long enough to buy a
package of cigarettes at the counter in his building, and then he went to the
elevator.  The elevator operator eyed him sullenly, then carefully avoided his
return gaze.

      Roger pictured himself as the Provider of the family.  The stalwart guard
between Us and Everybody Else.  As he rode up the elevator, he almost felt as
if he was going into battle for Lonnie and Jennifer, that his suit was of
armor, his attache case a sword, and Skopos, Incorporated the arena.  In a way,
his vision wasn't too wrong, if a bit romantic.  Lonnie didn't work, and
Jennifer was too young -- it was up to him to be the link between the
close-knit family unit and the cold, different, potentially brutal world beyond
their doorstep.  It was he who wore the two hats of Husband/Father and of Mr.
Carmel.  It was he who shouldered the responsibilities to see that both hats
were worn skillfully.

      Lonnie had but one role, that of mate and mother.  Sometimes it's
difficult for a person who's committed to only one position to see that another
person who must straddle two or more positions is constantly having to
compromise.  Roger was being pulled by the requirements of his
career just as hard as he was being called upon to be with Lonnie.  She wanted
him home all the time -- Skopos wanted him to be on the job all the time.  The
men he was going to meet this morning were going to pout in their own way just
as forcefully as Lonnie had done, with the same cry:  "Spend more time with
me!"

      "What?"  The elevator operator turned to Roger, startled.

      "Nothing," Roger said, a little shaken.  He realized that he'd suddenly
burst out loud with his thoughts, a sure sign that the pressures, were getting
to him.  Just a little more, though, he thought...  hold on for a little more;
you can do it, Rog.  You have to do it...

      Skopos's downtown offices were actually for their sales force, though all
of the upper executives were there as well.  It was handier and a better area
to live around than where the plant was.  Roger, as chief engineer and
vice-president in charge of development, was in the unenviable position of
being liaison between the plant in Kirsten, Nevada, and the main office.  He
had moved from Kirsten when his promotion to vice-president had happened;
Rapier City was much nicer and more varied than the smaller Nevada town; and
he'd figured it really didn't matter at which end of the business he lived.  He
had to be at the other end half of the time, and his family would still be five
hundred miles away.  Here, they had a nicer home, a better neighborhood, and
more things to do.  For him to have turned down the promotion or shirked the
duties and stayed in Rapier City all the time would be tantamount to quitting.
Roger felt it was the best compromise under the circumstances.

      Especially now, especially when his invention was at the brink of
success. He went into the reception room, nodded to the PBX operator, and
walked briskly to his office.  His secretary, Agnes Goodfall, was all but
wringing her hands.

      "You're late," she said timorously.

      "I know.  Everybody in the board room?"

      "Yes, Mr. Carmel.  Including Mr. Quarran.  He said --"

      "I'm sure he did, Agnes," Roger said, cutting off her whine.  He took a
few papers from his desk and added: "See you later."

      The president and chairman of the board of Skopos was sitting at the head
of the board room conference table, leaning back with a cigar in his mouth like
some despot.  Not so benevolent a despot though; Jerome Quarran was a ruthless
shrewd manipulator who'd taken over Skopos when the electronics engineer who'd
started the company five years ago went broke.  A scientist does not a
businessman make.  Quarran looked up with his thick, heavy, watery eyes as
Carmel entered and took his usual chair on the left band side.  He didn't say
anything, merely brushed an invisible cigar ash off his plaid vest with that
quick flick of annoyance superiors sometimes use on underlings.

      The scientist who'd begun the company was across from Carmel.  Wilfred
Krocklin was in his mid-fifties, but looked older and emaciated.  Unlike the
arrogant and fleshy-jowled face of Quarran, Krocklin was gaunt and lined with
doubt, with large, ever-frightened eyes like those of a tarsier monkey.  His
suit jacket was unbuttoned, his collar turned up, his tie askew.  His sparse
white hair was uncombed where he'd run his fingers through it for one reason or
another.

      Sitting at the end of the table was Martin Oliss, V-P for sales.  He was
sharply dressed in the latest style as usual, a natty robin's egg blue suit
with a slight Edwardian cut to it, and his long, wavy blond hair was perfectly
in place.  He looked imperturbable and slightly amused, like a cat with canary
feathers caught in its mouth.  That was his way, constantly cool and a little
condescending.

      Roger was sometimes piqued by Oliss; that supercilious air rasped his
nerves after a while, and the ever-present preening of the fashion-plate image
made Roger wonder if Oliss wasn't a near egomaniac.  If anything personified
Martin Oliss in Roger's mind, it was the way the man was always smoothing his
thin mustache as if it was a waxed objet d'art.  It was to Roger little more
than a milk stain on Oliss's upper lip, the blondness being hardly visible.
Nevertheless, Oliss was invaluable, a long-term employee who grasped what
Quarran wanted, and did it.  He was to the others at Skopos the emitomy of
dedication and hard work.  So Carmel took what he considered Oliss's
personality quirks in stride, saying nothing.

      "Hello, Roger," Oliss said, fingering his mustache.  "We were wondering
if you'd missed the plane."

      "No," Roger replied.  "No, I took an earlier one."  He smiled as if
sharing a common complaint with the others.  "Have to see my wife sometimes or
risk a divorce, you know."

      Oliss was bemused; he had one luscious babe for a wife, as Carmel knew.
Lonnie had told him that Cylvia had the same problem as she had when Martin
went out of town.

      Quarran made a noise in his throat like coal rattling down a chute.  He
was married to a dreadnaught of a wife, and while Roger had no way of knowing,
he suspected that Quarran stayed away from the home and hearth as much as
possible.  There were office rumors about a little sweetheart stashed in a
high-rise apartment on the other side of town...

      "How's the Min-miniskopos doing, R-roger?" Krocklin stuttered.  He was
referring to the invention which had made Carmel the vice-president.  "W-we're
most anxious about it-t."

      Oliss came forward and put his hands on the chair beside his boss.  "Yes,
Roger.  Is it about ready?"

      Carmel opened his attache case and brought out a sheaf of papers.  He
spread them on the table.  "I can announce that by this time next month, we'll
have a working prototype."

      "Excellent" Korcklin said, beaming.

      "You said it would be done by now," Quarran grumbled.  He chewed on his
cigar and glared at Carmel.  He was never pleased.

      Carmel replied: "I also told you that with the aluminum companies on
strike, I couldn't guarantee it.  All we're waiting for is the extruded panels,
which have to be made up special.  If the president puts a Taft-Hartley
injunction against the strikers and there's the 90-day cooling of period, we'll
get the paneling and..." he paused to shrug slightly, "and then it's only a
matter of putting one  together.  While I was down at Kirsten we tested one
that was in sections, and it works fine, but you know how the government is --
they have to see shiny new boxes, not a mess of wires."

      "Damnit," Quarran snorted, "we don't have the time!  We have to have your
miniskopos ready in time for the Fall Appropriations convention in Washington.
You know that, Roger."

      "That's --" Oliss consulted his mental calendar for a moment.  "That's
fifteen days from now."

      "I don't know what you're going to have to do to get that blasted
invention in presentable shape, Roger, but you're going to have to come up with
something!" Quarran twisted into something of a smile, and looked levelly at
Carmel over his glasses.  "We can't afford to wait another year."

      Carmel groaned and sat back in his chair.  He was afraid of this. Skopos,
Incorporated was in the video tape recording business, had been almost from the
time of the market's inception.  Krocklin had named the company after the old
Greek word which eventually became the English word, scope; apt enough title,
but Krocklin hadn't been able to meet the changing demands of the market as
wisely.

      When video tape first started, there were any number of companies, each
with different systems.  Unlike audio tape recorders or record players, there
weren't any standard speeds or tape widths, and as a result, Ampex was out with
an inch wide tape running at faster speeds than the Sony machines with
quarter-inch tape.  Panasonic and Concord came in with half-inch tapes at still
another inches-per-second speed, and others loaded the market with their
attempts.  Nothing was interchangeable, and if a customer bought one brand, he
sometimes found that six months later not even the same company was producing
the same gear.

      It was a guessing game as to who would come out on top, the developments
in the industry outstripping any possibility for inter-company cooperation and
standardization.  Krocklin found that although his machines and cameras were of
excellent quality, the average consumer was leery and often bought from the Big
Boys out of fear of obsolescence -- and the still high cost of manufacture had
effectively stopped mass home consumption which would make the whole venture
profitable.

      Quarran had come in and under his guidance, sales improved a hundred
percent.  Then its chief engineer came up with a revolutionary development.  A
year ago Roger Carmel had approached Quarran with nothing more than an idea
down on paper.  Out of the discussions and negotiations, Carmel became
vice-president with a hefty increase in salary, plus a percentage of the
profits.  In return he gave Skopos exclusive marketing and production rights.

      Where current models were weighing sixty to eighty pounds, his miniskopos
weighed less than twenty -- -and it was a tenth of the size as well.  Instead
of bulky and expensive reels of tape, it used cartridges, 8-track music
cartridges like the automobile stereo players.  A person would slip in a
cartridge, costing less than five dollars per hour of recording time, and
depending on whether the unit was plugged into a camera or a television set, it
would record or play.  It could do both at once, if a person wanted to monitor
what was being recorded.  The whole unit was eight inches high, a foot wide,
and a little over fifteen inches deep. It could fit on top of a television set.
Or so it would, when the aluminum casing arrived.

      And if that wasn't enough, it could also be used for color as well as
black-and-white.

      That was a year ago.  Since then, the concept had been transformed into
test units.  There were bugs, of course; tape had to be specially made and the
cartridge feeder mechanism designed from scratch.  The components weren't
available, and companies building field-effects and integrated circuits had to
be talked with and their samples tested.  It had been one long headache and
fight -- and the man who ran the whole she-bang was Carmel, for he alone
understood what it was all about.

      Oliss, a born huckster, skillfully let the news of the pending miniskopos
"leak" out.  It had set the industry on its ear; everybody was talking about
it, everybody wanted to buy it.  The home entertainment market would have at
last a dirt-cheap way of showing video tape, of transcribing favorite
television shows, of making "home movies."  The schools and the government
would have the perfect teaching aid, which could be bought en masse without
wrecking budgets.

      The Cannel miniskopos was worth a fortune.

      But the time hadn't arrived when Carmel could rest on his laurels.  That
final effort to get them over the top and the units into the hands of buyers
had to be made.  Quarran was right; the miniskopos had to be ready to be shown
to the government in two weeks, for with contracts in hand, the high cost of
production and tooling could be weathered.  Later would come the home markets,
which were never over-night, but took advertising, negotiations, and the slow
grinding of public acceptance.  Later it would be Martin Oliss's turn to work
his tail off from the marketing end.

      "I hate doing it," Carmel said after listening to Quarran reiterate the
obvious.  "I hate doing it, but I suppose we could fashion one out of  sheet
metal.  It won't look as well as the stamped paneling, and probably won't work
as well, either.  It sure as hell won't be as light."

      "I can talk around that.  Once those bureaucrats get their mitts onto a
working prototype, they'll be too blinded to nit-pick."  Quarran tapped his
cigar ash into the large ceramic bowl beside him.  "They'll specify aluminum
and weight requirements, and by that time we'll be able to supply them."

      "Y-yes, that s-sounds alright to me," Krocklin agreed.

      Carmel sighed.  "Then sheet metal it is.  I'll call the plant and --"

      "You go to the plant," Quarran said forcefully.

      "But I just got backs!"

      "It can't be helped.  There's not enough time to make more than one, and
that one has got to be right.  I don't want you to merely hope that the men
down there will know what the devil you want; I don't want you to assume they
can read your plans -- I want you to be sure that every detail is perfect."

      Carmel looked at Quarran witheringly.  "I suppose you want me to leave
today?"

      "I'm sorry."

      Under the circumstances Carmel realized that he would have to go.  Not
that he couldn't argue with Quarran, or even flatly refuse; it was the inherent
realization that he was needed in Kirsten to supervise the fabrication.  He
glumly considered the inevitable scene with Lonnie.  There were times when he
wished he was still a bachelor.

       Martin Oliss had other thoughts on his mind.  Just as gloomy, perhaps,
because he didn't know what he was going to do, but a great deal more dark,
because of their subject.  In less than two weeks he'd be handed the job of
selling the finished product -- not that it needed any selling.  He'd just take
orders, the way the miniscope was exciting the public.  In less than two weeks,
any chance that he had to steal the miniscope for his own use would be gone. In
less than two weeks...

       Oliss fingered his mustache, sighing inwardly.  What had ever gotten him
into this two-faced industrial spying anyway?  Greed, pure and simple.  The
greed for other women, enhanced by his own wife's insatiable lust for strange
cock, had introduced him to the swinging element in Rapier City.  He had been a
devout member of the wife-swapping club for some time; it was their use of Club
Royale and its private shows and still more private "rooms" for viewing and
fucking which had allowed him to become acquainted with Sam Zeigler, Club
Royale's owner and operator.

      That goddamned gangster Zeigler.  Oliss conjured up a swear word for the
cynical member of the state crime syndicate Mafia connected, though not
controlled -- who catered to the greedy vices of otherwise respectable members
of the community.  Greed, always greed.  Greed had gotten Cylvia Oliss into the
dog show there, a more than willing participant on the round stage when the
Club had rented the whole second floor for one mass orgy last Spring.

      Greed had made Martin Oliss go after and lay Zeigler's ex-chorus girl
playmate; the only one who had balls enough to try, Zeigler had said
afterwards.

      And greed had made Oliss an enthusiastic partner when Zeigler had
outlined his plan to take the secret of the miniscope and let one of the
syndicate fronts -- the outwardly legitimate Vantage Electronics Corporation --
have it. The promise of a cut which would put Oliss on easy street overnight
had put dollar signs in his eyes, and his wife had thought the scheme perfect.

      The trouble had been that the miniscope was in Kirsten, and Oliss was
stuck in Rapier City.  He'd approached Carmel with under-played, implied
suggestions that there were greater riches to be made if Carmel "sold out" on
the sly, but it had failed dismally.

      "I bet you've been approached secretly by other companies, eh, Roger?"
had been met with open, naive shock.  Carmel couldn't believe that the
competition could stoop so low.

      "You know, you could have tripled, quadrupled, your profit if you'd
considered others before or Quarran," had been met with a frown and a patriotic
spiel about company loyalty.

      "I'd sure like to see your drawings, Roger," had been met with a shrug
and a vague answer that the blueprints were in short sections, constantly being
revised, and that they wouldn't make sense to anybody except Carmel himself.

      Oliss had finally come to the conclusion that Carmel was an innocent in
the affairs of business manipulations, and that when it came to ethics and
morals, he was as flexible as a glass rod.

      Oliss was frustrated, and now the eleventh hour was here.  He was going
to have to do something fast, something desperate and a gamble, but then won't
all business a gamble?  The meek shall inherit the earth -- not to Martin
Oliss! The meek inherited dirt after the good stuff was grabbed by the
ruthless.

      Well, then damnit, start thinking of a way to grab!  Oliss's brain
churned with nefarious plots.  He thought about blackmailing Carmel with a
girl, but he realized nothing short of doping the man would get him under the
covers with another woman.  But what about Mrs. Carmel?  Oliss suddenly
grinned.  Sure... there might be the answer.  It might work... he recalled what
Cylvia had told him a couple of times as she'd laughed over the weepings of
Roger's sexually starved wife.  "She's too much like me, Martin," she'd said.
"She's as ripe for plucking as I was ten years ago."

      And then with only the unadulterated viciousness of a human beast of
prey, Oliss expanded his original idea to mull over the Carmel daughter.  She
was about due to get hers, or at least that's what Tamera had told her father
two weeks ago.  She'd really got him hot describing in minute detail how she
had finger-fucked the little teenager in the high school shower room, bringing
Jennifer to a climax which made her scream.  And when he'd been hard, his penis
jutting out of his bathrobe like a muzzle of a rifle, Tamera had let him screw
her on the floor of the livingroom, which was a different way than they usually
did.  Cylvia had thought it was hysterical when she'd walked in from the
kitchen.  Thrashing around on the carpet with the TV on beside them, the sound
of gunfire and horses coming from the old cowboy movie.

      Jennifer would have to be dealt with, Oliss figured, or the plan for
Lonnie Carmel wouldn't work.  Jennifer had to be out of the home, preferably
for the night or the weekend.  He'd have to talk it over with his wife later
on.  Maybe Tamera could lend a hand, her and her boyfriend. Who knows?  Maybe
she'd like it!

      He groaned inwardly at the exciting image of the two beautiful and
provocative women in Carmel's life bowing to Oliss's debauched whims, crying
for more... more...  He placed his hand beneath the table and attempted to push
his burgeoning cock down, without too much success.  It was too provocative a
dream!  Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, a mother-daughter combination in the swap
group -- at the Club Royale, on the stage, fucking and sucking and sucking and
fucking...  He groaned inwardly and shifted his thoughts to the immediate.  He
had to if he dared to stand up when the meeting adjourned.

      "Excuse me," he said in his silky voice when there was a lull in the
conversation, "excuse me, but I'd like to accompany Roger on this trip."

      "Why?" Quarran asked warily, always watching the expenses.

      "Well, for one thing because if I've got to promote the miniskopos in a
couple of weeks, I'd better bone up on what the unit will do.  Not just any
one, or what we hope the production models will do -- but the actual one we
demonstrate.  Also, I'm going to have to take pictures of it, metal cabinet and
all.  And I've been thinking that some copy and shots about the plant would be
very impressive, especially in a little throw-away pamphlet.  Give the company
an image, an identity.  After all, we're selling the name of Skopos as much as
this particular product, aren't we?"

      "Damned fine thinking, Martin," Quarran said.  "You're about due for a
trip to Kirsten anyway.  You haven't been there since we expanded the east
wing."  He nodded.  "All right, you go, too."

      "Great to have you along, Martin," Carmel said, almost smiling as if
relieved.  He was; this way it would be easier to tell Lonnie this way.  The
two wives could console one another.

      The meeting droned on, covering affairs which, as vice-president, Carmel
was supposed to be aware of, but which he had no direct interest in.  He mulled
over his own problems; those of the inventions and those of his household while
he chain-smoked a series of cigarettes and tried to look attentive.  As usual,
the meeting broke up in time for lunch, and he went with the three others to
the dimly-lit cocktail lounge and steak house around the corner of Second.  A
couple of martinis helped -- but when he got back to the office, his depression
was deepened when his secretary told him, "I was very lucky, Mr. Carmel.  I was
able to book you on a flight leaving at three-forty-five."

      "This afternoon?" he cried.

      "It was either that or tomorrow night.  Everything else is taken.  I'm
sorry."

      "God almighty," he groaned going in his office.  "Agnes, get my wife on
the phone, will you, please?"

                                *    *    *    *

       Lonnie was mopping the kitchen floor when the phone rang.  She was in a
very good humor, had been all day after her tremendous frustrations had been
taken care of by her loving husband.  She hummed softly to herself, following a
song on the radio.  She let her mind wander as to the pagan orgy awaiting Roger
when he came home that evening.  She was going to tear his legs off, she was...

      Her thoughts were broken with the ringing, and she turned the radio down
before answering.  When she heard Agnes's voice on the line, asking her to hold
on for Mr. Carmel, a dread settled with cold hands across the saddle of her
back.

      "Hello, honey," Roger said.  "I, uh... that is..."

      "Let me guess," she said darkly.  "Another trip?"

      "It can't be helped.  It'll only be two weeks, and believe me, I tried to
get out of it, but --"

      "I'm sure you did," she interrupted sarcastically.  "I bet you fought
tooth and nail."

      "I did!  Please don't be this way.  Oh -- and Martin's having to
accompany me, too.  Maybe you and Cylvia can get together while we're gone."

      A frustrated hiss slipped from between her teeth and tried to hide her
annoyance he'd heard through the phone.  "When are you leaving?"

      "I'll be home in an hour, honey.  Pack some clothes for me, will you?"

       "When?" she repeated more firmly.

      "Ah... this afternoon.  Three-thirty, to be exact."

      "Three --!"  Her face blossomed with anger.  "Do you know what's in the
oven, Mr. Carmel?  Do you know what I have slaved to the bone preparing for
you, you bastard, just as a special treat for tonight and which Jennifer and I
detest?  Do you?"

      "Now, honey..."

      "Don't honey me," she stormed and slammed down the receiver.  Another
trip!  Tears of humiliation and pride welled up in her eyes as she thought of
his leaving her again.

      Damn... damn... damn... she wasn't enough of a woman to hold a man, she
was unable to satisfy her husband enough in bed to hold him at home for one
day.  Was there any reason why Roger stayed married to her other than to screw
her now and then when he was around?  What did he do the other six months? Have
other women?

      Oh no!  The crazy idea that he was unfaithful to her crept insidiously
into her brain, once unleashed by her torment of anger and frustration.  If she
could only go with Roger on his trips... but no, she had to stay home with
their daughter, Jennifer.  All she could do was wait and sit until he got back
from wherever he went, never knowing what he was up to.

      She walked to the closet and half-heartedly swung one of the suitcases
she hadn't put away from that morning onto the bed.  She began to put fresh
clothes out, quickly filling the three-suiter and then put additional clothing
in the smaller over-night case.  Then, locking the lids, she wandered into the
kitchen, her day ruined, and pondered about what the hell she was going to do
for the next couple of weeks.

      Do what Roger suggested she guessed.  See a lot of Martin's wife.  It
certainly was a God-send having such a close, warm, understanding friend like
Cylvia.  She was almost more of a husband to Lonnie than Roger was.

                                *    *    *    *

      "Oh god, Martin, I want to suck you," Cylvia Oliss moaned.  She was
writhing on their satin-covered double bed, her own fingers slipping wetly
inside her cunt.  Her back was arched, and her legs splayed wide, as nude, she
masturbated before the lusting leer of her husband, one hand fondling her
breasts and the other in her vagina.

      Cylvia had short blond hair the color of wheat; it hugged her face in
soft curls.  She had high, classical features, with blue, cat-like eyes above a
wide, bow-shaped mouth and aquiline nose.  Her wasp waist was in contortions at
the moment, and her full, thrusting breasts danced with delightful impudence on
her tanned chest.  She was tanned all over, not even with the normal tiger
strips around her breasts and hips.  Her straw-toned hair was natural, as
anybody could see if they glimpsed her furry growth of pubic hair -- and many
men had not only glimpsed but tongued and fucked their way through the hair.

      Now the hair was matted slick with her aroused cuntal secretions. "Oohhh,
Martin," she panted.  "You're going to be gone for so long."

      "Just a couple of days if my plan goes well.  No more than three."

      "Too damned long for me, lover, and you know that no man can fill me the
way you can.  Oh...  oh... oh, let me suck your beautiful prick before you
leave.  Oooohhhhh, please!"

      Hot damn!  Oliss thought as he selected a suit out of the closet.  Cylvia
is a real talent.  She can turn a man on and fuck him every which-way! He'd
called her from the office when he'd learned from his secretary about the
sudden departure, acting the contrite husband just in case anybody heard.  Now
he had to be quick about it; couldn't miss the plane and his chances to land
the miniskopos.  He'd hurried home, only to find no bags packed but his loving
mate stretched out with abandoned anticipation.

      His pants, already sticky from the little drops of seminal emission
caused by the thinking of his plot while in the board room, now bulged once
more.  He stifled a groan.  "No... no, I've got to tell you about what you've
got to do."

      "Tell me afterwards."  She reached up and undid two of his shirt buttons,
then returned her left hand to the nipples of her breasts.

      "No, now."

      "I refuse to listen unless you take your clothes off and sit down beside
me."  She oscillated on the coverlet, moaning further as her hands sought the
warm cavern of her hungry cunt.  "C'mon, strip, lover-man.  Strip for your
wife."

      "All... all right," he said, his voice quivering.  He had to change
anyway; might as well now as never.  Have to keep control of myself, though.
Too much to set up.  He dropped his trousers and threw his shirt and tie over
his jacket on the chair.  When he pulled his underpants down, however, his cock
leapt out to full erection, trembling with lust.

      Cylvia stared at it, moistening her lips with her tongue as if she was
already tasting its pungent male sperm.  "Come on," she whispered throatily,
"Come on and sit down."

      He did, but warned her, "First things first."

      Cylvia snaked out her left hand again and closed it around his turgid
expanse.  She rubbed it up and down, her tongue still flicking along her lips,
her eyes hot on the huge, granite shaft and bulbulous head and the wrinkled sac
of his testicles.  "Please, Martin," she crooned, "I'm hot now and I want to
suck you.  Let your hot-boxed little wife suck you now and then you can tell me
all about your plan."

      "No," Oliss said firmly.  He moved to the foot of the bed, watching her
undulate her hips and slide her fingers in and out of her trembling,
pink-rimmed vaginal hole.  "Now you know Lonnie Carmel well enough so she
trusts you.  Well, get her drunk tonight or something, and into bed with
somebody."

      "Who?" Cylvia asked petulantly.  She stretched out her leg and began to
stroke his thigh with her toes, waggling her big toe upwards so she could reach
the fleshy pole of his cock.  "Who'll be the man?"  She watched gleefully as
her strokings made her husband shudder.  He never could stay away for long...

      "I don't care.  Pick any one out of the swap group."  He stopped, and
then a wicked leer parted his lips.  "No... no, get Sam Zeigler to be the
straight man for Lonnie.  Call him up after I leave and set it up, maybe at his
club. After all," he said with a snicker, "he's got a vested interest in seeing
that this ploy works."

      "And he likes innocent, unwilling cunt," Cylvia said, "tons of it.  He's
almost as insatiable as you are, my love, when it comes to fucking."

      As she spoke, she moved her buttocks down the bed so that she could once
more seize his palpitating penis.  She stroked it with her fingers as before,
and before he was able to fend her off, she rose and pressed her lithe, tiger
body against his, forcing him back in a prone position across the width of the
bed.

      "Damn it, Cylvia, I'm trying to tell you what you've got to do before my
plane leaves.  I --" Oliss paused as his wife trailed her soft, moist  lips
along the side of his neck, into the hollow of his throat, down along his
bronze chest.  She nuzzled the rigid tips of his male nipples, rolling her
tongue back and forth across one and then the other.  Finally she let her mouth
roam down across the girth of his large, well-muscled stomach.

      Oliss groaned at her expert ministrations, and involuntarily thrust his
hips up toward her.  She scratched his cock lightly with her fingernails and
over his testicles, reaching under his trembling body to probe briefly the
puckered ring of his anus...

      "The plan," Oliss continued weakly.  "We... have to talk... about what...
to do with... Jennifer."

      Cylvia smiled wryly as she looked up for a moment with half-lidded eyes.
"Don't worry about a thing, lover.  I'll speak to Tamera when she gets home
from school.  I think she mentioned that Vic was taking her to one of those pot
parties.  And you know what happens at them."

      Oliss knew; the teen age pot parties were almost as wild and debauched as
the adult wife-swapping get-togethers.  He still couldn't comprehend at what
those kids did.  Why at their tender age, he barely had learned that his cock
was to piss out of, much besides how to stick it in a girl.  Of course, when he
had learned...

      Cylvia was on all fours now, her mouth hovering over his erect penis.
Then her warm lips closed over it, malting it throb with sensitivity.  He
lifted his head, unable to break away from the suckings, and he was all the
more excited as he watched his wife bury his penis between her ovally pursed
lips.

      "Go-wa, go-wa on-a," she murmured around his cock as she plunged her head
up and down in an oral simulation of a warm clasping cunt.  At the same time
she twirled her tongue around the moist stickiness of its blood-engorged head.

      "Uuuuhhh," he panted.  "You bitch, you goddamned bitch... you... know I
can't... go on."  He gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain on the
subject.  "C-call me at the El Mecca Motel when... when you've... got her
and... and her daughter screwing.  I... I've got to plan my end of things from
that time on... on... uhhhhh."   Damn it, she'd won again, Oliss thought
fuzzily, capitulating to the prurient sensations of her mouth and fingers.  She
always won, always got her way sexually, and she knew all the tricks in the
book and some not written yet.  "Ahhhhh," he panted.  "If I miss my plane..."

      Oliss lay back and shut his eyes and pretended that it was the pretty
Lonnie Carmel sucking his penis.  That it was Lonnie's -- or better yet, that
it was Jennifer's lipstick-lined mouth puckering as she sawed up and down.
Well, if he had his way it would be one of these days.  He'd shoot his load of
cum deep into the throats of Roger Carmel's wife and daughter, first one and
then the other of the females... and they'd love it...

      "Suck me, Cylvia," Oliss urged.  "Suck, suck, suck my cock!"

      The blonde wife slaved above his loins, her body glistening from postules
of lust sweat.  The pressure grew and grew in her husband's testicles, and he
arched his buttocks and strove hard against her face, feeling his curly pubic
hair graze her chin and cheeks but not hearing the slightest whimper of
protest.  His final release of semen boiled inside him, building like a crazy
whirling dervish toward its moment of ejaculation.  His scrotum tightened...

      And then --  Oliss felt the eruption as the first stream of white-hot
fire leapt along the passage of his jerking cock.  He gasped, his lips pulling
back across his teeth.  His penis pulsed and flooded without warning Cylvia's
maddingly sucking mouth.  The burning seed bloated her cheeks until she was
forced to concentrate on swallowing rather them milking, and all the while she
mewled and crooned and tickled his pounding balls with the tips of her fingers.
With one last earth-shattering groan, Oliss emptied the last of his cum, and
his penis started to deflate.

      Cylvia kept on sucking, and then his cock slipped from between her lips,
clean of every drop of his orgasm.  Her belly felt warm and filled and she
smiled like a contented feline after feeding itself to capacity.  She lay with
her head on his thigh, nibbling gently on the limp, useless penis in front of
her.  She had the suspicion as her own unfulfillment started gnawing at her
insides, that if they made the plane, it was going to be by the skin of their
teeth.  She hoped that the plane might be delayed somehow.  There was still a
long and delicious interlude ahead of them, and the rising moisture in her
thighs told her it was about to begin.  She smiled silently to herself in
anticipation.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 3/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 3

      Lonnie Carmel stared morosely into her coffee cup.  The silence of  the
house was oppressive to her ears, its emptiness a sacrilege to her eyes.  It
was always thus during the week, in that magical hour or so between the end of
the housework chores and the entrance of her daughter, home from school.  But
with the knowledge that she was without her husband for another fortnight,
Lonnie sensed that the house was like a tomb; still as death and just as
vacant.

      She sighed, wondering whether it was worth saving the special steak from
age she'd prepared for Roger, or if she should throw it away as carelessly as
it seemed to her that her errant husband was discarding their marriage.  A tear
welled in one eye; she blinked rapidly and it rolled down her cheek and poised
uncertainly by her trembling jaw.

      Her thoughts were stilled when the front door burst open and Jennifer
came in.  She was a little breathless and her face was a soft crimson.  "Hi,
Mom," she cried out happily.  "I ran from the bus stop because of the rain.
Whoo-ee! Anything to eat?"

      "I'll fix dinner soon," Lonnie said woodenly.

      "You look sad, Mom," the daughter said, frowning slightly.  "What's the
matter?"

      "N-nothing," Lonnie said haltingly.  "Nothing at all."

      Jennifer, concerned, put her books on the dinette table and sat down
beside her mother.  "Yes there is, I can tell it."

      "It's... it's just that your father had to go on another trip."

      "Today?"  Jennifer was shocked: her father had just gotten home this
morning!  "You mean he's left again, today?"

      "Yes," came the whisper.

      Mother and daughter sat in glum-filled sadness.  The pall of quiet
engulfed them; a sound-proof cloak effectively sealing their separate thoughts
even from being shared between them.  After awhile, the daughter said: "I think
it's a crime.  Daddy's never home."

      "It seems that way at times," her mother agreed.  "But we have to
remember that he's doing it for us."

      "You say that, Mom, but you don't believe it."

      Lonnie winced inwardly at the telling remark.  It was hard to be coldly
analytical in a situation as emotion-fraught as this.  She had to remember,
though, that it wasn't good to display her marital troubles in front of
Jennifer.  It only hurt the family needlessly, and certainly didn't help solve
the problem.  She tried to smile, it came out forced and shallow.  "Well..."
she said, "well, we can't just sit around and cry in our soup, can we?"

      Jennifer remained sullen.  Mothers were one thing, and she loved hers
very much.  But Jennifer had always been "Daddy's little girl," and she felt
drawn to him strongly.  When she worked hard in school, it was to make Dad
proud of her; when she had a problem, it was to Dad that she went; when she
thought about the man she would marry someday, the image came out to look like
Dad.  It was the natural, common Oedipus complex in female garb -- nothing
serious or especially unhealthy -- but a source of  frustration and anger when
Dad was away.

      Roger Carmel never dreamed how much his family really loved him.  They
would do anything for him, and might not have recognized how well  he'd
succeeded as a mate and parent.  The Olisses did.  They were counting on it, in
fact.

      "Tell you what, Jennifer," Lonnie said, a little more sprightly, now that
she had something to do to keep her mind occupied, "I'll whip up a batch of
pancakes.  Norwegian ones; you always like them."

      "Sure.  Fine."  Jennifer remained unmoved.

      "Then we'll go to the movies, if you like."

      "I don't feel like going out.  Thanks anyway."

      Lonnie glanced over at her offspring, wondering how to snap her teenage
daughter out of the blue funk she was in.  She chastised herself again for
being as maudlin as she'd been when Jennifer had first come home.  Her
moroseness has transmitted itself, and she felt, as a mother, the burden of
responsibility.

      Her considerations were interrupted by the ringing of the door chimes.
Now who could that be?

      "I'll get it," Jennifer said, and rose.  She wasn't overly quick about
it, though she wasn't dragging her feet; merely disinterested and sluggish with
sadness.  She was surprised when she answered the door to find the Oliss women
standing on the porch.  "Why... Tamera!  And Mrs. Oliss!"

      "Mind if we visit, Jennifer?" Mrs. Oliss said sweetly.  "Tam and I are
without our man, just like you two.  We thought we'd at least make it a
lonesome foursome."

      "Of course," Jennifer said, standing back so they could enter.  "Come on
in.  Mom was fixing dinner."

      "Oh, well if she's busy..."

      "Not at all, Cylvia," Lonnie said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping
her hands on a towel.  "I hadn't really started yet.  Coffee?"

      "Sounds wonderful.  Unless I can plead for a drink instead."

      "Of course.  Scotch and Ginger?  I'll join you."

      "Got a Coke, Mrs. Carmel?" Tam said, the picture of adolescent
respectability.  If only Lonnie and Jennifer could have seen inside the girl's
mind, read her evil and depraved thoughts, they wouldn't have been so glad to
see her or her mother.  But all they saw were the facades, and as a result,
Lonnie and Jennifer were pleased and relieved to have them here.  It was easier
to share the depression with four people than with two, especially when the
others were in the same boat.

      Jennifer and Tamera went into the teenager's room, and within seconds the
house reverberated with the sounds of rock music, the latest "top ten" singles.

      Tamera, like her mother, was naturally blonde, but she'd let her hair
grow long and combed it in that tangled, careless look as if she'd been in a
convertible all day, driving with the top down.  She had a little stubby nose,
freckles across its bridge, and her greenish eyes were more cat-like and
devilish than her mother's.  Her pert breasts were twin small, firm cylinders,
tapering from their swollen moorings to cherry-nippled crests.  They bobbed
invitingly as she jumped onto Jennifer's bed, and she purposely sat in such a
way that her short skirt hiked past her thighs and Jennifer couldn't help but
see the shadowed white band of molded panties between her legs.

      A secret tingle went through Tamera's nerves, making her breasts electric
and her pubescent vagina secrete little droplets of fluid.  Her mother had told
her what she wanted done, told her and Vic when he had driven Tam home from
school and dropped in for a drink.  Get Jennifer Carmel! Get her naked and
hungry for her first taste of cock!  She shivered with forbidden delight and
one area of her mind dwelled on what was in store for her younger friend if
everything went right tonight.  The other portion of her brain was doing the
talking, worming Jennifer around to accepting the initial stage of her
seduction...

      "I can't stay for long, Jennie," Tamera said, outwardly sad-faced. "Vic's
invited me to a party."

      "Oh?"  Jennifer tried to conceal her obvious disappointment.  If it
wasn't her father, it was her friend who was deserting her.  "Gee, I'd sort of
hoped you could stay.  I mean, your mom and mine will be talking for hours.
I'll have nothing to do." She averted her eyes from the uncovered loins of
Tamera's lithe body and changed a record.  "What kind of party is it?"

      "A real fab one.  Most of the foxy guys from the football team," Tamera
said conspiratorially.  "If word leaked out about the drinking and... things,
they'd be dismissed from the squad!"  She almost made a slip; the time wasn't
right to tell the innocent virgin girl what the other "things" would consist
of.  "It's going to be outa sight!"

      "Wow!" Jennifer breathed with envious excitement.

      "Vic's going to pick me up here at nine."  She lowered her head, now
looking contrite.  "I'm sorry about it, Jennie.  I know how you were counting
on us keeping each other company tonight."

      "Yeah, well I can understand."

      "If there was some way you could come along..."

      "Forget it.  I'd just be in the way."  She picked a cuticle.  "You go and
have a real nice time."

      There was a long moment of silence -- or as much silence as could be had
when the record player was screaming out "yah, yah, yah, yah, yahhhhhh!"  Then
a small smile began an Tamera's lips.  She said: "Wait a minute!  Maybe we can
get you along!"

      "How?"

      "That is... if you really want to go."

      "Sure I do.  You don't think I want to stay around Dullsville tonight, do
you?"

      "It might get a little... rough."

      Tamera's warning only whetted the natural curiosity and the refusal in
Jennifer to admit she wasn't "grown-up" enough; she jutted her jaw forward and
said defiantly, "Don't worry about me none.  I won't faint or something."

      "Well, promise me you'll not panic, no matter what you see."  She saw
nervousness and indecision in Jennifer's eyes, so she hastily added, "Not that
you have to do any of it."  She didn't say what the "it" was -- better not
scare the poor virgin off entirely.  Anyway, Tamera knew Jennifer well enough
to know that the younger teen-ager's imagination would fill in some of the
gaps, and would only entice her more than if she was told everything.  "Just
don't start making a scene.  Act as if you're part of it like everyone else,
and not a wet blanket."  She smiled again wickedly.  "That is, if you don't
care for some of the action.  What the hell, you might; I sure do."

      "Sure I promise, Tam," Jennifer said hurriedly, her throat parched with
excitement.  "What do you take me for, a kid?  I won't embarrass you any.
You'll see.  But how'll you fix it so I can go?"

      "Well, we'll have to get you a date."

      "But I'm not going with anybody.  Besides, you said the guys are from the
football team, and they're all going with girls now."

      "Stan Lugin isn't.  He broke off with Marsha Dixon last weekend, up at
the mountains.  Didn't you know?"

      "Jeez!  'The Slam?'" Jennifer spoke in awe of the team's star fullback.
His size and offensive determination had earned him the monicker of Stan 'The
Slam' Lugin.  He was Vic's buddy, and next to Vic, was the school's biggest
athletic hero.  "You think you could get me a date with Stan?"

      "I can't promise, but I'll call Vic and see if he'll talk to Stan.  If we
do swing it, that's even more reason for you to be a sport.  He doesn't cotton
to sissies."

      "For Stan," Jennifer said, stars twirling in her eyes, "I'd do most
anything"

      We'll see," Tamera said under her breath.  Then to Jennifer she said:
"Let's go ask your mother if it's all right first, and then I'll call Vic."

      Lonnie Carmel was ambivalent to the request.  On one hand she saw the
excitement in her daughter, and wanted to make her happy.  But Jennifer was so
young for such things.  And besides, that would leave her home all alone, which
was the last thing on earth the wanted to be faced with tonight.  She shook her
head.  "I... I don't know, Jennifer."

      "Aw, Mom!  Please!

      "I'm sure Jennifer will be quite safe," Mrs. Oliss offered.  "If I had
any doubts, I'd never allow Tamera to go.  But Vic's a good boy, and from the
little I've met of Stan Lubin, he's been very polite and well mannered."  She
had a very hard time keeping a straight face, saying that garbage.  Cylvia
Oliss had first hand knowledge that Stan Lubin had gained his nick-name from
his way of fucking girls as much as from his football techniques.  The third
worst person to entrust a young naive virgin with  was Stan Lubin in her
estimation; Vic and her husband being the first and second, and not necessarily
in that order.

      "I'll keep an eye on her, Mrs. Carmel," Tamera sad.  Damned right I will.
I love watching The Slam' in action.

      "Yes, but --"

      "Tell you what," Mrs. Oliss said, as if suddenly struck with a thought.
"Let the girls go out, and we'll go out, too.  I think we deserve a dinner and
a couple of drinks, after the way Martin and Roger deserted us."

      "Sure, Mom, that sounds swell.  You haven't been out for ages."

      Lonnie had drunk three scotch and gingers, and her mind wasn't quite as
sharp as it was normally...  The liquor had relaxed her, made her feel as if
life was worth living a little.  Maybe going out for a dinner instead of
slaving over the stove wasn't a bad idea; Lord knew she had earned a break.

      "If I know Martin, he's lounging in the cocktail bar right now, lapping
up martinis and ogling the girls," Cylvia continued.  "Acting like he wasn't
married, and he's just like all other men when they're away from home.  Huh!"
she sniffed, as if outraged at masculine games.  "We ought to have the same
privileges.  We ought to have a night out once in a while to act as if we were
the girls' ages again, without responsibilities."

      "A dinner and a drink would sound nice," Lonnie said, already half
convinced that she should go out and it would be entirely innocent.  That
nothing would happen.  That Roger would approve if he knew what she was
considering.  That made her think of Roger, and the insidiously implanted
suggestion of Cylvia's made her imagine Roger sitting beside Martin at the
cocktail bar.  Well, she would go, and damn the consequences -- of which she
was sure there would be none.  She and Cylvia were both adult and mature -- and
two unescorted women this day and age were not considered bad as they had been
in her mother's time.

      "I'm convinced," she said giddily.  "Jennifer, if you promise to be good,
and if Vic's friend wants to take you to the party, then I'll let you.  And
you, Mrs. Oliss, will have the pleasure of escorting Mrs. Carmel to a steak
dinner and drinks a little later on."

      "Excellent!" from Cylvia.

      "You're swell, Mother!" from Jennifer.

       "I'll call Vic," from Tamera.

      The phone call was pure fraud.  A bald-faced con to convince the Carmel
mother and daughter that this was all spontaneous.  In fact, it had been
carefully laid out before-hand; even 'The Slam' and his girl, Marsha, with whom
he hadn't broken up with at all, were in on it.  They hadn't been told why the
alteration in Jennifer's virginal status was desired; Vic and Tamera had merely
told them they had thought it up as the evening's entertainment highlight, a
new twist to the usual alcohol and marijuana and sex kicks.  They thought the
forced seduction of Little Miss Carmel was one grand joke.

      The result was that Tamera went through the motions of asking and arguing
and hearing the I-don't-knows and I'll-have-to-check-and- call-you-back.  The
wait of fifteen minutes had been added as a special, exquisite form of
psychological torture to insure that Jennifer was fully ensnared, wanting the
date more and more with each passing second.

      Cylvia got up, and as a long-time and trusted friend of the Carmel
family, made herself and Lonnie another drink.  She liberally laced Lonnie's
with scotch, and added some vodka for good measure.  What she had in store for
Mrs. Carmel was going to take all the help she could get, and having her friend
drunk would "grease the runway," to use a phrase of her father's.

      Then the phone rang, and Tamera answered it.  She attentively listened to
Vic tell her what he was planning to do with his cock to her that night, and
then she put the receiver down and turned to Jennifer.  With a solumn tone she
said what she had known all along: "Stan says he'll take you."

                                *    *    *    *

      Stan leaned over the back seat of the car and said to Vic: "Any juice
kicking around?"

      Tamera giggled and turned her head.  She smiled at Stan.  "Can't wait for
the party, huh?"

      "Hell, that's a half hour's drive away yet," Stan complained.  "Gotta
have something to prime my engine before then."

      Vic laughed.  "Sure.  I could use a pull myself.  Reach in the glove
compartment, Tam, and get the bottle."

      Tamera did; she unstoppered a refilled Coke bottle and took a stiff
swallow.  She sputtered, and her throat worked, and then she handed the bottle
to Vic.  "Wow!  That stuff's good!"

      "Yeah," Vic said.  He took his eyes off the road long enough to drink.
The large convertible weaved erratically for a moment, throwing Jennifer off
balance, and against Stan.  The rugged football player put one arm around her
so that she couldn't regain her position, and when Tamera took the bottle from
Vic and handed it to Stan, he offered it first to the young teenager.  "Here,"
he said with a grin, "ladies first.  Just don't hog it."

      Jennifer hesitated.

      "What's the matter?" Stan frowned.  "You drink, don't you?"

      "Sure, I do," Jennifer said stoutly.  She was bluffing and hoped that it
wasn't too obvious.  She wondered if she wasn't talking herself into a bad
future position, for anything over a glass of wine gave her the woozies, but
Tamera had kept repeating that this was her big chance to get in with the "In"
crowd around school, and she couldn't afford to be childish or stubborn...

      The fifteen-year-old virgin tilted the Coke bottle and a warm, sweet
liquid filled her mouth.  She could taste the tinge of bourbon or whisky -- she
didn't know which, just that it wasn't vodka or gin or stuff like that -- and a
syrupy flavor like raspberry or strawberry soda.  It wasn't bad, not bad at
all, and she took another drink before handing it to Stan.  She drank again...

      Stan Lubin and Vic Statler had come to collect the girls promptly at nine
in Vic's Pontiac Bonneville, and after introductions and a few minutes of
conversation, they and the girls had left.  Stan almost made Jennifer giddy
from the start.  He was too much!  He was going to be eighteen in the Spring,
and looked at least a year older.  He had long brown hair, combed back and
around his collar, was six-foot-two, slim waisted, his shoulders and arms
bulging with muscles.  His face was pleasant, average, as ordinary as the
clothes he wore: levi's, sweater, and loafers.

      Stan pulled the girl close to him, hugging her, and for an instant, he
scared Jennifer.  Things were certainly happening fast!  They were driving from
one end of Rapier City, where Jennifer lived, right through the town to the
hills on the other side.  It was up in the desolate hills, at the end of an
old, dead-end road that the party was going to be held.  And they'd barely gone
two miles before the bottle of liquor had been brought out and Stan and she
were in the back seat cuddling!

      Stan let his hand dangle gently over her shoulder, his fingers brushing
softly against the tip of her breast.  He smirked to himself as he thought of
the way she had guzzled the booze -- leave it to an inexperienced girl to get
drunk before anybody else, not having the faintest idea what the liquor can do
or when to slow down.  He was growing more confident by the moment that the
lewd and obscene things in store for this tender virgin were going to happen --
tonight! -- just as planned.  Man, once she reached the stage of helpless
submission he was going to turn Jennifer every way but inside out, and maybe
he'd find a way for that, too.  She'd know what fucking was all about when he
finished with her!  When he and all the others finished with her!

      With a suddeness which bespoke his nickname, Stan crushed his lips on
Jennifer's unsuspecting mouth, grinding wetly, and the girl moaned and
struggled for one moment, panicked, feeling his hand on her breast,  tenderly
cupping the soft, resident mound.

      "Hey, baby," Stan crooned, "I really like you, you know?"  He felt his
"date" jump slightly as she heard his lying words.  He held her tighter,
pressing his hands once more against the palpitating hardness of her nubile
breast.  She'd never before been this drawn to a boy, never believed that a
kiss or a caress could be so exciting.  She wanted Stan to like her, wanted him
to take her as his girlfriend.  Boy!  Wouldn't that be a coup! She shivered,
and the alcohol seemed to effuse through her system.  She pressed her thighs
tightly together to control a peculiar tickle which was worming its way through
the sensual valley between her legs.

      Stan Lubin pressed his attack, massaging her breast.  He could feel the
tiny, bud-like nipples harden under the thinness of her brassiere.  Jennifer
knew that she was going to have to stop him soon before things got out of
control.  She squirmed, trying to move his fingers away without him noticing
and her short skirt hiked up over her hips.  Her thighs were naked and she
could almost see the white crotchband of her panties down between her legs.

      She blushed furiously and tried to pull her skirt down.  Stan stopped
her. "Let it be, Jennie baby," he murmured.  "You've got nice legs so don't
hide them.  You ain't got nothing between yours that I don't know all about!"

      That brought a shriek of laughter from Tamera and a furious blushing from
Jennifer.  The young girl felt hot, but not wanting to let Stan think she was
square, she didn't move her skirt.  She leaned against Stan and nuzzled his
chest affectionately

      Yeah, Stan thought, this one may be a virgin, but she'll be one hell of a
hot box when I really turn her one, just like Vic promised.  His cock swelled
in his pants as he looked down between her thighs.  He felt himself getting
blazing hot, the tension grinding his loins, his testicles aching to be
released...

      He'd have to take it slow, he knew.  Slow and easy and not scare the
girl. First time's the big one, he realized, having melted many a cherry in his
day. The heavy car sped through the night, toward the rendezvous with
Jennifer's destiny, and all that the foursome inside acted like was as if this
was just another night out, another date, an evening to laugh and joke and sip
from the Coke bottle...

      The party was in full swing when they arrived.  They had to park the
Pontiac down the hill, the last of a line of other cars which had gotten there
before them.  The house was actually more of a summer cabin; it was a small
retreat belonging to the parents of one of the boys attending, a small place
facing the undeveloped Guadalupe Canyon and the flatlands beyond. By turning
around and staring at the black hills behind, the glimmer of distant Rapier
City could be seen at their crest, their fusion of lights shining above like an
Aurora Borealis.  The bottle of liquor was empty and discarded when they
stopped; Tamera was mellow and giggly, but Jennifer was half stumbling from the
unaccustomed potion, and she allowed Stan to help her over the rough gravel
road to the house.

      Music spilled out as they opened the door, hot blow of smoky air and
laughter hitting the cool air and damp drizzle of the Autumnal night.  Jennifer
laughed for no particular reason, just that she was empathetic to the swinging
crowd.  She allowed Stan to kiss her at the entrance, and then again, harder
and longer.  His hot moist lips seemed to be her world at that point, her
alcohol fuzzed by not totally aware of too many other things at the same time,
and she almost fell over from the spark of electricity which invaded her
stomach.

      "All right!" yelled one of the boys from inside.  "Break it up, you two!"

      Blushing again, Jennifer and Stan, followed by Vic and Tamera, entered
the golden glow of the livingroom.  She knew the others from school, and they
all acted pleased and as if she truly belonged to the select group of high
school students.  There was George Slade and his steady girl, Gloria Talbot;
Sanders, one of the ends, and Beverly Harland; Greg Mothra and Anita Funabass,
one of the cheerleaders; Ken King and his girl, Fay Raye; and the last couple,
Gene Rogers and Dale Butram.

      The quartet wended their way through the crowded room, talking and joking
with the others.  Somebody pressed a drink into Jennifer's hands and almost
unconsciously she found herself sipping it as she talked.  The cool liquid felt
good, dispelling some of the heavy, dense air of the room, but adding to the
warmth inside her.  And it helped her seem more at ease, for she was still very
nervous and afraid, intent on making a good impression on Stan and Vic, and
yes, on everybody else.  She knew that Tamera had gone out on a limb for her,
and she didn't want anything to hurt either her girlfriend's popularity, much
less her own entrance into the social whirl that up to now she'd only heard
about.

      Eventually they found some space on one of the long, low, overstuffed
couches.  The room was rustic in decor, with hanging "Kerosene" lanterns and a
large brick fireplace and exposed beam ceilings.  The walls were of knotty pine
and Currier & Ives prints, and the furniture was the heavy masculine version of
Early American.  She rubbed the craved maple arm of the couch to wipe some of
the sweat from her palm.  The boys left them for a moment, and disappeared.

      Tamera leaned over and whispered, "You're doing fine, Jennie.  I'm really
proud of you.  Just keep it up."

      Jennifer's heart was like a trip hammer inside her chest.  "I am?"  She
sipped her drink, her throat suddenly parched.  "Oh, I hope so."

      "Vic and Stan will be right back; relax and enjoy the evening."   Tamera
was interrupted by Ken King, who jovially spiked their drinks from a bottle of
brandy.  It changed the taste -- not unpleasantly so -- and .the effects.
Jennifer found the glow was still there, but a strange giddiness began to
pervade her.  She should have had more for dinner than she had had, but she'd
lost her appetite with all the excitement of going out with Stan Lubin, and had
barely been able to choke down a half can of spaghetti and meat-balls.  Now,
she had to squint her eyes to see any distance, and to focus on Ken as he made
conversation.  It struck her  then: Ken King was talking to her!  Why, up till
now, he'd not even nodded to her in the halls!  She glanced around at the
others when Ken moved on;  seeing with reasonable clarity the groups of threes
and fours scattered around the sofas, chairs, and on the floor.  Rogers and the
Butram girl were at the fireplace now, putting together a fire.  He was laying
the logs across the andirons while Butram stood beside him and handed the
kindling and paper as he needed it.

      "Want another stick of wood, Gene?" she asked.

      "Naw, just gimme the matches now."  He lit the fire, and soon it was
sending a cheery blaze into the room.  They doused the lights, and everybody
became shadows and figurines in the flickering radiance.

      Jennifer became aware then that Vic and Stan had returned, and she
settled back, warm and snug and heavy with sedation from the powerful drinks.
Stan curled his arm around her and made her lean back against the cushions with
him. "More like a bed, isn't it?" he said.

      "Yes... yes, I guess it is," Jennifer said, a slight stutter in her
voice.

      "Here," Stan said, and pressed a cigarette into her hand.  She looked at
it; it was like no other cigarette she'd ever seen!  It was hand-rolled in a
brownish paper.  He grinned at her.  "Light-up," he urged.

      Jennifer had the sinking suspicion what the brownish cigarette was made
of.  Marijuana!  She quivered with indecision, for she was afraid of  what the
drug might do to her -- she'd heard too many stories and lectures from adults
-- but she was just as afraid of screwing up this good fortune she'd been
having.  She looked over at Tamera for guidance, for help.  Tamera was already
lighting up her cigarette, her eyes shut, oblivious to her girlfriend's plight.

      "What's the matter," Stan growled, "aren't you hep?"

      "I-I never smoked one before," Jennifer blurted, and then felt like
biting her tongue.  How uncool could she be?  She wished she hadn't drunk so
much out of the Coke bottle and then the glass in her other hand; she wasn't
thinking clearly and was awfully warm, and there was a weight preying down on
her forehead and eyes.

      "A little grass never hurt anybody," Tamera said, exhaling.  "Don't worry
so much, Jennie."

      "Ah, I knew we shouldn't have brought a kid here," Vic taunted with a
sneer.  Jennifer blanched with the direct punch of his contempt.  Rebellion and
resentment made her place the cigarette between her lips with defiance.  A
child, was she!

      "Go on," Stan urged.  "Let me light it for you.  Once you're a little
high, you'll feel things you never felt before."  He drew out his lighter and
trembling slightly, Jennifer allowed him to light it for her.  She drew in
heavily, and then coughed.

      "Oh, for Christ's sake," Vic said disgustedly.  "What a waste of good
grass."

      "Let her alone," Tamera said.  "She'll learn.  Try again, Jennie.  Hold
the smoke in your lungs."

      The second puff was easier, and the naive young girl held the sour-sweet
smoke down until she thought she'd burst.  She exhaled, looked around with a
smile of triumph, only to see she was behind the others, who were all busily
inhaling their joints.  She continued to follow suit, and by the end of the
marijuana cigarette, she began to float.

      Jennifer had never felt better in all her born days.  She was happy and
carefree, without a worry in the world.  She felt a comradeship with everyone
in the room, and she laughed and talked and laughed some more.  Everything
seemed so funny all of a sudden.

      Stan gave her another smoke, and then reminded her that her drink was
going stale.  "How's it going, baby?" he asked.

      "Like I'm on the moon!" Jennifer said breathlessly.

      "Christ, there's so much smoke in here that I could get stoned without a
cigarette," Tamera said.  She cuddled in the protective arms of  Vic.  "Kiss
me," she demanded of her boyfriend.  "Kiss me hard..."

      There was a long pause and then Jennifer heard the unmistakable rustling
of clothes as Tamera and Vic settled back against the couch in a passionate
embrace.  There were the soft, wet sounds of their kissings and moanings, and
the teen aged girl tried hard to avert her eyes from the petting so close at
hand.  But as she turned away, she found that instead of being horrified by the
sensual display so openly being performed beside her, she was becoming aroused,
and her breasts ached slightly with excitement. Jennifer was too close in her
friendship with Tamera Oliss not to be drawn by the building, writhing
apassionata, and the knew instinctively that she was approaching her own danger
point from which there was no return if passed.

      She looked around the cabin, and her eyes bulged as she saw the others in
wild tableaus of sex.  She'd been to spin-the-bottle and post-office type
parties before -- but nothing quite as blatant as this!  Why... why in the
firelight she couldn't be sure, but wasn't Slade moving underneath Gloria's
blouse, molding his hand to her breasts? And... and Anita!  She had her legs
splayed wide and Greg Mothra was rubbing her clothed genitals, causing her to
moan lasciviously in his ear.  My God!   How far would they go?  All the way?
Jennifer felt a sudden chill hit the pit of her belly. No... no that was
impossible, not with everybody here.  Maybe alone the couples might, but even
that was one of those things she found embarrassing to think about.  The
picture of any of them -- of Jennifer herself -- being naked and displayed
unabashed in front of everybody was shattering.

      It was entirely out of the question, and she lulled her mind to security
again with a long drink from the glass in her one hand, and a long drag on the
marijuana cigarette in her other.  She leaned against Stan, the delicious
warmth of the liquor and drugs seeping through her veins.  She'd never felt as
deeply involved before in her life.  But as she curled up with Stan and his
hand once more closed over her breast, the touch of her panties and the
cushions pressuring up between her thighs exciting her more and more each
moment.  Material bunched against her thighs and grazed the sensitive, virginal
pink lips of her vagina.  Tiny throbs of secret pleasure pulsed in the bud of
her clitoris and she tried to hold them back.

      But it was to no avail.  The heat of the room, the lulling, sensual
effects of the liquor and marijuana, the lecherous scenes of lust before her
naive and innocent eyes were all too much to be swept away.  Necking while
watching a distracting motion picture, or outside her house with the threat of
being caught by her parents was one matter.  This pagan and completely
uninhibited fulfillment of lusts was another, and it was working its debauching
influence on the virgin teenager.

      She couldn't resist the ever-building fire which swelled in her breasts,
her loins, her vagina.  No matter how hard she squeezed her thighs together,
the flames of her flowering young pussy seethed and lashed with constant
pressure.  She moaned and squirmed, terrified that she wouldn't be able to
control herself much longer.

      Just as Stan knew she wouldn't.

      Just as Tamera and Vic knew she wouldn't.

      Just as everybody in the cabin knew she wouldn't -- and they all waited
impatiently for the trap to spring shut with a finality which would rip
Jennifer Carmel from all her final moral moorings.  They waited, beasts of
carnivorous appetite, secretly gloating over what they were dead certain would
soon be the hapless virgin's uncontrolled plunge into their own carnal world of
hedonistic delight...


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 4/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 4

       "I could use another drink, Lonnie," Cylvia Oliss said.  She glanced at
the young wife, smiling cat-like to herself.  I don't need one -- and by the
way she's having trouble keeping steady, she doesn't need another, either --
but she's going to!

      "No... no I better not," Lonnie said.  Her head was spinning from  the
unaccustomed heavy dosage of alcohol which had been fed to her.  Fed by her own
hand and the alternate turns at mixing by her best friend.  On an empty
stomach, the liquor went straight to work, and she realized belatedly that she
was on the verge of being drunk, not just euphorically high.  She couldn't even
remember whether the empty glass on the coffee table was the symbol of her
fifth or sixth drink; worse, she really didn't care.  She just knew that she
had to slow down...

      "What about going out for dinner now?" she asked.   Cylvia Oliss stood
up, smoothing her short dress.  She shrugged as the picked up her glass -- and
Lonnie's as well.  "I'm not hungry yet, I'm afraid.  I ready feel like having
another short one -- I'll make a weak one for you."  She walked into the
kitchen and again poured both vodka and scotch into Lonnie's glass, then a good
dollop of ginger ale; the sparkling mix only made the liquor be absorbed
faster.  She looked at the scotch bottle and smirked.  It had been a fresh
bottle when the evening had started.  Here it was nearly ten o'clock and there
was less than an inch left in the bottom.  She was feeling good, not tipsy or
anything even close to drunk because she'd made sure that Lonnie Carmel had
gotten the bulk of the bottle.

      "I certainly hate it when Martin's away," she sighed, sitting down beside
Lonnie.  She was so close that her thigh rubbed against her friend's leg... the
move was not accidental.

      "I know what you mean," Lonnie moaned.

      "Without... without Roger I feel positively barren."

      "No sex?" the Oliss woman said lewdly, slyly grinning.

       "No!..."  The sudden question, with its salacious overtones, surprised
Lonnie.  How bold! What did her friend think she did, anyway?  Fool around
while her husband was away?  "Why, why Cylvia!" she gasped, "I'm faithful to
Roger!"

      Cylvia chuckled.  "I didn't mean it like that, though God knows you could
have all the men you wanted."  She appraised the young housewife with
calculating eyes, openly admiring her lush figure.  "Your breasts are much
larger than mine, and your hips... well, I don't mind telling you I'm envious
of you."

      "Thank... you," Lonnie said, shaken by the overt praise, and a little
unsure how to accept it.  It must be the liquor talking in Cylvia, she thought.
We've both had quite a lot.  She blinked as she found herself frankly studying
her friend, not as a friend or even as a person,  but as a woman -- a sexual
object which could attract and please.  She wondered what Cylvia would look
like in the nude, what it would be like to be a man and kiss her, caress her
breasts (which were as sensual a pair as she'd seen, and certainly a match in
their own right for her fuller ones) until the nipples stood out hard, to make
love to her...  In shock, she smiled embarrassingly as Cylvia caught her gaze,
and drank nervously from her full drink.  Cylvia leaned over her to get a
cigarette from the cannister on the table, and her breast swung heavily against
Lonnie's arm.  The heady musk of her perfume filled her nostrils, and with
deliberate provocation Cylvia straightened and searched for a match in her
purse with a sensuous motion of the hips and legs.  Her skirt rose a little
higher...

      "No, I think that you could find lots of males, and nicely endowed ones,
too; with lots of money, good looks and long hard cocks."

      "Cylvia-!" came a horrified choke at her sudden use of the lewd word.

      "Don't be shy.  It's just hen-talk between us girls."  Cylvia winked at
Lonnie.  "Haven't you ever wanted to say a few dirty words?  Let your hair down
and use them the way a man does?"

      Lonnie hesitated, embarrassed but at the same time fuddled by the vodka
and scotch enough so that it all seemed sort of innocently daring.  A private
game between the two of them which couldn't hurt.

      Say a dirty word," Cylvia wheedled.  "Say something like cock."

      "C-cock," Lonnie found herself repeating.  She blushed madly.

      "Something else.  Go on."

      "Screw..." Lonnie shivered at the use of the vulgarisms.  It was exciting
and perverted, and tinged with excitement.  She felt a small surge of pleasure
in her abdomen, and a little lower in her vagina.  She giggled slightly, and
averted her eyes.  "Screw," she said louder.

      "Screw," Cylvia said disparagingly.  "What kind of dirty word is that?
Screw!  What does Roger do when he wants to empty his cock and balls into your
cunt, Lonnie?  Tell me the real word for what he does to you."

      "He... fucks me," she stammered.

      "Where?"  The question came out with a gasp, as if the words were
exciting the Oliss wife... which they were, but her reaction only helped feed
the rising thrill in Lonnie Carmel's loins.  Cylvia licked her lips, her pink
tongue circling them and leaving them glistening.  "Where does Roger fuck you?"

      "In... in..." she wasn't sure if she could say it!  But then she felt
like such an innocent, such a prude in front of her friend.  Cylvia was
enjoying it, and in honesty, she had to admit she was as well... and she
trusted her friend, trusted her as only one true confident can trust another.
It wasn't as if she was on stage, addressing an audience.  She could be free
with Cylvia... and more important, with Martin and Roger gone and only the two
of them together now, she wanted to be free with her.  She was drawn closer to
her friend by the circumstances, and the bond tightened another notch as she
said haltingly: "Roger... fucks me... in the... cunt!  In my cunt!"

       "Sure he does," Cylvia said.  "Just like Martin fucks me in my cunt."
She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs and to Lonnie's
amazement, began to rub her thighs and belly with the palms of her hands.  She
stroked all around her genital area, moaning slightly as if in heat.  "Ohhhhh,
Lonnie, sometimes when Martin's not around, I nearly go out of my mind wanting
a cock in me.  My cunt gets so hot, that I think it'll burn a hole in my
panties." She grinned lewdly at the lovely wife.  "Sometimes," she whispered as
if it was a guilty secret, "I even walk around without my panties.  Without
anything, just so the cool air will calm the fire in my pussy down."

      "You... do?" Lonnie gulped her drink, the brazen confessions forging new
and evil images on her brain.  Cylvia... pantyless, going about the house naked
between her legs... but why not?  Who's to know; Who's to see? It... even
sounded like fun!  Lonnie's heart began to pound faster, and she blamed the
alcohol for her broken barriers of propriety, and for the way Cylvia was
confiding the most inner secrets about her private life and marital
relations...

      "And... I-do other things!" Cylvia said.  She inched still closer, as if
afraid the walls had ears.  She put one arm around Lonnie's shoulder.  "I have
to... or I'd go mad."

      Lonnie asked before she realized what she was saying, "What kind of
things?"

      Cylvia tried to blush -- a harder task than she had had to do so far.
"I'll... show you."  She picked up her purse, a wide, straw basket with leather
straps.  "Martin once bought these books in Europe," she said, bringing out a
set of pamphlets.  They were about the size of a Reader's Digest, only about
twelve pages in thickness.  There were different colored paper covers on them,
but all were entitled: Climax Illustrated, with different volume numbers on
them.  "We would sit in bed and look at the pictures and get hotter than hell.
We'd be naked, you see, and I'd look at his cock get excited and grow straight
up in the air.  Then we'd make love; screw, to use your word.  He'd fuck my
toenails off, in my language."

      Lonnie took one of the booklets, and said as she opened the cover, "But I
don't understand."  She was confused, dizzy from the liquor, upset by not
having her husband here, tortured by the increasing tingles of prurience which
was emanating stronger and stronger from her loins and breasts, and mentally
distraught from the deepening lewdness of the conversation.  She didn't
understand anything -- and when she opened the booklet and caught the first
picture, she really didn't understand!

      "Why!  Why... this is obscene!"  Her eyes bulged slightly at the
salacious color picture.  It was of two women, sitting on the couch, both
beautiful young Scandinavians; they were in a state of undress, one having only
a garter belt and stockings on, and the other in her panties and high boots.
The one in the boots was kissing the hardened ruby-tipped nipple on the other's
left breast. Lonnie and Cylvia sat in silence for a moment, as Lonnie took a
deep swallow of her drink feeling some composure returning to her stomach.

      "Turn the page, Lonnie.  It gets better!"

      "No..."  But her mind couldn't control her fingers.  The page turned, and
she reeled under the pornographic display of both girls stretched out on the
couch now, the panties around one ankle of the girl; they were facing one
another, but in such a way that their mouths were kissing each other's vaginas,
their fingers spreading their soft strands of pubic hair.  The pink vagina
slits were visible, and on the opposing page were close-ups of each tonguing
the soft flesh and rich thighs of the other.

      Lonnie was unable to tear herself away from the pictures.  She'd heard of
lesbianism, occasionally even wondered what it felt like to have the softer,
more tender touch of a woman on her skin -- but she'd never seen it before, had
it so detailed before her eyes!

      She turned to her friend, and found that Cylvia was now slouched in her
seat, her legs wide apart.  Her skirt was even higher than before!

      "They make me excited," Cylvia panted, her eyes glued to the pictures.
"So damned hot!  There's others, with men and dogs, and even one with a negro
with a cock the size of a telephone pole... but there's something about this
set, with the girls, that tears me apart when I look at them "

      "You can't mean it!" Lonnie gaped.

      "I do," Cylvia said, nodding.  "I'm being honest, and as my friend, you
can be honest with me.  Don't they excite you?  Don't they make you want to
spread your legs for the first thing that comes in sight?"

       "But -- but these are perverted!  They're doing un-unnatural acts!"

      "They're merely enjoying themselves, Lonnie.  Without men around, what
else is there?  Besides fingering yourself, I mean.  That's what I do when I'm
alone and look at the pictures.  I take all my clothes off and lie on the bed
and look at the girls making love and I play with my own cunt until I cum."

      "Cylvia," Lonnie moaned.  She was so awfully mixed up.  She knew she
shouldn't have had that last drink, for her vision was becoming distorted with
her mental reflection of what she'd done that morning -- what she'd done to
herself on previous days when the build-up of passion had been too great. She'd
lain on her bed, naked, and done the exact same things to her pussy which
Cylvia was admitting having done to herself!  She felt she should stop this
perverted talking before it got any worse... but the drinks and Cylvia's
salacious confessions and the pictures before her were a melage too strong to
counter-act.  She felt wicked churnings in her body, the prickles of arousal
stirring in her blood and marrow.

      "Ohhh, God, Lonnie, I'm excited," Cylvia mewled.  "I... I don't think I
can stand it!"

      Mrs. Lonnie Carmel's heretofore naive view of her best friend and trusted
confident took another shattering blow.  For Cylvia raised her dress yet
higher, so that now it was bunched around her waist -- and that she wasn't
wearing any panties! Cylvia Oliss was naked from the waist down, and was
brazenly spreading her logs still wider, exposing her moist, blonde-haired cunt
to Lonnie's wild-eyed vision.

      Lonnie was speechless.  Never had she been a part of such abandonment of
modesty.  She'd seen other girls in the nude, of course; had taken showers and
been at slumber parties and changed into bathing suits with no thought that
their -- and her -- private parts were in display.  But there had been good
taste then, and not a flaunting of genitals with overtones of sex so apparent.
Here, now, her best friend was shameless and openly admitting her unfulfilled
needs, her most decadent of practices.  Lonnie was always ashamed of having to
use her own hands to relieve the hunger of  her sex drive -- and never had the
thought occurred to her to use any stimulus, such as pictures or stories,
either alone or with Roger!  And whenever she did conjure up images during the
billowing heat waves of her arousal, it was always of Roger...

      "God, all I can think of is my cunt being kissed," Cylvia groaned.  She
parted her thighs and rotated her  bare thighs on the couch, her one hand
moving up and down, encircling the lovely curls and swollen red valley of her
vaginal lips, while her other hand was still around Lonnie's shoulder,
preventing her friend from leaving the couch.  "Just like those girls are doing
to each other... see, Lonnie?  Their kisses, their tongues, their
finger-fucking each other.  Ooohhhhh..."

      Lonnie tried to avert her eyes from the licentious sight of Cylvia
undulating her loins and agitating her throbbing cunt, but her gaze only
returned to the lusty pictures and the twin females of perversion.  She
swallowed hard, her throat dry, her stomach a thousand butterflies.  She looked
back at her friend and was drawn once more to Cylvia's soft pubic triangle, for
there was a strange attraction for the woman's hair and flesh which made Lonnie
cringe and want to pull away and yet lean closer at the same time.

      "Ahhhh," Cylvia moaned uncontrollably.  "Ahhh, it feed so good..."

      The Oliss woman revolved her fingers in the lust-moistened furrow of her
pussy now, her legs bent slightly to allow her hand full access as she hungrily
managed her cuntal slit.  The flesh grew redder with excitement, and she
breathed harder and harder, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.  She leaned
her head against Lonnie's rigid shoulder and clenched her teeth.  "Uuhhhh," she
sighed through her mouth.

      "Stop it," Lonnie pleaded.  "Please... please stop it."

      "Why?  I'm only doing what I enjoy.  We're friends, Lonnie.  We
understand one another, and we both know we masturbate."

      Her moist, glistening vagina was splayed wide for Lonnie's view, and the
shocked young wife could smell its perfumed female secretions.  As much as she
wanted Cylvia to stop, she was too close in spirit and desires to the Oliss
woman to be anything but a sympathetic and empathetic comrade.  Tears of
frustration and indecision clouded her lids -- and there was her own deep
wetness building between her inner thighs.  With a terrified Jolt, Lonnie
realized that her own hips were unconsciously starting to grind with helpless
excitement, and that her breasts and vagina were actually hurting in response
to Cylvia's immoral teasing of her own loins.

      Cylvia Oliss wasn't quite as thoroughly out of rational control as she
was making her hapless woman companion believed.  She loved what she was doing
-- had always reveled in displaying her full, curvaceous body in lewd and
debauched ways in front of others -- but in spite of the ebullient sensations
running rampant through her, one sane portion of her brain kept a close watch
on the reactions of her friend, and with the sureness born of experience and
cunning, she dropped her hand from Lonnie's shoulder and cupped one of the
large, round globes of Roger Carmel's wife.  Lonnie shuddered at the alien feel
and bit her lower lip hard, and for a moment tried to pull away.  But the
aching wretchedness inside her spread like wild-fire at the soft touch,
draining her of the will to resist. She dropped the booklet on the table with a
groan; it stayed open to the evil photo of the two Scandinavian girls frozen in
their passionate soixante-neuf position.  Cylvia waited until Lonnie had
capitulated to the fingers, then she moved her arm and edged up inside Lonnie's
thin sweater until once more the hardening flesh and budding nipple of the
woman's breast was teased.  And all the while she continued to fondle her
clitoris and vagina with abandonment.

      Cylvia Oliss mewled again as she slid the bra up over the quivering
mounds of Lonnie Carmel's breasts, and could hardly restrain herself from
ripping off the sweater then and there so she could drink in the loveliness of
her friend's full twin mounds.  She knew instinctively that they'd be beautiful
-- almost as magnificent to touch and kiss and view as a man's erected penis.
She loved men, was a hedonist when it came to their bodies and genitals, but
there were times when the creamy skin and velvety sweetness of another woman
was a pleasant variation.  Especially of a woman like Lonnie Carmel, who had to
be awakened to the full, until now hidden depths of her sexuality.  It made it
all the more exciting this way.

      Lonnie shuddered and almost wept with the tensions which tore through her
soul.  Cylvia's hand was massaging her breasts -- first one, and then the other
-- into concrete hardness, and she could feel her breath coming in short,
labored gasps as she twisted against the cushions and attempted to regain her
control and put out the fire that was engulfing her loins unmercifully.  Her
eyes glazed as she looked at the passion-inciting pictures spread in front of
her and then at the lascivious manipulations of her friend's cunt beside her.
She heard the lewd and lust-enticing entreaties which Cylvia was now murmuring
in her ear -- words which she hadn't heard since high school and that were now
suddenly exciting as they'd not been then.  The trembling, scared housewife
pressed her thighs together, pushing her fists into the base of her stomach in
one last determined effort to overcome the passions seething inside the
cauldren of her body.  In her sex and alcohol drugged mind, she knew that she
would soon not have any strength to fight off the lust that was tugging at the
very core of her quivering being.  And she was deathly terrified of the
consequences...

      Yes; what would be the consequences?  What would she do if she was driven
to the point where she had to have release?  And why was her friend, her very
best friend doing this to her?  Why was she being driven out of her mind by the
twin devils of Cylvia's unrestrained actions and her inner inabilities to
control the heathen arousals?

      And then Cylvia let her fingers slowly worm their way down the rippling
flesh of Lonnie's stomach and over her skirt to her bare legs.  The women
stroked the upper leg, and tickled the soft flesh of her inner thighs and
Lonnie felt her muscles responding with tiny, excited spasms. She desperately
tried to wrench herself from the binding forces of her nature, and then as more
tantalizing sensations crawled through her belly and swelled her breasts, she
found it almost impossible just to sit still.

      "No..." she breathed heavily.  "You mustn't, Cylvia... you mustn't." But
Cylvia was all but insensate from the delirium of her whipping masturbations
and the goading of the lovely woman beside her.  She wouldn't have stopped for
anything, especially for the ever-weakening pleas of the wife she planned to
degradate in every way imaginable.  This .was only the first course... the main
meal was yet to be eaten; the thought alone made Cylvia tighten her fingers
around Lonnie's unconsciously parting legs.

      "Please, Cylvia..." Lonnie was now desperately fighting herself as much
as the other woman.  "It isn't right.  We're two women.  It isn't natural."

      "Pleasure is the only thing natural," Cylvia replied thickly. "Everything
else are artificial restraints.  Or don't you like what I'm doing? Tell me you
are sick, repulsed, can't bear to see me ever again.  Go on, if you're able.
Tell me."

      Lonnie couldn't say a word, her voice caught in her throat.

      "I thought so.  You like it as much as I do, and your cunt's so hot right
now that you can't stand it."  She grazed the soft material of Lonnie's nylon
panties and ran a finger along the secretion band, feeling the soft down and
rounded protuberance of the woman's vaginal lips.  She slid her finger up and
down the silken cloth, much in the same manner as she was fingering her own
salacious, carniverous pussy.  "You like me rubbing your wet cunt.  I can tell
it.  I can feel the stains in your panties from your hot juices, and the way
your sweet pussy lips are twitching.  Just the same way they twitch when you
fingerfuck yourself when Roger's not around."

      Lonnie's face grew crimson red.  It's true, she thought in utter
mortification.  Too damned true.  Miserably she trembled with the ecstasy from
Cylvia's rubbings realizing what this admission meant.  All her body would be
putty in her friend's perverse hands, to be manipulated by the lewd whims of
the woman.  She shivered violently and tears ran down unhampered, falling on
her wrinkled sweater, but the sensations pervaded deeper and deeper, and now
she was writhing on the cushions, her body becoming more abandoned and out of
control, and slowly she turned her face toward the head of Cylvia, who was
still leaning on her near shoulder.  She opened her mouth so that she could
breathe better, and tasted the satin skin of her friend's cheek, and sweet
desire rippled through her.  The sane revulsion of being made love to by
another woman became the emotional turmoil of unrequited lust, and nothing
else.  A thrilling desire to be released from the burning embers of sexual
stimulation, to be brought to the crest of completion and know surcease from to
torture wracking her genitals and inner womb flooded her tormented body.

      Cylvia Oliss smiled triumphantly to herself and kissed Lonnie's small,
curvaceous ear tenderly.  She sensed that from now on she could do anything she
wanted to, and she vowed that for the rest of the time until they went to Club
Royale she'd make Lonnie Carmel so hot that she'd offer no resistance to Sam
Zeigler when he tried to fuck her.  The plan of her husband's was working out
perfectly, but her own yearning passion made her aware that she herself wanted
to seduce this woman.  She was actually enjoying herself.

      "You have a wonderful body, Lonnie," she whispered enticingly.  "Take
your clothes off and we'll both be naked."

      Lonnie's mind spiraled with panic.  She wasn't being asked -- Cylvia was
ordering her to remove her clothing!  She bit her lower lip with the anguish
that the knew she couldn't resist the command, that her body was going to
betray her thoroughly.  Slowly she sat up and, crossing her arms, raised her
sweater to her neck, baring her swollen breasts to the beady gaze of the woman.
Then she slipped the woolly garment off her head and bent forward, unclasping
her useless brassiere.  Her breath sucked in audibly as the moist hand that had
been masturbating Cylvia now caressed her naked breasts, leaving a trail of
lubricous juices across her quivering skin.  She squirmed as the hand stroked
one nipple, making it nearly burst with hardness.  A moistness in her vagina
from the other hand of her friend softened the already swollen lips of her
throbbing cunt.

      Cylvia pressed her hand deeper against Lonnie's cunt and then stretched
the tender skin of her breast until the hard, red nipple was near her mouth.
Opening her lips into an oval, she sucked the ribbed bud of flesh deep into her
salivating mouth.  Her satin lips sucked frantically, like a calf sucking on
its mother's tit, and Lonnie's whole breast throbbed in her hand.  She nipped
with her teeth and felt sweet flesh pulse, and then she curled her tongue
around the inflamed nipple.

      Lonnie was helpless to do anything except squirm and moan in ecstatic
delight.  She let the sensations roll unimpeded through her writhing belly, her
breasts shuddering with an uncontrolled passion which had taken over her mind
and soul.  Fumbling with the zipper and button of her skirt, she opened the
material and frantically slid the skirt from her arched thighs, forcing Cylvia
to remove the hand which was burrowed in her tender cunt.  But the lips and
fingers on her breasts were almost too much to bear unto themselves -- it was
as if the woman inherently knew that Lonnie's breasts were fantastically
sensitive to stimulation, and had homed in on them with unerring accuracy,
assured that the young wife of Roger Carmel would capitulate once they were
conquered.

      Lonnie kept her legs up and her feet free of the carpet as she puddled
her skirt on the floor, for her hands were already busy at the band of her
panties, peeling them down over her round curvaceous hips as fast as she could.
But before the skimpy briefs were off, Cylvia's hand was on the mount of her
vaginal split, eagerly spreading the inflamed and rounded lips apart.  Lonnie
sighed from the intense stabs of desire which cascaded from the tingling pink
flesh of her inner thighs as Cylvia's fingers rubbed up and down the wide
valley and grazed the throbbing clitoris and teased the moist, dilated hole to
her womb.  She gasped and began to whimper as the woman started to worm first
one and then two slender fingers into her vagina, sliding with slippery sucking
sounds while Lonnie fell back limply on the cushions, to lie prostrate and
spread-legged with total abandonment, soft gurglings coming from her throat.
Her aroused hips writhed in circles and arced upwards for more of the m
agically fucking hand.  Then there was a sudden halt, the fingers pulled from
her openly excited cunt, and Lonnie opened her eyes wide, wild for more.

      Cylvia was stripping her dress off, and Lonnie saw that her girlfriend
had not only been without panties, but bra as well!  She had come over, passing
through public with only a thin dress and shoes on!  The sheer decadence and
daring of such a garb added to the thrilling abandonment of the situation!  She
moaned as her eyes once more feasted on the moist, matted blonde-haired cunt,
and saliva formed in her mouth as she gazed enraptured at the beautiful banned
breasts.  She made no protest as the woman came to her and slid on top of her,
pushing down on the cushions and spreading her thighs wide.  She looked down at
the triumphant face of her best friend as Cylvia smiled and her eyes sparkled
at the lusty sight of the spayed pussy and large breasts.  She quivered with
trepidation and expectation.

      "Darling, I'm going to make you cum like you've never cum before," Cylvia
whispered seductively, her head leaning over and her nostrils breathing heavy,
hot air on Lonnie.  "Kiss me..."

      Lonnie stiffened as the warm lips of Mrs. Martin Oliss closed over hers,
and a darting tongue probed along her slightly parted mouth.  There was a
feeling that to kiss her would make what was happening all the more obscene, as
if there was actual love and affection between them rather than just a more
basic urge to relieve the tensions unbearable in her loins.  But Cylvia had her
hand cradling her head now, and after a moment of hesitation, she surrendered
to the insistent tongue, and opened her lips to let it slide in her mouth.
Their mouths fused hotly; Lonnie found herself responding with all the passion
she saved for her husband, sucking and savoring the saliva from her
girlfriend's mouth, and only conscious of the sensations the French kisses were
causing to her already trembling being.

      "Oh, yes... yes," she murmured as they broke apart.  "I want you,
Cylvia... make me cum..." The wild abandon of her own lewd demands made her
head reel, and her blood raced through her.  Nothing else mattered except the
carnal fact of here and now, and the delightful hot fire burning in her cunt
and breasts and mouth.

      Then the couch shifted, and Lonnie realized that Cylvia had moved.  She
groaned as the woman's soft hands feathered her skin, and her whole torso
quivered as Cylvia sucked and kissed her breasts with her hot lips.  Then the
couch sagged again, and the long, slender, beautiful body of Mrs. Martin Oliss
was stretched out full beside Lonnie, forcing her to move against the back
cushions and bend slightly.  And worse -- Cylvia had moved in such a position
as to have her face near her trembling pussy -- and in turn have her own
throbbing cunt offered at face level to the tortured eyes of Lonnie Carmel!
It... it was just like the picture!  No, no!...

      But even as the sordid thoughts raced through the agonized Mrs. Carmel,
Cylvia was once more planting long, fevered kisses on her burning flesh down
around her belly and upper thighs.  Her passionate vagina was tingling with
roaring heat, swelling and expanding the inner walls and outer lips.  Lonnie's
mind whirled as her friend caressed her lower body with hands and mouth, but
she pulled together enough strength to resist the invasion of her loins by
closing her thighs.  She'd never allowed her cunt to be kissed, even when Roger
had suggested the perversion a few times! The whole idea of mouths to genitals
had sickened her before, but now, so much had she allowed, that there was
little left in her crazed mind to halt this final assault.

      "Open your legs, Lonnie," the woman said softly, urgently.  Without
further hesitation, then she did as was bid, moaning slightly as Cylvia touched
the sensitive pink flesh with her finger again.  She turned her head to one
side and her eyes were almost level with the offered triangle of soft golden
pubic curls and taut ruby cunt lips of the woman who was manipulating her cunt,
and as she gazed at the feminine splendor, Cylvia raised her upper leg, bending
it so that the full majesty of her vaginal slit was paraded for Lonnie.

      Lonnie had never considered that a woman's private parts were especially
esthetic... but as hot breath was blown on hers, the lascivious sight before
her face took on the qualities of beauty.  She tentatively brushed her fingers
over the stomach of the woman beside her, and saw that it made Cylvia tremble
and moan with desire, and little droplets of lubricating fluid moistened the
coral edges of her pussy.  The skin felt so good to touch... Lonnie let her
hands play up and down her friend's body, circling her thighs and buttocks,
though not having the nerve to dip into the palpitating crest of hair and flesh
between the widened legs.  She just couldn't!

      And then she cried out with sudden shock.  Cylvia had kissed her pubic
hair, just above her vaginal slit!  Cylvia snaked out her tongue again and
heard a muffled sob just before contacting the black-haired wife's firey
clitoris, and then she licked molten swaths all the way along the fleece-lined
cuntal lips, right down to the opening of her friend's vagina.

      Lonnie let all thoughts of right or wrong, depravity or passion pass in
one sudden sweep of ecstasy and she drew her thighs upwards, giving Cylvia
fuller access to her cunt, and she in turn found that she was clutching her
friend's tanned buttocks with almost spastic strength, and her face was tangled
in the golden wisps of pubic hair.  Ripples of loathing and shame coursed
through Lonnie, but all were overridden by the inundation of sensuality and
passion.  I can't do it!  I can't...  And then she was, her lips and tongue
burrowing in the cleft of Cylvia Oliss' soft cunt.  Her head oscillated
slavishly as she abandoned herself to her position.  She could smell the
beautiful bouquet of genital female aroma coming from Cylvia's heated loins,
and her own pussy ached with the twin devils of her friend's mouthings and the
excitement of her lewd actions.

      "Ohhhhh," cried Cylvia in a muffled voice.  "That's it, that's it!
Faster! Faster!"

      Lonnie sucked hungrily, teasing the woman's little clitoris as Cylvia was
doing to her own, and she was salivating as never before as she tongued and
kissed and sucked the pink, trembling flesh.  And all the while Cylvia was busy
with the fleshy confines of her wet, side-turned pussy.  Her insides were about
to explode and she thrust harder and harder, every inch of her on fire.  She
felt herself cumming...

      The walls of her vagina grasped at Cylvia's tongue and her clitoris
quivered for the driving lips and teeth.  The muscles in her abdomen writhed
against the torture of her untamed fury and she checked and gasped as she
strove to bring her friend to the same completion she was nearing.  Finally
with an animal-like howl, her body shuddered and she jerked against the face of
Cylvia Oliss as wild orgasmic juices poured forth from her hotly pulsating
vaginal mouth.

      Cylvia felt Lonnie explode, and then her own orgasm hit, taking hold of
her body and sending it surging again the bobbing face of her girlfriend,
pushing it crazily for longer, hotter mouthings as she crooned out her release.

      "Ohhhhhhh!" she groaned, and she was joined in her cry by Lonnie's:
"Ahhhhhhh!" for Lonnie spawned and screamed with pleasure, beads of
perspiration dotting her forehead.  And then the two women fell limp, their
climaxes, like giant crushing machines, leaving them both stupified with
satiation.  They lay like that, their faces cradled between each other's open
thighs, for a long while until strength returned.

      Lonnie lay still, and as sanity seeped through the blinding passion of
her brain, she experienced a rising tide of guilt.  It had felt so good, she
couldn't deny that... and yet it was bad.  What if Roger or Jennifer ever found
out what she'd allowed -- no, had actually participated in?  She'd die.  A low
whimper of regret passed through her as she opened her eyes.  She stared at the
beautiful body before her, at the rounded hips and the blonde triangle of pubic
hair, still matted with saliva and Cylvia's lubrications.  She ran her tongue
nervously over her lips, tasting again the female piquance of her friend's
vagina, and had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end here.  That
as much as she loathed herself for doing this, she would fall prey to her
staggering emotions time and time again, whenever her female companion wanted.
For something had been released inside her, a trigger had been pulled, and she
had to confess to herself, if not to Cylvia, that she had passed over that line
between control and hedonism, and would never be safe from doing it again.

      She'd try -- oh God, would she try; for her family, for her marriage, for
herself.  But once the frailties of the flesh have been exposed, it's a barring
knowledge, and one which cannot be covered again and forgotten.  Lonnie Carmel
could never trust her body again, could never take pride in her aloof stand
above the vagarities of human response.  And then a more terrible assertion
came to her -- did she really want to?

      Yes... yes, she did.  She must not repeat this! She must find the power
to combat her infirmeries... she must, somehow.

      "I thought you'd like that, once you let your hair down, Lonnie," Cylvia
said, purring as she stirred from her prone position.  "We'll have to do this
more often, I can see that."

      The very lewdness of the remark smashed that last remnants of the wife's
pride.  Tearfully, she whimpered, "Please, Cylvia.  No more.  Not now. Jennifer
might come home."  Anything -- any excuse to delay a second debacle, a repeat
which she could so easily find herself doing, for her body was not satiated but
only temporarily stilled -- and a repeat of the same lewd act would certify her
worst inner fears.

      Cylvia, standing, fluffed her hair and smiled down upon the tormented
lusciousness of her friend's naked form.  "No, your daughter won't be coming
home for quite awhile," she said.  "She'll be at that party for many hours, I'm
sure."  She knew full well that Jennifer was right at that moment being seduced
with the same practiced ease with which she had just seduced her friend. "Don't
worry about her, Lonnie."  She had the urge to laugh then, for Lonnie looked so
shamed and yet so very hot.

      "Listen, Lonnie," the evil woman said in a condescending tone, "I know
you're feeling awfully bad about what we did just now, but believe me, it's
only because it's new to you."

      "I... I don't wish to discuss it."  Lonnie turned her head away.

      Cylvia was too clever to let the reaction of self-incrimination steal the
pleasure and satisfaction from Lonnie's guilty mind.  The body she had just
conquered would be a slave to sexual license from now on -- but she had to make
sure that Lonnie openly went along with her body, for only then could full
enjoyment be realized -- and her hopes for another member to their swap club be
added.  Her husband may have his motives -- but Cylvia had her own as well. She
didn't deceive herself into thinking the could do it all at once, of course --
there had to be reinforcements, and soon; Zeigler would see to that -- but the
seeds for the change in mind and soul had to be started now, while the body
still emanated its signals of satiation and smug satisfaction.

      Mrs. Oliss looked down on the hapless, despondent wife.  "No, I must say
this, as one friend to another.  What we did -- what millions of normal
assenting adults do every day, is nothing but good, clean fun which adds
novelty and a lovely experience to your life.  You did enjoy it, didn't you?"

      There was a long silence, and then the tearful admittance from Lonnie:
"Y-yes, I did."

      "You see?  You haven't dulled your love for Roger; all you did was have a
fulfilling sexual experience, and we became all the closer for it.  What could
be more natural than that?"  Cylvia Oliss sat down, her naked hips touching the
still warm and palpitating stomach of the distraught young wife.  She stroked
Lonnie's side tenderly.  "What we did was an embellishment, nothing more.  I
bet that when Roger comes home, you'll be more passionate and ardent a lover
than before, because you'll be proving to him that sex is better with him than
any other way.  And of course it is; it always is."

      Lonnie moaned and tried to clear her head, to think straight about what
had happened and her friend's interpretation of it.  But the liquor  and the
shock of her body's betrayal had dulled her brain to the point of  utter
confusion.  She battled with her life-time of moral concepts -- it was wrong,
so wrong... or was it?  How could anything that had been so pleasurable be
wrong?  Was it just her puritanical prejudices damning her, and not the
reaction to inhuman demands?  She couldn't make up her mind... so much had
happened in so short a time... she was miserably confused.

      Cylvia chuckled, knowing the seed had been planted, and decided not to
press the issue further for fear of overdoing it.  She said: "Come on, it's
time for that dinner.  I'm starved now!"

      "Oh, Cylvia, I couldn't!" Lonnie wailed.

      "Of course you can.  It'll give you a chance to calm down and think
rationally and a breath of fresh air besides.  It's about time you got some
food in that belly of yours, anyway.  Whoo-eh!  The liquor hit us both pretty
hard."

      There was truth in that, Lonnie admitted to herself ruefully.  She
staggered to her bare feet, and stood nude beside the woman who'd just made
love to her.  She blushed at her nakedness.  "I'll leave a note for Jennifer,
just in case she comes home early."

      "A fine idea," Cylvia said.  "Now go in and put the sexiest dress you've
got on.  Something really scandalous.  And then we'll go out and have some
fun."

      Lonnie nodded numbly and started for her bedroom.

      "And for God's sakes take that look off your face," Cylvia called after
her.  "You act as if there's a neon sign in your forehead telling the world you
and I were on the couch together."  She laughed.  "Hell, it's just another
intimate secret between us, Lonnie, just like all the others.  Trust me."

      When Lonnie was in the bedroom and rustling clothes in her closet, the
Oliss wife crossed quickly to the phone and dialed the number of the Club
Royale quietly.  As she waited for an answer and the chance to tip Zeigler that
they would soon be on the way to his club, she smiled grimly.  Trust me,
Lonnie, trust me to make you break down into the hottest little piece of ass in
town.  After all, what are friends for, if not to trust?


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 5/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 5

      Stan Lubin massaged the young teen-age virgin's breast and knew he was
getting Jennifer Carmel excited.  Hell, everything was getting her excited: the
squeezing; of his hand, the potent and aphrodisiac qualities of the marijuana
and liquor, and the lust-enciting scene as the less inhibited, more experienced
couples writhed and moaned in the early stages of making love.  He could tell
his "date" was responding just as Vic and Tamera had promised by the way her
nipple puckered through the taut fabric of her brassiere.  He took the tiny
bud, and rolled the innocent nubbin, until she gasped and let her head roll
back, uplifting the tender mounds.

      The football full-back innately knew that her breasts were begging to be
removed from their thin nylon restraints and kissed.  His large cock swelled in
his tight pants and the tension was grinding in his loins, and his balls ached
with maddening intensity.  Yeah, he could barely contain his impetuousness --
this sweet, tight little virgin was going to be a delicious fuck, just like
he'd been told.

      A warning sounded in Jennifer's drugged mind, but it was too far away,
too dimmed by the marijuana and heady surroundings to be effective; she tried
to move Stan's fingers from her breasts but only succeeded in bringing her hand
to rest on his -- and then let it fall back to her side.  She closed her glassy
eyes and pled, "Don't, Stan," she groaned.  "Let me sit up.  I don't want you
to touch me like this."

      Stan only tightened his fingers, and with his other hand fumbled with her
bra snaps.  Jennifer labored for breath and squirmed harder, only pushing the
now wet and swollen lips of her vagina down against the couch cushions and
making herself more aroused than ever.

      "Oh God, Stan, don't... you're hurting me...  you're tearing my
clothes... stop!"  She knew that she should demand to go home; that in spite of
her fears that she'd louse up her chance of being part of the "in" crowd at
school and lose Tamera as a friend, she should call a halt to this.  But her
nerves were shattered and her brain whirled with the liquor and marijuana, and
already Stan had snaked her bra off and was freely fondling her breasts.

      "No... no, Stan," she gasped.  "I've never done this before!"

      "Always a first time for everything, kid," he grinned lewdly at her.
"Relax and enjoy it, like the others.  You're a big girl now, aren't you?"

      The others!  Her eyes flew around the room in wide disbelief.  The fire
had died, leaving only glowing embers by which the boys and girls were
outlined, writhing glowing lines and moaning luminous shadows against a
backdrop of furniture and rugs.  Clothing was strewn helter-skelter, and more
than one couple were unabashedly naked; a quartet were doing unmentionable
things to one another in a far corner, their mewls and cries of sexual ecstasy
mingling with the others, and only the lack of proper light saved their
debauched actions from searing the naive innocent mind of the virgin girl. But,
surely this couldn't be happening to Tamera!  Not her!

      Jennifer turned her head and saw the flushed, passion-fevered face of her
dearest girlfriend.  Vic was openly digging his hand between her thighs,
reaching up that almost indecently short skirt of her's and fondling her tender
pussy.  The shock staggered Jennifer, and with a sharp intake of breath she
leaned back, only to find that there was a prurient tingle in her belly and
deep within the untouched cavern of her vagina a seeping moisture was
increasing.

      Stan slowly insinuated his hand up her own skirt, copying the actions of
her compatriot sitting next to him.  He kneaded the soft, resilient flesh of
her inner thighs, while with his other hand he casually unbuttoned her frilly
blouse which she had so zealously ironed especially for tonight.

      "Stan, I beg you..." she whimpered.  "I'm not that kind of girl."

      "All gals are that kind of girl -- if they're not in diapers," the high
school hero sneered.  "And, baby, that body of yours has been going to waste
too long.  It's going to change as of tonight."  He whistled as he saw the full
rounded breasts overflowing from her open blouse.  He'd never seen a more
perfect pair!  He roughly wrenched off the garment, leaving Jennifer naked from
the want up, and shivering, even though the cabin was overly warm.

      Jennifer's breath came in short spasms and she blushed furiously in
shame. She turned her eyes away and tried to cower on the cushion, hunching
over protectively.  Stan grabbed her hair and forced her upright, her breasts
twin mounds of quivering delight thrusting out for all the cabin to see.

      "Uh-uh, baby.  You got to see that what you're doing is just what all of
us do whenever we get a chance.  I mean, just take a gander at your
girlfriend."  He laughed harshly at her confused and cringing embarrassment. He
made her stare at Tamera, and Jennifer's flesh crawled with the impact of so
close a scene of carnal abuse.  Tamera had her legs wide, and her panties were
on the floor at her feet, and her skirt was there too! Jennifer gasped with
horror as she viewed her naked girlfriend, and felt as if she could reach out
and touch her.

      Tamera was gurgling ecstatically, her head rolling from side to side, and
Vic's hand was flying in the blonde, curly pubic hair which was so openly
displayed.  Her legs were quivering as if palsied, splayed to allow the
half-back full access to her.  This was different than even the lusty sight of
her mother and father screwing!  This was her friend!  Jennifer continued to
stare at the naked, squirming spectacle while the muscular boy toyed
unsparingly with her wet, heaving cunt.

      Everybody was in the makings of an orgy!  The football team and their
girls were rutting like so many wild, untamed animals!  She wouldn't have
believed it without seeing it, and Jennifer was to the point of not believing
even her eyes!  The warming flood between her tight thighs was staining her
panties and she felt the moistness seeping between the clenched crevice of her
buttocks.  As Stan's hand wormed more insistently up to her crotch, the
pleasures she felt were rationalized by the overwhelming shock of what was
going on all around her -- as interpreted by her lust, drug, and liquor-hazed
mind.  It was wicked, but so wickedly nice.  She closed her eyes, panting like
a steam engine, resigning herself to the lurid sensations coursing through her
overheated young body.

      Then, she almost screamed.  Stan was already to the door of her
virginity, having insinuated his way there while her mind drifted with the
lascivious sight of her best friend's total capitulation to her boyfriend.  She
could feel Stan's fingers teasing against the softness of her damp panties,
snaking under the elastic of the leg band and worming around the moist lips of
her vagina. She squirmed to free herself, and then his middle finger was
inside, working up and down with a maddening tactile sense.  Jennifer was
almost out of her mind and was ready to crawl all around the cabin in order to
salve the unquenchable fires building in her helplessly contracting cunt.  Yet,
the sight of her best friend, Tamera Oliss, being buffeted down into the couch
beside her, was just too much to bear!

      "No!  Don't touch me there!  Let me alone!"

      Stan's only reply was to rip off her panties with one swift yank,
growling, "God-damned little prick teaser!"

      "I'm not teasing," she choked.  "Tam!  Tam, take me home!"

      Stan thought that was funny.  "Are you joking? Look at Tam and Vic and
tell me if they want to take a little cry-baby like you anywhere!"

      The virgin teenager gaped with agony as she saw what was happening almost
in front of her.  Vic, having brought Tamera to a whining pitch of raw nerves,
was now upside down and straddling her hearing chest, his face inches from the
young girl's cunt.  Tamera's mouth was wide and her eyes were waxy nothings of
lust and drugs.  Then, Vic pressed the flat plane of her stomach and massaged
the outer flanges of her vaginal lips, pulling outward, exposing the moist pink
slit of Tamera's quivering pussy.  The large bud of her erect clitoris was
clearly in view just above the shadowed mouth of her cunt.

      Stan, afraid he might be losing his opportunity, lit another marijuana
cigarette quickly with his free hand, while the other hand still worked slowly
but surely in the defenseless girl's vagina, and stuck the "joint" between the
lips of her trembling mouth, and he ordered her to suck in the smoke deeply.
Like an automaton, Jennifer let the sweet acrid smoke curl in her lungs, and
like it was a panacea, it filtered out all the horror she felt, replacing it
with a kind of delightful wickedness.

      She watched with overt fascination as Vic let his tongue flick over the
offered vaginal orifice of her girlfriend, and her body jerked as Tamera
responded with tiny spasms of excitement.  Her hips began a slow undulation as
Tamera mewled and rolled from side to side in order to allow the boy more area
between her legs for his kisses.  Jennifer drew on the "grass" deeper, and her
whole being blossomed with new, unfathomable sensations.  She was caught in a
mindless, uncontrollable desire to participate -- she had to belong!...  Oh
God, yes, she had to belong to it all!...

      "Now, baby, let's have a peek at your hot little cunt," Stan Lubin said
heavily.  "It should be nice and juicy by now."

      The lewd demand excited the virgin girl even more, and she moaned in her
drugged stupor as without protest, she now surrendered her loins to his desire.
Stan pushed up her buttocks and removed first her panties, and then found the
buttons for her skirt.  He let them down her legs slowly, saying: "You won't be
needing these any more," and young Jennifer's body was like so much rubber in
his strong grip.

      The boy was mesmerized by the lust-inciting view of her undefiled vagina.
Now, naked as the others were, she sprawled deliriously back on the cushions,
breathing wildly and unable to tear her gaze from the obscene display of her
best girlfriend's widespread thighs with the boy's head down between them.

      Jennifer's nubile form was an entrancing combination of raven blackness
and ivory swells of breasts and thighs, with a thin moist slit running through
the triangle of her soft young pubic hair.  Stan had fucked a lot of girls, but
he'd never dreamed of such a prize!  Never had he come close to deflowering
anything as pure, innocent, or helpless.  Her mewlings of shame only goaded his
cock to rock hardness, and he could feel his shaft pound with blood and tiny
droplets seeped from his bloated cockhead.

      His fingers crawled into the valley of her maidenhood, wet with her
emissions.  He rubbed her clitoris, listening to the panicky gasps that rose
from deep in her lungs.  "Stan... not so hard...  no, no, I've never done
this... don't hurt me..." Jennifer found herself sliding down off the crowded
couch onto the floor with her crazed motions, Stan beside her, never letting up
with his hand.  She writhed on the floor, nearly as abandoned as the others,
and her nerves were shredded under his obscene torture of her young female
genitals.

      Enjoying himself, Stan crouched down and spread the lips of her vagina
and slipped his middle finger into the tight, innocent hole.  He pushed deeper,
caressing her untouched vaginal walls, and her cunt lips sucked tightly around
his middle finger.  He began a deliberate in and out movement in a slow teasing
fucking motion, wanting her wetter so that the pain of his impending entrance
would be lessened.  And that impalement of her virginal pussy would be soon...
soon, or by God, he'd cream in his drawers!

      Vic now had room in which to fuck Jennifer's girlfriend.  Jennifer looked
up and was horrified to see the large boy standing over the hungrily writhing
Tamera and removing his pants.  For the second time in her life, she saw a
fully erected, mature penis!  Jennifer gaped at the thick stump as he paused
next to her girlfriend's still wide-spread thighs.  How could Tam take it all?
Jennifer thought crazily.  She knew that Tam wasn't a virgin, but this open
craving of lust was beyond her imagination!  She found her eyes locked on Vic's
huge cock as he arched over the other girl then Tamera reached out and grasped
the quivering cock and guided it between her legs to her open vagina.
Jennifer's throat was constricted as she watched him lever downwards, his cock
slipping smoothly into the tiny bearded mouth, a moaning sigh coming from both
of their throats.  Then began the same pumping with his young virile cock as
Stan was doing to her own cunt with his middle finger.  Tamera locked her
ankles around Vic's legs, and the tempo began to build until her buttocks were
drumming wildly into the couch and she ground her own body up to meet his.

      Jennifer's pussy, of its own volition, sucked back on his fingers, her
hips fucking up at them with the same rhythm as her girlfriend was using while
being fucked by her boyfriend.  The cords of her neck strained with the
unleashed torrent of her sexual fire, and she rolled against Stan, forcing him
to remove his finger.  She twitched and undulated, unable to stop her beating,
not knowing what she was doing or where she was, oblivious to all the others in
the same room.  She couldn't believe what was happening to her -- what she had
become!

      Stan couldn't wait a moment longer.  His testicles and cock pulsed with
aching desire to screw this innocent little cock-teaser.  He unzipped his
pants, flung them and his shirt from him and then crouched over her, his eyes
gleaming with perversion and lust.  Jennifer looked down between her
palpitating breasts and saw his penis jutting out from his loins, throbbing as
if an entity unto itself.  It touched her, leaving a smear of  its male
secretions on her bare thigh, and she quivered uncontrollably.  This was the
first time any male had been so daringly intimate, and she had to stifle the
sudden urge to reach down and take it in her hands.  She stared at it,
highlighted as it was by the red rays from the dying fire, and it looked hot
and hard.  She mewled, her eyes wide with fright as the full impact of what was
going to happen to her hit her mind.  He was going to shove his hardened penis
into her body!  All of it!

      Her cunt was open and wet and aching for it, but she wanted to cry out
the impossibility of accepting such a huge penis the very first time.  Maybe
later, after another lover or so had widened her cunt, she could take it...
maybe never, but not now!  It was so much bigger than her tiny unstretched
vagina!

      "Don't do it to me, Stan," she cried out in terror.  "I'll do anything
else you want... but not this!"  Tears washed her eyes.

      "Anything?" the boy snickered.  "As many times as I want?"  He thought of
her as his private little cocksucker, trained from her very first taste of
prick, unlike the others who were set in their habits and not always able to
satisfy him completely.  And then he laughed.  That would come later... but
there was the fucking before that.

      "Baby, what I want is for you to do anything as many times as I want you
to... including letting me fuck you!  You'll spread your cunt for me any time I
ask!  Now take my prick and put it in your sweet pussy.  Now!"

      Jennifer felt the huge cock lying the full length of her defensively
clenching vaginal slit as he hovered over her, its head jerking between the
tight, hair-lined lips, insinuating itself with a mad tease which made her all
the more passionate and desperate.  Her fingers hesitantly trembled as she
touched his swollen shaft, the contact an electric shock which rippled through
her body... down to the gently throbbing hole between her open thighs.  She
pulled his rigid cock into her until the head fitted her like a cork in a
flask, her tiny little cunt lips stretched like a tight oval ring around it.
Her hips tensed and little by little more of his cock forced its way into her
screaming flesh, probing deeper and deeper...

      "Goddamn, you're tight," Stan groaned as he levered above her.

      Her soft tender vagina felt as though it were bursting at the seams, the
pain unbearable.  "Stan, you're hurting me... you're splitting me open down
there!  No more... no more, please!"

      Her words were choked off as his blunt-headed penis hit her resisting
hymen.  A searing agony raced up from her loins, making her cry out. "Noooooo!"

      "Yes," he hissed.  "In fact, tell me you want it."

      "Oh God, no!  I don't want it!"

      He pushed down on her and involuntarily her legs widened from the sudden
rush of pain.  She gritted her teeth, tears of agony staining her cheeks,
ruining the light coat of makeup she'd so carefully applied only hours earlier.
"All right, all right!  Yes!" she whimpered helplessly, "I want you to do it to
me!"

      "Say it the right way," he snarled impatiently.  "Tell me you want me to
fuck your hot little cunt and break your cherry!"

      "Fuck... me," she whispered but then he levered again, and she screamed
out, "Oh God, fuck me!  Fuck my hot little cunt and break my cherry!"

      "Louder!"

      "Fuck my hot little cunt!"  She didn't care if everybody in the cabin
heard her, not any more, not with the crazy potpourri of potion, desire, and
pain which ran rampant through her.  She didn't care about anything or anybody
-- except for Stan Lubin and his blood-engorged penis.

      "Okay, baby," he grunted, "I will fuck you!" The boy ground against her
hymen slowly, deliberately, wanting her to know that she was being fucked
royally and that she belonged all to him.

      Jennifer gritted her teeth from the agony and groaned through them as his
penis strained at the thin, vainly resisting membrane.  Her fists clenched and
unclenched, and she kicked out her legs to try and ease her torture, to no
avail.  Grabbing her young, firm buttocks with his hands, Stan held her tight
and jerked his hips wildly, ramming his cock deeper into her protesting young
belly until there was a sudden pop inside, and he slid unimpeded all the way up
to her now quivering cervix.

      Jennifer forced air into her lungs and gasped at the shock of her lost
virginity, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain lessened and she
felt passion once more swirling unhindered through her body.  Her blood was
boiling and the cock buried so deep up inside her felt good..... so hard and
goood... she began to rotate her hips and the tiny muscles in her now
voluntarily opening cunt worked hungrily at the throbbing shaft.  Ah God, she
wanted to get fucked!

      "Ooooooh, yes!  Yes!" she panted mindlessly.

      Stan reached down around her squirming buttocks with a finger and slowly
teased into the smooth rubbery walls of her tight, puckered anus.  Her feet
kicked high out in the air again and her toes curled with the pleasure-pain.
Through the thin wall separating her cunt from her rectum she felt both his
cock and finger sliding in and out with maddening friction. A whirlwind of new
sensations tore through the young girl, and for the first time for Roger
Carmel's teenage daughter, there was nothing else in the whole wide world
except the delicious double-fucking of her cunt and anus.  Her cries tumbled
from her lips as she locked her ankles high up around his back and skewered her
hot, moist pussy up the full length of his immense, pumping shaft.  Sweat
poured from her.

      "Oh, darling!... what are you doing to me?...  I never thought it could
be so wonderful... oh...  darling!"

      Her fingers raked the pounding cheeks of his buttocks, trying to pull him
still deeper.  She rolled in heat and the hard young cock continued its
powerful surging motions.  Her cunt hole became accustomed to his invasion and
the defensive pressure of her anal walls around his finger relaxed and a tide
of hot juices drowned his penis in a sea of her excited lubrications.  She let
him fuck her with long hard strokes, wanting him to cum inside her, wanting to
let the hot sperm in his balls mingle with her own secretions, and that was all
that poured through the young girl's drug and passion-fogged mind.

      "Fuck me... fuck me... fuck me..." she chanted deliriously.  "Cum... cum,
Stan, and make me cum..."

      Stan nearly came right then and there as he listened to her wild,
incoherent babblings.  He loved to hear a girl beg for his cock, and he loved
the way this Carmel girl's hot little pussy clasped around his cock like a
warm, fleshy glove.  He'd nailed her cherry, and she was pretty and obviously
talented, and one hell of a fine piece of ass.  He'd really scored tonight!

      "I figured you'd like it once you got your first taste of cock," he
gloated over her.  "Whose little bitch are you?"

      "Your's, Stan," she gasped back, willing to agree to anything just so he
wouldn't stop the magnificent fucking of her newly-awakened vagina.  "Oh God,
I'm all your's, Stan."  She was shocked to hear what she was saying, but the
only thing that mattered for her desire-maddened mind and body now was to cum,
to reach that magical apex rising deep in her young quivering belly.

      "Fuck me, Stan...  You can fuck me any time you like!"

       He continued his assault on her tiny squirming rectum and cunt, his
balls nearly bursting apart with their impending release.  He tried to keep his
mind on the rest of what he had to do... what Vic had told him to do... what he
wanted to do to this high-class little bitch anyway, Vic or no Vic.  He managed
to groan out: "Good, I want you tomorrow night too. At my house.  My parents
will be out... and a few of the guys are going to be over.  We'll have a little
gang-bang, just you and us."

      Jennifer's gut wrenched, and she thought she'd be sick.  "No... no, I
couldn't!"  She cried and twisted her body.  "No!"

      Stan stopped his jerkings.  Jennifer, lost in her cloud of euphoric sex,
still continued her inner throbbings, and then she realized that he wasn't
moving!  His cock was lying motionless in her cunt.  "Fuck me!" she wailed.
"Please, fuck me, fuck me, Stan!  Don't stop now!"

      "What about tomorrow night, bitch?  You going to say no to anything I
ask? Anything?"  His voice lashed her satin cheek, leaving mental gashes as
deep as whip marks.

      "Ooooohhhh..."  Her eyes clenched tightly shut with humiliation and
shame, her conscience stricken mind a ferment of emotional conflicts.  She
couldn't stand it any longer, though; fuck was the only word of any deep
importance at that moment.  Fuck and cum...  "Yes, Stan, yes. I'll fuck you in
front of everybody.  I'll... even let the others fuck me while you watch ... if
that's what you want.  But please, fuck me now.  I've got to have your cum in
me. I've got to cummmm!..."

      "That's my little hot bitch!" Stan gloated in victory.  He grabbed her
hips again, worming his finger even deeper into her tight little anus and
surged forward so hard as to knock the breath from her lungs.  Jennifer went
back into the all-enveloping sensation of his driving young cock, fucking in
and out of her cunt with demoniacal force.  They hadn't called Stan "The Slam"
for nothing... Jennifer's body dripped with sweat and the consuming sexual
frenzy which once more shackled her demands to his was driving her out of her
mind.  All she wanted was his cock inside her now.  All she wanted was to
fuck... fuck... fuck.

      Stan groaned as the pressure built in his sperm-bloated testicles.  He
couldn't hold out any longer, not with this hot cunt and crazy virgin humping
his penis almost as hard as he was pile-driving into her.  He spread the soft
yielding crevice of her buttocks wider with his hands and drove his finger
harder into her rectum, feeling the underside of his cock pulsating on the
other side of the thin fleshy wall of internal membrane.

      "Oh, that's it baby," he gasped.  "I'm almost there...  oh, fuck back,
fuck back harder..."

      "Cum... cum, darling, cum..." Jennifer panted, her own orgasm nearly
ready to render her insensate.  "Cum... cum... cum..."

       And then Jennifer sensed the muscles of his abdomen tighten against her
belly and she braced herself.  Her first male cum!  The first time a boy had
spurted his white hot seed in her womb!  She knew in an illogical flash of
peripheral thought that it wouldn't be her last...  Stan's penis swelled and
jerked and she could tell that the whole tube running beneath the underside of
his cock was bulging with his orgasm.  He moaned and hissed and thick burning
liquid splashed deep inside her vaginal tunnel, making her cunt walls pulsate
in tempo with his rhythmic spurts of semen.  She shivered and blindly reacted.

      "Oh, God, Stan... what are you doing to me... what are you doing... oh
God, my belly... my cunt... I'm cuuuuuummmiinnnnggggg tooooooo! ..."

      Her cries tumbled from her mouth as their bodies became one.  Her ankles
locked high on his back and her hips twisted upwards, clenching hungrily at
both finger and cock as she crazily pulled his ejaculating cock deeper into her
womb.  Jennifer screamed incoherently as her own orgasmic juices whirlpooled
together with his white hot cum and overflowed her vagina, running down over
his hands cupping her buttocks, and her whole lower body and her breasts heaved
and rolled in lewd convulsions of animal climax.

      Then Jennifer Carmel, involved in her first sexual escapade in the
debauched, orgiastic and shameless fashion of group participation, felt
completely void of all normal emotions.  No words could describe the creeping
satiation which started in her cunt and spread out like a warm blanket,
paralyzing and deadening her nerves and marrow in both directions until she
couldn't feel her toes or the nipples on her breasts.  Her legs unwound and
dropped lifeless from the young boy's waist, as he fell forward, pinning her
heavily to the rug as he slipped his finger from her still tightly clinging
rectum with a slight hissing sound.  His cock deflated rapidly, now trickling
out the last of his virile sperm into her flooded vagina.

      Jennifer sighed dreamily.  It was over.  She was now a woman in a very
literal, important sense.  She'd discovered the joys of a man and woman
together, lost in their nether world of sensuality, and she could never return
to her naive virginal ways.  And, as she'd fearfully suspected only that
morning, she really didn't miss the physical proof of her innocence, her hymen.
She'd traded it for a much better, more fully satisfying part of life.

      Yet, as they lay there, and the fog of licentiousness and drugs lifted
slightly, she heard the writhings and moanings of the other high school
students in the dim shadows around her, and she could make out her best friend,
Tamera, now kneeling over the naked loins of her boyfriend, Vic, her position
changed to where she was letting him fuck her upwards, his penis stroking her
lathered cunt which was splayed wide above him.  She was burying her face
against his, her beautiful, young body a curving bundle of jerking nerves.  And
Jennifer allowed some of her more sane reactions to drift over her torpid
brain, infiltrate with the torture of shame and confusion.  The revelation of
what she'd allowed a boy she hardly even knew to do to her -- she'd not only
forsaken her vow of premarital chastity, but had not even allowed her womanly
gift to be accepted by a person who would appreciate the emotions with which it
was offered -- hit her with intense mortification.  Yet she had the horribl e
premonition that even in the light of day, that tomorrow, she wouldn't really
be sorry... and that she'd let Stan have her again and again. Her mindless
words she'd poured out when he'd been fucking her half senseless a few short
minutes ago were the truth and she'd liked everything he'd done to her.  She
blushed back her tears and tried to compose herself as Stan raised up and
grinned at her.

      "Well, baby, that's one little virgin hole gone.  There's still a couple
more, eh, Jennie baby?"

      She didn't understand what he meant and her face showed it.  He grinned
wider.  "There's your little ass-hole yet to break in... and that cute little
mouth," he chuckled.  He withdrew his deflated cock which slipped from her
vagina with a wet, popping sound and rolled on his side. "Yeah, next time I
think I'll fuck your face.

      Nausea rippled through Jennifer at the inconceivable notion of his sperm
filling her mouth, bloating her cheeks, cascading down into her stomach.  But
she forced a smile on her lips, for she knew that sooner or later he'd have his
way.  She pouted impishly as she reached down and took his soft penis between
her fingers and felt its wetness.  "Was... was I good, Stan?  Did I please
you?"

      "For a beginner, you were okay," he said in an off-hand way.  No use
swelling her head, he thought; she might get conceited ideas, and she had to
always be aware that her little cunt was now his, and she must be driven to be
better each time, to devote herself completely to him.  "From now on, you get
the job of keeping my balls empty."

      "You... mean I'm your girl?"

      He shrugged.  "As much as any girl is," he replied nonchalantly.

      "Are... are you going to take me home now?" she whispered.

      His laugh was an evil bark.  "Are you kidding? The night's still young.
Hell, baby, the party's only beginning."

      "I... I need a rest," Jennifer admitted.  "I... that is, it was my first
time... I'm not used to it.  I hurt a little bit.  Please, don't do anything to
me for a little while."

      "Sure, baby," he answered magnanimously.  But it wasn't just because of
Jennifer he was being kind.  He needed a rest as well before he could get
another hard-on tonight.  She'd milked him with a passion the more experienced
little bitches had lost, even though she wasn't as skilled.  But, she would be
soon, he gloated; she had that natural talent of fucking which only took a
little direction and discipline to make into the finest piece of ass in the
whole school.  In a little while, his balls would be tight with more sperm and
his cock would enervate into new lusty life.  After a while...


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 6/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 6

      Club Royale was just outside the city limits of Rapier City, therefore
under the laxer County administration.  Its history was long and shameful,
starting from when a widow named Monique Kores opened its  Colonial style doors
in 1909.  The local trade even then was good, for Monique Kores only kept the
finest and cleanest girls to be fucked.  That  is, within the concept of that
day and age.

      Then there was a brief history of being a road-house, with the girls
taking second place to the running of very bad liquor.  During Prohibition, it
was often harder to cage a drink than it was to find a willing girl...  As so
often happened in the late Twenties, the speak-easy existence attracted a
cartel of gangsters, and by the time of Repeal, Club Royale -- then known as
Foxtail's -- was a integral part of a chain of such hootch outlets, and it
remained in the hands of the underworld ever since.  During the War the girls,
and the still considerable quantity of illegal alcohol served unknown over the
bar, was supplemented by gambling.  The third floor bedrooms were converted
into sectional areas devoted to crap tables, poker, and roulette, with a bank
of slot machines along one wall.  But the motto of the club didn't change:
never give the sucker an even break.  Between posted house percentages and the
unposted rigging of the games, winners were extremely scarce.  Still, it
attracted the sports for miles around; they may be crooked, but they were the
only games in town.

      Sam Zeigler became owner and manager of the club during the Swinging
Sixties, a perfect cover and operations base for his other gangland business.
He didn't like to brag about it -- after all, if you are, you don't have to
prove it -- but he was the area crime boss, with a series of lieutenants and
henchmen set up on an Army scale.  The numbers racket was his, the women and
dope traffic were his; even burglaries were cleared through him first, or the
independent thief soon found more heat than all of the cops could put on him.

      Zeigler was also shrewd enough to change the club to suit the times.  Now
it was the Scandalous Seventies, and the emancipation of women more complete
than even the original Carrie Nation would have dreamed or approved of.  The
result was that his second floor prostitution operation took a steady
nose-dive, while his bar and dinner business and the gambling above showed
rising profits.  Even the locals who didn't gamble or really have much of any
other vices, liked the now re-named and refurbished Club Royale.  It was posh
and subdued on the main floor... and there was always that hint of mystery and
wickedness from being so close to the rumored gangland overlords.  But nothing
could happen in so sumptuous and subdued atmosphere...  Or could it?

      The naive element of Rapier City and surrounding country would be most
shocked to learn that yes, things could happen... and did! Using an elevator
artfully out-of-the way in the back and carefully watched by a concealed guard,
approved and selected clientele could go and gamble, or stop off on the second
floor, where extensive changes had been made.  Madame Kores would be
disheartened not to find any of her fallen women plying their trade -- now the
willing escorts of sexually active men were customers to a lewd and erotic
floor show which rivaled the wildest to be found in Tijuana, Juarez or
Copenhagen.

      Zeigler had been clever in using the general layout already there.  Madam
Kores had used the downstairs as her home and general bar and "parlor" for the
gentlemen callers.  The third floor -- all changed now -- and the second floors
had been identically built for quick turnover.  Her cribs were built along the
four walls, all opening out to another "parlor" and bar (nowhere near as
opulent as the one downstairs) which was in the center of the floor -- like a
courtyard in a Spanish villa.  The girls would sit on the velveteen sofas and
wait for their johns, and then use any of the free rooms.  There were the usual
escape passages: long, narrow halls running the circumference of the outside,
the bedrooms opening out on their other side to them.

      Zeigler made the escape passages into main halls, the little rooms
soundproofed and luxurious, and the walls facing the old parlor tinted glass.
With the lights out in the rooms, one couldn't see in, but if the occupants
turned the lights on, they and their antics would be in full parade.  The
parlor was now a raised dais, used for dancing or mixing inbetween the shows...
and then a large white-covered round bed would be lowered on gold chains for
the show.  If that's what the show called for...

      Being Friday night, the rooms were full by ten; it was after eleven now
and two shows had already gone on and at one o'clock there'd be another.
Zeigler glanced at his watch and sipped his martini and hoped that this Mrs.
Oliss and her girlfriend would soon show up.  He'd not been too happy about
reserving a room; lost money on a busy night like this; but Oliss had been
insistent, and carefully explained how important it was for the good of his
long-range plans.

      The gangster sat in the downstairs bar, as he mostly did when he wasn't
in his office -- what had once been the dining room of Mrs. Kores' apartment --
and inbetween the occasional smiles or waves or couple of words to friends and
steady customers, he mused over the culpability of the Olisses.  Zeigler was
not stupid; a successful criminal in today's big-business method of vice and
corruption would never be promoted.  He had a college education, and had even
considered going into teaching once.  But the call of easy money and the lure
of constant supply for his unquenchable lusts and his totally psychopathic
personality suited him to the life he was leading now.  He was happy,
contented, and like the egomaniacal streak inherent in born criminals, was
contemptuously smug.

       He'd known of the Carmel development from the trade journals which
crossed his desk, and was alert to any chance of getting his hands on it once
he found out that Carmel lived in Rapier City and that Skopos was a local
company.  There had to be some way... and then two incidents happened which
placed the invention almost in his lap.  One was the request by the swap club
to reserve the whole second floor for a private orgy.  Zeigler was the kind who
couldn't understand how people would pay through the nose for a shot of liquor
when a whole bottle could be gotten for one hell of a lot less in the long run
at a store, nor how some could fritter away hard-earned money trying to beat
Lady Luck and his rigged percentages and then complain about always being
broke.  But he was always one to go along with sex games.  Those he loved and
sympathized with; the lavish and personal interest in the shows proved that.
Not that he would have turned away the swap club any more than he openly
displayed his disdain for the other vices -- he was in the business to take,
not judge.

      He'd let them have the second floor on an off-night, giving them a bulk
rate on the condition he could participate.  He did, and that night was the
first time he'd used a dog in the show -- a specially trained German Shepherd
from Mexico -- and the first time he'd seen his then current girlfriend, fucked
by another man.  Christ, his cock had leaped at that sight -- and he had to
return the favor by fucking the seducer's wife.  And that swap had been the
second incident.

      Mr. and Mrs. Martin Oliss had proved to be a well worth-while
aquaintanceship.  Oliss-Skopos' sales veep!  What a stroke of luck!  Nothing
like selling a salesman, he'd found; Oliss had been putty in his hands, for if
the man had been enough of an opportunist, and he had, to fuck his, Zeigler's
girl, at the price of letting his wife be laid by the dog, he was sure to be
greedy enough to see the pot of gold Zeigler dangled in front of him.  All he
had to do was get the plans or a mock-up of the invention, and Zeigler would
handle the rest.  And Oliss' promised cut would make him richer than his
fondest dreams.  His wife, the greedy, self-centered bitch, had urged her
husband on, overcoming his initial reluctance.

      Things hadn't been so damned easy after that, though.  Zeigler couldn't
tolerate excuses, yet that's all he'd gotten from Oliss.  If he didn't know the
sucker better, he'd almost suspect he was trying a double-cross... but he was
too naive to believe in the old adage: "honor among thieves."  Too bad Zeigler
didn't -- that is, Zeigler laughed silently to himself, too bad for Oliss.
Oliss wasn't going to end up with anything when this was over, except a long
jail sentence and a ruined reputation if he squealed.  But Carmel's plans and
models were in Kirsten, Nevada, and Oliss hadn't been able to come up with an
excuse to go there until today.  And now it was going to be nip-and-tuck to see
if the invention could be wrenched from Skopos' control before the unveiling.

      Zeigler was impatient and frustrated, and damned irritated at how close,
and yet how far away he was.  His superiors would brook less mercy on him if he
failed than he was with Oliss.  They already had the contacts lined up and the
legitimate front organization with which to make a quick bleeding of the
invention's worth.  He had to succeed, and that was the only reason he could
see for going along with this hair-brained, eleventh hour scheme of Oliss'.

      To fuck some woman he'd never seen before! And a woman who never had laid
for any man except her dippy husband!  God, Zeigler could just imagine what
Mrs. Carmel was like if she didn't like to fool around much.  A sexless,
horse-faced old prune, not withstanding Oliss' assurances that the wife was a
looker.  They always said the blind date was a stunning wanton, but if that was
the case, why was she a wall-flower?  Zeigler conjured up a skeletal-type in
her late forties with damp-looking, string-like brown hair.  She'd be wearing a
limp dress with damp spots under her arms, and talk with a nasal twang.

      And Zeigler could just imagine how smart she'd be.  He'd tell her all the
crappy lines and look mistily in her eyes, and all he'd see is vagueness, as if
she'd just come up from a basement and didn't know quite why.  He sighed and
ate the olive and shoved his glass across to Louie, the bartender.  Jesus and
Mary, Mother of God, the things he had to do to make a buck these days.

      "Why hello, Sam," came a familiar throaty purr, and he turned around,
taking a deep breath as he started his act.  He smiled in warm, yet surprised
greetings to the sultry blonde standing next to him.

      "Mrs. Oliss," he said with honeyed tones.  "What on earth are you doing
here?"

      "It's Cylvia, remember?" she grinned back, and then added, "We came here
for dinner.  Oh -- I'd like you to meet my very best friend, Lonnie Carmel.
Lonnie -- Sam Zeigler.  A dear old friend of the family."

      "How... how do you do, Mr. Zeigler," Lonnie said hesitantly.

      "Fine, thank you.  And call me Sam... Lonnie.  Everybody does."  He
grinned infectuously, and then was interrupted by the bartender who placed
another drink in front of him.  "Your martini, Mr.  Zeigler."  The gangster
chuckled at the two women.  "Except for bartenders," he added.  His cock
stirred heavily in his pants.  Jesus, so this is Mrs. Carmel, the woman he's to
fuck!  God, was he wrong!  She's a knock-out, an absolutely tasty dish.

      Lonnie stood and slightly blushed under the brazen gaze of Sam Zeigler.
She tried to not show that his roving assessment of her curves were making her
feel warm and embarrassed.  Of course, she'd had that same shame-faced emotion
ever since Cylvia had disapproved of her clothes and taken Lonnie to her house
and selected one of the outfits hanging in her wardrobe.  There had been the
inevitable couple of drinks to steady her nerves, and so she'd been unable to
put up more than weak resistance when Cylvia had insisted the wife put on a
see-through gossamer blouse with only two small dark cups to hide her nipples,
and a wet-look green plastic mini-skirt which barely covered her buttocks.  And
instead of her usual panties, the other woman had given her a tiny G-string
which covered her actual vagina, but left her cunt lips exposed.  The string
rubbed against her still aroused clitoris, making her tingle every time she
moved.

      It was as if she was naked... and she blushed at the mere thought of
allowing such indecent public display.  But Cylvia had dressed similarity, and
the blonde-haired woman's influence was still too strong to deny.  They'd used
the Oliss' flashy new Buick and before she'd realized it, they were parking in
the large macadam lot of the Club Royale.  She'd been here a couple of times
before, on special occasions like her anniversary and Roger's birthday.  After
a few timorous hesitations, Lonnie screwed up her courage, and with her
girlfriend's encouragement, walked through the marble foyer, keeping her eyes
averted from the frank ogles which passing males gave the couple.

      The interior of Club Royale was a combination of Gone With the Wind --
which went with the Old Plantation style of Colonial facade -- and Gay
Nineties.  The main dining and cocktail salon was impressive with white pillars
and rich burgundy wallpaper and polished hardwood, and the booths were even out
of the dim, indirect lighting, giving a romantic seclusion to their atmosphere.
Their very design connotated knee-to-knee and head-to-head sitting while
sipping cocktails or fine wines and talking in dusky murmurs, caught in a
timeless void of sensual magnetism.  The bar, at which Lonnie and Cylvia had
"bumped into" the Oliss' wife's old friend was ornated carved oak with a
gilt-framed mirror along the back-bar and low-hanging chandeliers of curved
brass stems and rose-cups.

      Lonnie was affected by the pervasive atmosphere, whether she consciously
knew it or not; much time and money had been spent in making sure that the
effect was not wasted.  Somehow, Lonnie found that she was looking back at Sam
Zeigler with less embarrassment, and with more interest.  Detached interest, of
course; she was not thinking in terms of him as a sex partner, but just as a
good looking man.  Sam was a six-footer, with a boyish and clean face and a
strong, jutting jaw line.  He was muscular and had a rusty brown color to his
hair.  In the soft light he was a handsome virile man; it wasn't until he was
seen in daylight, a rare occurrence, that one could notice the softness to his
skin, the slight moistness in his eyes, the small indications of beginning
ravagement from his life of prolonged dissipation.

      "Well, look," Zeigler said graciously, "if I wouldn't be butting in, why
don't you two girls join me for dinner?  I was about to eat, and," he said with
a slight shrug, "who likes to eat alone?"

      "Well, I don't think --" began Lonnie.

      'Sounds delightful," Cylvia said strongly.  "Of course we will."

      "It's an expensive gesture, Cylvia," Lonnie protested.  "I don't think
it's fair to make Mr.  Zeigler -- Sam -- pay for us."

      "Nonsense," Zeigler said, waving his hand.  "All on the expense account."
He winked at Lonnie.  "You're just a couple of my customers tonight.  That's
what I like about being a salesman."

      Cylvia Oliss laughed at the harmless deception; her inner mirth came from
the more evil joke that Zeigler was no more a traveling salesman than she was,
and that the "expense account" was the gratis of the management.  She hooked
her arm through the gangster's arm and said: "Take your drink and find us a
table.  We're hungry!"

      Yeah, I bet, Mrs. Oliss.  Hungry for the show upstairs and the fun to
begin.  Zeigler signaled for the maitre d', outwardly pleasant, but filled now
with burgeoning desire for the luscious black-haired young wife on his other
side.  The way she looked so damned worried!  So blasted concerned and
frightened!  Zeigler was nearly unable to get off his bar stool as her innocent
appeal made his cock stiffen into an erection and bulge his pants.

      "We can't do this," Lonnie whispered urgently to her friend.  "We're
married women!  What if somebody sees us?"

      "Oh, don't be so silly," Cylvia admonished the wife.  "Sam's a nice guy
I've known for years.  Best protection I can think of, and perfectly
respectable."  Before Lonnie could protest further, Cylvia grabbed her arm too,
and the three of them followed the maitre d' to one of the darkest corners of
the room.

      Zeigler sat between the two women and while they had a delicious dinner,
he steered the conversation artfully around a dozen different, innocuous
subjects, fully in command.  Slowly, inexorably, he moved into other, more
intimate channels.  He was a master of timing and could sense the most subtle
of moods, knowing when to change and when to retreat or advance.

      Lonnie Carmel, by her own admission, drank too much.  Again.  She always
seemed to have a full glass in front of her; and the spicy food she'd allowed
Zeigler to order for her was excellent but thirst provoking.  If it wasn't the
drink that was ordered before the main dinner arrived, it was the white wine
with the fish course; if it wasn't the red wine which came with the meal, it
was the port which was served with the dessert of cheese and crackers.  By the
time she was sipping her after-dinner coffee and the tulip-stem of Grand
Marnier, she was more heady than she'd been at her house. It was an odd,
worldly, devil-take-the-hindmost feeling she had, sitting so close to a strange
man as if on a date -- though she knew that it really wasn't any such thing as
that, merely a friend of Cylvia and Martin.  Zeigler was awful witty and even
his off-color jokes kept her giggling.  She'd never heard such course language
before in mixed company, but it only made the jokes funnier, and she blushed at
a few but laughed anyway, to be a good sport.

      "Well, now," Zeigler said, sitting back from his coffee.  "What did you
two lovely ladies have planned now?"

      "Nothing, nothing at all," Cylvia said.

      "It so happens I've been invited to the party room upstairs," Zeigler
said expansively.  "Are you interested in being my guests?"

      "A party?" Lonnie blurted out.  "At this hour? Why, it's almost one in
the morning!"

      Zeigler burst out in laughter.  "It isn't that kind of party."

      "Well, I'm all for a little fun," Cylvia said, but Lonnie here likes to
go to bed early."

      Her chiding remark irked the young woman, and she was just drunk enough
to take umbrage.  "I'd love to go.  What kind of party is it?"

      "Well, I don't know," Zeigler said, as if reconsidering a hasty offer.
"It's a strip show, and I wouldn't want to scare you."

      Now Lonnie was really stirred up.  "Don't worry about me," she boasted.
"I've been around a bit." Hollow words, and she knew it -- but she wasn't going
to admit being little more than a baby.

      "I didn't know you'd ever seen a strip show," Cylvia said, adding insult
to injury.  "I didn't think you approved of them."

      "I think they're lots of fun," Lonnie retorted, stung.  She had seen one,
in San Diego, with Roger before they were married, and she thought it as
disgusting.  "I'd love to see one, if it's good and hot."  She could almost
bite her tongue after blurting out the bald-faced lie.  But the inferences to
her Pollyanna virtue was too much to bear.  Zeigler might not know her, but
Cylvia should! Hadn't she given her friend her body just a couple of hours ago?

      Zeigler signed the back of the bill with a flourish, not even bothering
to see how much it was.  Lonnie was impressed; Sam must be very successful to
afford not even to look at the amount, and to be known well enough to sign
rather than pay.  Then he led the girls to the elevator, which she'd never even
heard of before much less about the rooms above, and down one of the halls
after the short ride to the second floor.

      Lonnie was startled by the richness all around her.  As Zeigler opened
one of the doors to the converted rooms and held it open for her and Cylvia,
she thought she'd entered a Hollywood set.  There was a small but lavish bar
next to the door, and a set of soft, low couches facing the large picture
window. Through the window she could see other windows encircling a large
stage, which was bare at the moment.  One spotlight shone down like a ray of
sun on the exact center, and some of the other rooms had their lights on, too,
so that Lonnie could see other couples, three-somes, and parties of fours
talking and drinking.  Still other windows were dark, opaque and at first she
thought they were the empty ones until she caught the fire-fly glimmer of a
cigarette ember in one of them.

      "Well, kiddies, how about a drink?  What'll you have?"  Zeigler grinned
and went behind the bar.  "Brandy, Benedictine, Scotch, more Grand Marnier
perhaps?"

      The Grand Marnier had been delicious; Lonnie had another of the sweet
liqueur, while Zeigler and Cylvia both had Black Russians.  When Zeigler served
Lonnie he let his hand slide down and half cup her right breast, but Lonnie
moved away, uncertain whether it was an accident, but more worried that his one
contact had made her nipple leap erect.

      "Here's to a good evening, kiddies," Zeigler toasted.

      Lonnie tipped her glass and the warm, smooth liquid felt wonderful going
down.  Then she sat down on one of the couches, tucking her feet under her
buttocks after slipping her shoes off.  Modestly she pressed her thighs and
knees together so that Zeigler couldn't see up her tiny wisp of skirt -- up to
where her soft, hair-fringed cunt nestled nakedly.  She smiled even as she
remembered his hand on her breast, and when he winked at her she detected a
certain lewd quality in the man she'd missed before.  The hapless wife hoped
that she hadn't gotten in over her head with her brave talk -- but if things
did get too rough she could always demand that a taxi be called.  The logic
soothed her and she drank more of the seemingly harmless liqueur.

      Zeigler and Cylvia sat down on the same couch with Lonnie, crowding her,
and the strange man's legs pressed against her thighs tightly.  She tried to
squirm away but there wasn't room.  Then as a few minutes passed some of her
restraints passed as once more she was laughing at Zeigler's stories and the
banter which passed between him and Mrs.  Oliss.  Then Zeigler turned to her
and said: "There's a few minutes before the show.  I'd like to dance."  He got
up and went to a switch on the wall, and from a hidden speaker came a lilting
refrain of a popular song, oozing violins and muted horns.  Zeigler crossed to
Roger Carmel's young wife and added: "You don't mind, do you, Lonnie?"

      Lonnie looked at Cylvia pleadingly, but there was no help forthcoming.
The other woman had a peculiar glint in her eyes, a shine which Lonnie had
never seen before and made her uneasy.  "Go right ahead," Cylvia purred in an
erotic voice.  "Enjoy yourself, Lonnie.  That's why we came tonight, wasn't
it?"

      With a premonition of dread, Lonnie Carmel allowed herself to be pulled
from her sitting position and into the stranger's arms.  Their bodies met and
Zeigler proved to be an excellent dancer, and she found herself melting in his
strong embrace.  The slow tempo beat through her body, and her breasts strained
through the thin blouse, and after Zeigler had slipped his leg between her
thighs she could sense a light dampness ease its way from her vagina as the
rougher material of his suit rubbed her bare inner thighs and naked vaginal
slit.  It was as if he was fingering her, the way the tiny G-string pushed
against her sensitive flesh and his leg grazed her tender skin -- and she tried
to pull back, alarmed.  But his arms tightened, holding her closer.

      The pretty wife turned her head and caught the length of her body and
groaned with embarrassment.  Her skirt was almost above her hips, and the
fullness of her buttocks were visible to not only Cylvia, but to Zeigler,
reflected as they were in the room's many mirrors, and to anybody in the other
rooms who cared to look at her.  The shiver of mortification, instead of making
her stop, only seemed to urge her on, a tingle of wickedness starting in her
belly.  The alcohol lowered her reserve, the soothing music dropped it still
further, and the awakening of her prurient desires by her lusting girlfriend
shortly before shattered it.  She allowed herself to drift from concerned
fright into a slumberous feeling of wickedness.  After all... it wasn't as if
Sam was actually fucking her!

      The lewd word, which had suddenly popped into her dizzy mind made Lonnie
gasp.  What was she thinking!  She was thinking of being unfaithful to Roger...
but hadn't she been already?  The concept, which she promised herself would
never take place, was erotically exciting to think about, though...  She closed
her eyes and imagined what Sam Zeigler would look like naked, his penis
slipping inside her vagina -- was he bigger than Roger?  She opened her legs
wider and bent backwards, jerking her body to the music beat, not wanting to
stop now.  Zeigler placed his hands on her all but naked buttocks and pulled
her to his throbbing cock.  She ground her hips against his loins, unable to
control her body's sudden awakening, breathing a new fire which was growing in
her.

      The music stopped.  Lonnie awoke from her stupor and shamed, she pulled
out of Zeigler's arms and sat down hurriedly.  The man said: "Your friend has a
beautiful body, Cylvia."

      "You should see her naked, Sam.  She's really gorgeous."

      Lonnie finished the contents of her glass in one gulp, petrified at the
suggestive words her girlfriend had spoken.  She blossomed in crimson and
looked out on the stage.  Then a cool, tall glass was slipped into her hands by
Zeigler.  "No more Grand Marnier, I'm afraid, Lonnie.  Have a Black Russian
with us."  He sat down beside her, brushing her thighs as he had before....

      And the house lights dimmed.  Now the other windows were dark, and Lonnie
noticed that the room they were in had also been plunged into darkness.  The
performance was about to begin! There was a soft rustling sound, and then from
the middle of the stage's ceiling came a bed.  It slowly lowered on gold chains
-- one at each corner.  And on the bed was a young girl.  Lonnie thought that
the girl was about her daughter, Jennie's, age, perhaps a couple of years
older, and as she sipped the Black Russian absently, she felt sympathy for the
girl.  The little titian-haired adolescent looked so forlorn and trembling as
she looked around her, clad only in a brief bra and panties.  They were black,
and contrasted with her ivory skin.

      Then the girl got up on her knees and arched her back as if yawning and
tired.  It seemed so real...  Lonnie empathized, and identified with her
innocence and melancholic look.  The girl slipped her bra from her shoulders,
and firm, ripe, yet almost child-like breasts hoved into view.  The dias
started to slowly revolve now so that little by little everybody in all the
rooms, and Lonnie caught the sight off all of the lovely form as she turned.

      Bending slightly, still acting as if scared witless but forced by some
unknown threat to continue, the girl nervously rolled her silk panties down and
took them off.  Lonnie gaped stupefied at the young black pubic triangle. She'd
never expected this!  In the show she and Roger had seen, the girl had tassled
breast cups and spangled panties at the end.  It wasn't five minutes into the
performance that the girl was completely nude, and making no attempt to hide it
either!  What more could happen!

      Lonnie shifted uncomfortably on the couch, noticing for the first time
that Zeigler had his arm around her waist, his hand tight on her side... but
her mind was focused on the tender body on the bed as the girl lay back and
opened her legs, exposing her pink cuntal slit and sparse young curls of pubic
hair and her mounds of hard, pink-tipped breasts.

      Lonnie blushed furiously as now the girl moved her hands first to her
breasts, tweaking her nipples to hardened chips, and then down over her
quivering belly to rub her inner thighs, her fingers never quite touching her
vaginal parts.  Lonnie shuddered, fascinated with the dual curses of
remembering how she had been a little earlier on her livingroom couch, and how
the girl was building to similar lusts -- and taking Lonnie with her.  The girl
groaned, a silent plea that couldn't pass through the glass, but was obvious by
her gaping mouth and tossing head.

      Her fingers couldn't stay away... they had to touch her pussy, to relieve
the burning itch inside her womb.  Again Lonnie found herself sympathetically
bound with the lovely young girl, tingling with anticipation. A soft moan
escaped from her lips, and she grabbed her drink to try and quench the
fluttering in her belly.

      But the Black Russian only intensified the heat and excitement inside
her. She squirmed down on the sofa and rubbed her nearly naked vaginal slit
against the material, her body rocking in an almost discernible rhythm to the
writhing girl.  The girl inserted one finger... then two in her cunt hole and
stroked her tiny clitoris with her other hand, her face tightening as she
masturbated in full view of one and all, her white skin now glistening with the
sheen of her lubricious pumpings, her black pubic curls becoming matted to her
flesh.  Lonnie could feel her own pussy moisten -- and now she thought of how
Cylvia's abandoned fingering had so aroused her prurient desires to the point
where she succumbed to her fevered sexual needs.  She fuzzily tried to convince
herself that this time it wouldn't happen, that somehow she'd control the
liquor in her and overcome any such temptations.

      She leaned back, careful not to break contact with the edge of the
cushion, and Zeigler's hand worked around her waist still more.  Without
thinking, she relaxed against its insistent tug, and rested heavily against his
chest.  His arm is so soothing, and it can't hurt...  Zeigler's expensive
cologne had a rich, suggestive aroma, stimulating her more.

      The girl on the bed was now striving for her orgasm.  She groaned and
shuddered as her driving fingers sunk into her tight young opening, thrusting
harder and harder.  They were not enough.  Still she tried, eyes tight, teeth
clenched, straining every sinew and muscle in her frustrated longing for
release.

      Suddenly, from out of the black depths of one side, bounded a large,
German Shepherd.  He leaped on the bed, tongue lolling, and Lonnie gasped with
terror, just as the girl was sitting up, her hands frozen in the position of
masturbation.  The giant dog bared its fangs in a menacing warning for the girl
not to move, his panting head just above her exposed, defenseless crotch.

      Lonnie tensed, and only Zeigler's firm grip kept her from bolting out of
her seat.  "My God!" she whispered, "what's that dog doing there?"

      Zeigler grinned.  "You'll see, my pet."

      Lonnie sensed that she had better go before it was too late and her own
excitement overpowered her -- again.  But the helplessness of the girl and the
snarling of the dog sadistically fascinated her.  A cold shiver ran through
her, and she swallowed her drink eagerly.  Then she leaned back again, the
chill passing, and she couldn't resist as Zeigler's hand began to work upwards,
toward her exposed, unsupported, and heaving breasts.  She squirmed tighter on
the seat as one finger caressed the soft  underside of one globe, then the
finger and a thumb slipped under the minuscule cup and tweaked her nipple.  Her
nipple ached with hardness, and with a groan, she felt tiny throbs pulsing in
her breasts and then her vagina, and she bit her lip to hold back further
forbidden sensations.

      She couldn't keep her eyes and attention off the stage, for now, as
Zeigler massaged her aching breasts, she saw the girl moan as the dog lowered
his head and sniffed her hair-covered pussy.  Then the dog snaked out a long,
pink tongue and licked wetly the full length up from the girl's tiny puckered
anus to the fluted little cuntal lips surrounding her clitoris.  The animal
wagged its tail, and flicked relentlessly between the girl's trembling,
wide-spread legs.  She jerked spasmodically and squirmed, raising her arms in
indecision.

      Lonnie could feel Zeigler become restless, and she heard the short
panting gasps from her girlfriend and Cylvia twisted her buttocks on the couch
nearby. She ground her own buttocks downward, and aching hunger inside her
making her labor for breath.  She shoved her wet, swollen vaginal lips against
the soft material of the couch, and Zeigler's hand which was around her and
cupping her breast, kneading it unhindered, thrilled her as much as it
frightened her.  She wanted to show Cylvia that she wasn't a prude, but for all
of her desire to continue to watch the show, she didn't want her friend to know
she was succumbing disgracefully to Zeigler's manipulations.  So she snuggled
closer, thankful for the lack of light in the room, and out of the corner of
her eye she watched Cylvia, glad to see the blonde wife was rapturously intent
on the girl and the dog and could not see her.

      Zeigler dropped his other hand to her bare knee, slipping it up to the
hem of her thigh-high skirt.  Lonnie froze at the unexpected advance, and the
man was half-way under her skirt, almost to her G-string before she recovered
enough to restrain his wrist with her wrist.

      The girl on the stage had capitulated to the dog's lewd demands now.  She
kicked her legs back and pulled his snout toward her flaming, spread cunt by
holding the brute's long ears.  His lizard-like tongue ravished her up-turned
vagina without mercy, and she urged the dog on.  The dog worked like the savage
beast it was, the rutting lust of the wild driving him on...

      The girl's surrender hit Lonnie, and she was unable to stop Zeigler's
hand in empathetic response.  She squirmed as his middle finger began to gently
stroke her cuntal lips, pushing the slender thread of her G-string panties away
from the excitedly throbbing slit.  A gush of shame washed over her as the
waves of indecent pleasure overcame all desire to resist.  Lonnie glanced at
Cylvia again, but her friend showed every indication of  not being aware.  In
fact, her own hand was under her skirt; Lonnie could see the moving bulge as
the woman fingered herself underneath the cover of the material.  A sudden cold
rush of air across her fevered skin warned the mesmerized young wife that
Zeigler had taken her moment of concentration to work her narrow skirt up over
her thighs.

      Zeigler wormed his finger into the moist, demanding walls of the soft,
gently pulsating pussy, and she tightened her inner muscles against it, only
making the electric sensations that much more acute.  She held her breath for
fear that some tell-tale sound would escape her lips, while her very being
quivered on its foundations as Zeigler moved his finger in teasing little
circles inside her.  She could feel her lubricating juices cover his palm as it
ground almost flat now against her pubic hair.

      The girl was following the orders of the dog as Lonnie gazed enraptured
at the salacious sight.  The dog was nuzzling the girl's pelvis, and what he
wanted was plain -- for the girl to turn over on her stomach.  And the girl,
after one wild-eyed shudder of terror, obediently knelt, elevating her firm
young buttocks, bending before the great animal in abject surrender.  His
relentless tongue had crushed all revulsion, his vicious temper halting any
hope of resistance.  She cowered, face to the bed, awaiting his attack.

      Lonnie's nerves were shattered, her brain dulled almost comatose by the
large amounts of alcohol she'd consumed, and her body was prickling with sexual
heat.  She knew deep in her mind that she should flee this carnal house, for
Cylvia's friend, Sam Zeigler, was far too fast for her and this wasn't being
true to Roger.  She owed her husband faithfulness and herself a chance to let
the wound of her earlier transgression time to heal.  But she couldn't resist
the maddening teasing of her inflamed cunt, and the lewd sight of the little
girl and the monster dog was just too much to bear.

      "What... what is she waiting for?" the young housewife whimpered
gutturally.  "She's... she's just hunched like that.  What's the dog... the dog
going to do to her?"

      "Why," Zeigler chuckled throatily, lewdly, "the dog's going to fuck her,
Lonnie."

      "Wh-what?"  His obscene explanation burned her brain.

      "Fuck her," Cylvia Oliss cut in eagerly.  "Fuck her just like Sam here is
going to fuck you while I watch !"

      Lonnie Carmel went out of her mind at that moment, and a thin film glazed
over her eyes.  She nearly fainted.  Something had to give!


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 7/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 7

      The El Mecca was the best motel in Kirsten, Nevada -- which wasn't saying
a whole hell of a lot for it.  The town's two other motels had been built
during the motoring craze of the Thirties; were peeling and yellow, little more
than cracked wash basins and sagging beds that would collapse if they ever saw
a married couple.  The local trade frequented the two, and on Friday and
Saturday nights they employed two cleaning girls to change the bed linen, the
in-and-outers so fast and frequent.

      The El Mecca was a good ten years old, a drab stucco imitation of a
Spanish hacienda, but it was clean and had a decent little combo six nights a
week, and it catered to the salesmen and businessmen on the prowl and the
divorcees and married women wanting to be prowled.  There were the usual slot
machines in evidence, but anybody who'd stayed at the El Mecca or frequented it
for very long soon gave wide berth to the one-armed bandits -- the odds were
set worse than the ones on the third floor of the Club Royale.

      Earlier in the same evening as Roger Carmel's unexpected return to the
Skopos plant in Kirsten, he and Martin Oliss sat in the small bar, drinking a
couple of scotch-and-waters and adding their own conversation to the murmur of
other voices.  Roger was moody, reflecting on his unpacified wife five hundred
miles away and what the hell he could do about it -- which was nothing -- and
how he could convince her that trips such as the one he was on were necessary
-- which was an impossibility.

      Martin Oliss was busier thinking of the right psychological moment in
which to spring his portion of the trap.  They'd arrived after Skopos had
closed for the day there.  Carmel would be stuck in Kirsten until his invention
was finished; theoretically Oliss would be in the town only long enough to take
some pictures and ideas for stories, and then return to Rapier City.

      Oliss had the hunch that both he and Carmel would be back before the
weekend was out.  That was, if his wife and daughter played their parts
successfully.  If either or both of them failed, he was to have received a
telephone call, but he hadn't as of yet, so he figured (correctly) that all had
gone according to schedule.  There would be that other phone call tomorrow or
Sunday -- but that was in the future, and not included in the immediate task on
hand.  He had serious doubts that he'd be able to steal the figures and charts
on Carmel's miniskopos while he was here; the nature of the set-up almost
precluded that miracle, but even if he did land the prize, the insidious plot
he'd hatched in desperation would still carry on.  There was no way of stopping
it, in fact, now that the wheels had begun to turn.

      Oliss ran his finger around the rim of his glass and stared at the amber
fluid in it as if in deep, disturbed contemplation.  "Roger," he said slowly,
heavily, "I've got to talk to you."

      Carmel looked at his business associate, curious.  He was never as close
to Martin Oliss as his wife was to Cylvia or his daughter was to Tamera, but
that wasn't through the fault of Martin.  In spite of Carmel's feeling of
uneasiness that he got occasionally when around the sales vice-president, it
was more a matter that he, Carmel, wasn't one for any close ties save for his
family.  He didn't have either the time or temperament for pals and buddies,
and the little spare time he did have he preferred to spend in the warm bosom
of his family.  So he was a little surprised by the tone in Oliss' voice.
They'd been talking for the last few hours, on the plane and here at the El
Mecca, but of inconsequentialities. That wasn't the kind of "talking" Oliss was
now intimating.  Something was on his mind, something that was troubling him
greatly.

      "Yes, Martin," Carmel said.  "About what?"

      "I..." Oliss pursed his lips.  "Here, let me buy you another drink." He
hooked a finger toward the bartender.

      "Well, if you don't want to tell me..."

      "It isn't that, Roger.  It's..."  He bit his lip.  "Ah, hell.  I'll be
blunt.  Sometimes we don't want to spill something to a friend because it's
private and personal.  You know what I mean?"

      "That's true," Carmel agreed, tasting his fresh drink.

      "I mean, it's sort of embarrassing, and it's difficult to judge just how
much of a friend a person is at times like that."

      "Well, I don't think you should trust anybody too quickly, Martin.  Where
self-interest is concerned most people will betray you, and a guy has only one
or two genuine buddies throughout his whole life if he's lucky.  But," he said,
"on the other hand, I'm not the kind for butt-kissing or politics or petty
gossiping.  So in that sense, I'm a friend.  At least a better risk than most."
He shrugged.  "Of course, it's up to you."

      Oliss contemplated his scotch again, and then swung to Carmel abruptly,
his face wrenched by the seeming pain of his indecision.  "No, Roger.  No, it
concerns you, too."

      "Me?"

      "Yes, and... intimately."  Oliss gritted his teeth.  "I... well, I'll
start at the beginning."  He took a deep breath, knowing that he had Carmel
hooked.  "A month back I learned my wife was seeing another man.  I love Cylvia
very much, just as you love Lonnie I'm sure, so you can imagine how I felt when
I thought that she was running around on me."

      "Running ar --" Carmel's eyes bulged.  "You mean, having an affair?
Cylvia?  Are you sure?"

      "Oh, more sure than I care to think about," Oliss said bitterly.  "You
see, her lover came to see me."  He saw Carmel's mouth open, and he waved his
hand.  "No, not for a divorce.  Worse than that." Oliss leaned toward Carmel
and looked him in the eye.  "He was one of those slimy Latin lover types; you
know the kind.  Worm their way in before the woman knows what's happening.
Anyway, he threatened exposure, a scandal, all of the lowest and rottenest
tricks he could think of if I didn't... cooperate."

      "Cooperate?  I don't follow, Martin.  Cooperate how?"

      Oliss dropped his voice as if utterly ashamed.  "By spying on you, Roger.
By stealing your invention and turning it over to him.  He said he had pictures
and proof.  Oh, God, I was sick!"

      "My... invention!  I can't believe it!  You mean another company would
stoop to such filth as to seduce your wife and then blackmail you into taking
my miniskopos?"  He shook his head, dazed.

      "I'm afraid so."

      "What... what did you do?" Roger gasped.

      "Oh, I was beset with indecision.  You see, my wife didn't know that I
knew what she'd been doing.  I wasn't about to tell her and perhaps ruin my
marriage.  Neither could I see coming to you... then.  What could you do for
me?"  He groaned in humiliation.  "Neither could I bring myself to subvert the
company I've given so many of my years to.  It was horrible.  A nightmare."

      "And?"  Carmel was almost rocking on his stool with shock.

      "I hired a private eye.  I told him what the problem was, blurted out the
whole sordid mess.  I wanted him to first of all confirm what this sonofabitch
was telling me about my wife was true, and then take whatever means short of
murder to get back the proof.  Once I had the proof of my wife's infidelity,
then this bastard wouldn't have a hold on me... or so I figured... and I could
tell Cylvia that I knew what she'd done, and what her... mistake had almost
caused.  I'd forgive her, and I believe that she'd understand her foolishness
and never do such a thing again, once she understood she'd been doped."

      "Martin, you poor man," Carmel sympathized.

      "Wait, there's more." Oliss shuddered, as if the worst was yet to come --
and for Roger Carmel, it was.  "I... got a report from the detective late last
week.  No, Monday it was.  Christ, this thing has me so shaken up, I can barely
keep the days straight.  Anyway, he confirmed that this cocksman had indeed
been sleeping with my wife, that he'd followed him and Cylvia to a string of
motels and a couple of times... in my own house."  Tears nearly welled in
Oliss' eyes as he poured forth his tale in choking words.  "My... own house!
My... marital bed, de-defiled by this bastard!"

      "Martin, "Carmel soothed.  "Get hold of yourself."

      "I... asked him to see what he could do about the proof, and he said it
might be wiser for him to dig up some dirt on the man -- you know, an eye for
an eye kind of thing.  He called me after lunch today, just before we left,
Roger, with the most disturbing news of all.  It... it seems as though this
bastard has decided to make sure he gets the miniskopos plans, since I haven't
helped him any."

      "How?  What more could he do?"

      "He's..."  And here Oliss paused dramatically.  "He's seduced another
man's wife.  One... oh, shit, Roger, he may be fucking Lonnie, too."

      "Lonnie?"  Carmel staggered under the impact.  "My wife?"

      "I'm afraid so, Roger.  I... hate telling you this, but it looks as
though we're in the same boat together."

      "But are you sure it's Lonnie?  I can't believe it!"

      "I couldn't believe it about Cylvia, either," Oliss said sadly.  "But in
all fairness, I'll tell you that by the description my detective gave and the
other facts he learned, I'm almost positive it's Lonnie."

      "But you're not sure!" Carmel demanded, grasping at straws.

      "Ninety percent positive, Roger.  I ordered my detective to find out
without a shadow of a doubt and call me here sometime tomorrow or Sunday."

      "No man's come to me," Carmel blustered.

      "Evidently he just... started with your wife.  He'll be by to see you,
just as he came to see me.  A matter of time."

      Carmel's mind whirled disconcertedly.  What Oliss was telling him was the
most wild, inconceivable story he'd ever heard!  Lonnie would never... but
then, he wasn't home much, and women are prone... no, no... it was
ridiculous... absurd... the detective must have another woman mixed up with his
wife!  He knew Lonnie; she was strictly a one-man female, and she'd never....

      "I know what you're thinking, Roger," Oliss said glumly.  "Same thing I
kept telling myself until I was shown by the detective that what I had been
told was true.  You're thinking I'm crazy, or that this affair has made me see
ghosts in every corner.  I wish that were true, friend; I wish I didn't have to
tell you this."

      Carmel shook his head, numb to his bones.  "I don't believe it."

      "Don't," Oliss suggested.  "It's probably better if you forget what I
told you altogether."

      "But how can I?" Carmel cried.  "My wife!  For God's sake!"

      "Yes, your wife and mine," Oliss pressed on, his voice calm and low now,
well hiding his inner elation, his satisfaction and sadistic pleasure at seeing
Carmel shaken to the very core of his soul.  Good... good... and after a day or
so of torment, he'll be ripe for the final phase of  my plan.  And then... he
had a hard time keeping a straight face as he added: "And we're going to have
to do something about it, too!"

      "My God, my God... what?"  Confused, unready to accept the fact of his
wife's infidelity, Roger Carmel swallowed his scotch and ordered another one
straight and almost dementedly turned to Martin Oliss for help.  His whole,
wonderful world was teetering from extinction by the slender thread that what
Oliss and the detective said were mistakes, and that Lonnie was not letting
another man touch her.  But Oliss was so insistent! So damnably sure!

      "Well, there's nothing either of us can do until the detective calls,"
Oliss said.  "Then we'll know for sure whether your wife is involved as mine
is.  Then... well, then perhaps we should go back."

      "Go back..." Carmel moaned abjectly.  Go back to what?  A torn fabric of
his love and happiness?  And yet, he couldn't stay away, not fight for what he
considered the most important objects in his life, his wife and home.  Go back
echoed through his brain.  Christ, could he sit it out until the phone call?
He'd go mad!  Stark, staring, raving imbicilic!  He downed the shot in one
gulp.

      "If it isn't Lonnie," Oliss continued, "I imagine I will make the best of
it... alone.  But if it is --" He let the nameless terror seep deeper into
Carmel's stricken mind.  Damned right it was going to be both, he thought
demonically.  Both -- in some perverted bacchanal... and it won't be any
imaginary detective passing on the news, but my sweet whore of a wife on the
phone.  I wonder what the hell my luscious twin cunts are up to now, anyway ?

      The lewd projection of Cylvia and Tamera Oliss in wild and licentious
abandonment as strange cocks and mouths fucked their wits silly made his cock
leap.  And then the further image of Carmel's wife and daughter getting the
same orgiastic treatment, whether to their delight or anguish, made his penis
bloat with lust and press against his pants painfully.  Soon... soon I'll know,
and soon after that I'll be participating.  And who the hell knows? Maybe old
stick-in-the-mud Carmel will, too.

      For the first time in his idyllic marriage, Roger Carmel began to
question its solidarity, and the values which he and it were living by.  Had he
been so inconsiderate a husband to let Lonnie fall prey to this Latin lover
Oliss was telling him about?  Was he that shallow a man as to not know how to
hold her fidelity?  He was beginning to think he didn't know.  He loved Lonnie
and Jennifer with all his heart, and in spite of what the detective would
report, he knew that he would try to repair his marriage with the same panicked
desire that Martin Oliss evinced.  He couldn't leave Lonnie... would she leave
him? Was her desires now changed and she no longer wanted him around?  Is that
what prompted her actions -- if that indeed is what was happening.

      If... if... the poisonous word berated his tortured soul.  The next day
or so would be a nightmare, and he knew that the only way he'd find sleep
tonight was to drink himself unconscious.  Thank God for the few drinks he'd
had -- without them I'd have gone completely to pieces.  Roger Carmel slumped
to the bar, utterly dejected, his brain a cauldron of agony and fears.  He
never noticed as Martin Oliss peered down on him with a sadistically triumphant
leer twisting his lips and mustache.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 8/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 8

      Lonnie Carmel couldn't believe her ears! Stunned senseless, she turned to
the woman she'd always considered her best friend, and wailed: "Cylvia!
Noooooo!"  Tears steeped her eyes in a bath of agony and fears.  "Noooooooooo!"

      Languidly, Cylvia Oliss got up from the couch and came to stand over
Lonnie, and she grinned in obscene delight as she stared at the young wife's
squirming body, impaled as it was by the finger of lusting Sam Zeigler.  She
placed her hands over Lonnie's breasts and squeezed the tender globes.  "We're
going to show you a new way of life, Lonnie.  A better way -- and you're going
to learn to like it !"

      "No... no..." the shattered young woman mewled, cringing.  "I... I want
to go home now.  I've had enough for one night."  She never had felt so ashamed
or alone or defenseless then, for Zeigler and Cylvia started to laugh
fiendishly.

      "Stop pretending to be so damned innocent, Lonnie," Cylvia said, still
chuckling, "you sure have been enjoying the show, what with allowing Sam, a
perfect stranger to fingerfuck you.  And the way you're squirming around, I'd
say you're still hotter than hell."

      "I've been a fool," Lonnie wailed.  "Oh, God!  A drunken fool, but I love
my husband and I don't want to deceive him any more than I already have."  She
tried to bury her tear-stained face in her hands, but Cylvia's manipulating
hands on her breasts prevented her.  Instead she leaned back, her eyes clenched
and wet, her teeth bared over her straining lips.  "I've done enough to be
sorry for to last me a lifetime."

      "Lonnie," Zeigler said, smirking, his finger digging in her trembling
cunt, "Lonnie, you've barely begun."  He took it out suddenly.

      Together, the gangster and Mrs. Oliss pulled the terrified, but
emotionally charged young woman down on the couch, and then Zeigler started
pushing her knees apart and slid his hand once more under her mini-skirt.
Lonnie spasmed with a deep, gurgling wretchedness in her throat as the G-string
was pulled farther to one side of her vaginal slit and he caressed the naked
pink flesh.  She moaned out her humiliation, then groaned as Zeigler once more
commenced to slowly stroke in and out in a make-believe of copulation.

      "Go on and make all the noise you want, Lonnie.  The walls are
sound-proofed and the glass unbreakable.  That is, if anybody was interested in
what's going on in here -- which they aren't.  They're playing their own games
while watching the dog-fuck show."

      Lonnie Carmel fluttered her eyes open again, and the first sight she saw
was the stage.  A gasp of utter horror sprang from her lips, and for a split
second she forgot about her own misery as she caught the obscene spectacle on
the bed.  The girl, still kneeling on all fours, and the huge animal at her
swaying ivory buttocks, and the beast was mounting her... his huge paws covered
in mittens so that his claws couldn't scratch.  But Lonnie's agonized vision
telescoped in on the glistening, scarlet tube of the dog's penis which had slid
from his hairy sheath and was now dancing in the soft crevice of the girl's
up-tilted buttocks; the dog jerked and trembled in his attempt to find the
girl's vagina and to bury his thick tapered shaft into her belly.

      The girl tensed, evading the alien invasion of her cunt, but the dog,
mindlessly thrust time and time again, and then in frustration, growled and
once again bared his saliva dripping fangs.  Lonnie held her breath as the
girl, in desperation and absolute terror, reached one slim, young arm back and
grasped the slippery canine penis and guided it to the point of her pink, wet
slit where her open vaginal mouth flexed invitingly.  And then the dog heaved
his massive loins forward and buried his scarlet  cock into her cunt with a
quick wet rush until it was sunk to the hilt, his hairy balls swinging lewdly
below her blonde pubic hair.

      Lonnie's breath whistled as she let it out, and a deep burning sensation
bubbling in her belly grew in intensity as the ravishing sight continued
unabated.  Then her mind jumped back to the room and her own plight as the
couch shifted and Cylvia's sweet feminine perfume filled her nostril's... she
looked around and the woman was standing naked, unashamed, as breathtaking a
blonde Venus as she had been in Lonnie's arms but a few hours earlier!

      Her body and mind, a swirling, shattering craze of liquor and torment,
didn't even offer a protest as she felt her naked girlfriend and Zeigler lift
her buttocks and remove her dress... then her G-string, her last vestige of
protection!  Her cunt was exposed to their lusting gazes now, and she heard
Zeigler groan in appreciation as he leered over her quivering thighs.  A
burning shame flowed through her, and she held her breath as she watched the
girl on the bed being buffeted by the dog and then drip saliva from his lolling
tongue onto her back... and she heard the rustling of clothes, and she knew
that Zeigler was stripping naked.

      Then a surging heat inundated her vagina and expanded her breasts, and
her brain revolved as Cylvia unbuttoned the see-through blouse, leaving Lonnie
without even the last vestige of decency, and somewhere in the haze of her
mind, she heard her girlfriend say:

      "She's a hot piece of ass, Sam.  I've had her once today, and she's about
ready for you to fuck.  But let me get her really primed first.  Help me if you
want; she can take anything."

      "Noooo," came bubbling from the helpless young wife's lips, but to no
avail.  Cylvia's lewd suggestion was set into action without a moment's
hesitation; in unison, the naked bodies of Zeigler and Mrs. Oliss closed in on
her, and they began to run their hands over her full, quivering breasts and
soft warm flesh until her white skin glowed pearlescent.  Cylvia took Lonnie's
nipples and massaged them to agonizing hardness, and Lonnie could only stare in
wonderment as the woman began crawling over her  squirming body and lick her
nipples, her areoles, her white curve of flesh...  Then down, down with
passionate kisses over the soft mound of her belly and the smoldering skin of
her inner thighs.  A seething hot coal scalded her belly and loins, leaving her
thighs and vagina steaming.  She tried to close her obscenely spread legs, but
Cylvia's hands forced them apart slightly more.

      A gripping lust ripped through Sam Zeigler, making his legs weak and his
testicles swell with the excitement of the scene.  God!  The damned dog show
wasn't nearly as passionate or lust-provoking as the lewd depravity of the two
naked wives.  Cylvia was forcing the Carmel woman's slender ankles apart until
her full-lipped cunt was no longer a pink slash but a gaping valley of
quivering flesh.  His eyes mirrored the glittering eyes of Cylvia Oliss as with
obscene delight they stared at Lonnie's tingling upraised clitoris.

      "As they say, Lonnie," Cylvia mused, "when getting your pussy fucked is
inevitable, relax and enjoy it."  Her lips were glistening with anticipatory
saliva.  "And, honey, I know you enjoy what I'm going to do to you."

      A hopeless moan fluttered from Lonnie as she felt for the second time in
the evening her girlfriend's hot, panting breath on her raw, moist, pink cunt.
And then she groaned as Cylvia lowered her head and sucked her vagina, licking
her clitoris with her tongue until it was hard and throbbing.  Velvet lips once
more were covering her sensitive pussy lips and the hair-fringed edges of her
vaginal split until Lonnie's breath was matching Cylvia's in intensity and
excitement.  Her body squirmed ecstatically as teeth, lips, tongue worked their
magic scorchings across her loins.

      "Oh God... oh God, you're driving me mad I can't take this... no, no ...
please stop, Cylvia!"  Her cries filled the room, making Zeigler's hardened
penis jerk with blood-filled tingling.  God! He was having a hard time
controlling his throbbing cock, waiting until Cylvia was ready to let it take
the place of her teasing mouth.

      Lonnie's mind whirled and she gasped in short, grunting breaths as Cylvia
slid from her moist pubic slit, playing with her hungry cunt opening, and then
thrust her tongue deep as it would go inside her vaginal tunnel.  Lonnie could
feel that pink tongue all the way up her belly and to her breasts.  But the
Oliss wife wasn't satisfied; she wanted more than soft moans, she wanted to be
begged, to be screamed at...

    Cylvia raised her face and grinned lewdly up the expanse of  undulating
flesh, past the rose-tipped crests of Lonnie's breasts.  Her mouth and cheeks
were moist and glistening from her own saliva and the young wife's secretions.
"Tell me," she taunted.  "Tell me what you want... tell me, Lonnie!"

      Lonnie gasped and rolled her body from side to side, and sobbed
uncontrollably in humiliation and rippling sensuality.  She couldn't, she just
couldn't do what Cylvia wanted... it was too lewd to form into words... but
then she saw the young girl on the bed with the dog again, and she shuddered as
her own lust erupted deep in her belly at the salacious sight.

      The girl was reveling in total, abandoned humiliation as the panting,
lunging animal fucked her on the bed, in full view of the glassed-in rooms.
Rivulets of moisture were clearly visible in the crevice of the girl's rotating
buttocks, the droplets glistening in the stage-lights.

      "Damn it, Lonnie, tell me!" Cylvia hissed urgently.

      Lonnie Carmel watched the girl in abject fascination, almost delirious
from the suckings on her own cunt and the lewdness of the dumb beast screwing
the young girl.  But she clenched her teeth shut, unable to comply with the
obscene command of the woman hovering over her.  And yet... as the girl on the
stage undulated her buttocks, and the stage slowly revolved so that all of the
alien coupling could be seen, Lonnie realized that the girl, far from her
earlier look of abhorrence, was now encouraging the German Shepherd to fuck
her.  The little blonde's face was contorted in enrapturement and her taut
breasts danced beneath her hunched body, moving in time to the huge dog cock
which was skewering her warm, throbbing pussy.  The girl was no longer a female
human being -- but a quivering mass of lust-deranged, sweating flesh begging
for subjugation, reveling in the delicious screwing she was receiving from
behind.

      And... as Lonnie Carmel watched all this, the dam inside her burst. Eager
and desperate mewlings poured from her lips, as she knew her plight was
hopeless, the pleasure too great.  Her mouth opened and closed to the sensuous
lickings of the girlfriend in and around her cunt.  A hot flame burst from her
tortured loins all the way up to her breasts, and she was no longer able to
fight the lust which raced out of control through her body.

      "Do it... do it... yes, dooo iiiitttttttt,"  she babbled frantically.

      "Do what?" Cylvia teased, and Zeigler grinned down at the two women's
faces of lust and added: "Yes, Lonnie, tell us what you want me to do to you."

      "Fuck me!  Fuck me!  Please..."  Lonnie's whole tormented soul shuddered
under the lash of her self-defilement, but she was cognizant of nothing save
her own obscene words.  "Fuck meeeee!"

      Cylvia crawled from between her passion-deranged friend's thighs, a
satisfied grin on her wet, glistening mouth.  "She's ready for anything you
want to do to her, Sam.  Her nice, tight little cunt is snapping like a fish
out of water.  Go ahead and fuck her good!"

      The last shards of her marital vows dissolved into dust as Lonnie took
her eyes from the dog fucking the young girl on the stage bed and focused her
attention on the cool rush of air over her wet pubic slit and the man standing
over her.  It was then that she consciously recognized the thick, fat stump of
flesh and blood which protruded from his curly pubic hair.  She saw it for what
it was -- his aching, raging penis -- and what it meant to her -- the end of
her fidelity.  The final, bitter capitulation of all which she had held sacred
since taking her wedding ring from Roger.  She shuddered as Zeigler crawled
over her naked body, and parted the lips of her vagina with his fingers, but
she offered no resistance.  She wanted him... she wanted that huge scarlet
penis inside her... and once more she groaned: "Fuck me... oh, please fuck
me..."

      Then he crushed down upon her, and there was a sharp stab of fire in her
belly.  She twitched and writhed and groaned her welcome of his punishing cock
as he ground the shaft deep up into her receptive cunt.  Her face contorted,
and cries of ecstasy burst from her lips.  His cock head battered her cervix,
probing deeper and deeper, past where even her husband had ever been. Forgotten
was the remnants of her shame and perversion in her actions forgotten was
Roger, her marriage, today, tomorrow... everything except the dark well of her
lust.  She wanted to be fucked like this, she wanted to be subjected to any
further lewd demands placed on her fire-wracked body.

      "Hot damn, would you look at her go!" Cylvia Oliss said, breathing hard.
"I never imagined she'd be this choice!"

      "Man... man is she tender and tight," groaned the gangster as he surged
and thrust his cock in her cunt.  "I could fuck her to death!"

      "Fine with me," Cylvia said.  "She's been Mrs. Sweet and Innocent too
damned long."

      The defiling words only came through Lonnie's haze dimly, and she became
something like the girl on the bed -- an inhuman devil of spreading legs and
sucking, clasping cunt.  "Ohhhhh, yes, Sam! Fuck me hard!  Fuck me hard!"

      Zeigler slipped his hands beneath her buttocks and raised them to his
straining cock.  Lonnie moaned incoherently and wound her warm, smooth legs
around his hips, and the velvet walls of her vagina held his rigid, pumping
cock until she could feel every inch of his hotly pulsating shaft.  She was
insane as she'd never been before, completely surrendered to the lure of sexual
fulfillment, and her drugged mind reveled in her wickedness.

      "Hell, look at her hot little cunt climb and suck!" Cylvia gasped.

      Through crazed, flickering eyes Lonnie saw her best friend lying on the
floor beside them, the woman's eyes feasting on the close-up of Zeigler's
rock-hardened penis screwing demonically into her desperately pulsating cunt.
The blonde-haired wife had her legs bent up around her, her knees touching her
pooling breasts and her full pubic area was wide and fully before Lonnie's
view.  From clitoris to anus, the stretched cunt slit was a proud, inflamed
pink, and Cylvia was masturbating wildly.  Her fingers were plunging crazily in
and out of her gaping vaginal hole as she struggled for breath, her face never
off of the lewd, carnal drubbing of penis into vagina but scant inches away.

      "Ram it to her, Sam, ram it to her!" Cylvia grunted.

      The words lashed at Lonnie, for the thrashing body of her girlfriend was
sending still more messages of lewdness through her.  That throbbing cunt of
hers was less than six inches away, the couch she was being fucked on without
legs, and Cylvia lying with her head toward the grinding loins of Lonnie and
Zeigler.  Lonnie felt her senses slip yet another notch... and for the first
time she didn't fight the prurient lusts.  She did what her body demanded she
do.  Twisting slightly, she bent her shoulders and head that scant half foot...

      "Christ!" gaped Zeigler from above.  "She... she wants to suck you off,
Cylvia!  Let her!  God damn it!  Let her kiss your cunt!"  He was whipped to
still further pile-driving surges but the obscenity of the menage a trots that
this once proud, once innocent little wife had instigated.

      Urged by the fucking of her insatiable cunt, Lonnie felt the overwhelming
passion to pay Cylvia back in kind.  She wanted to suck her open cunt until
Cylvia was screaming as she had, and in her zealous mind, her action became
almost one of revenge.  She dipped until she could run her ovalled lips over
the moist slit, and Cylvia removed her fingers hurriedly and lifted her
buttocks so that Lonnie's entire mouth could engulf her throbbing cunt.  She
wanted the helpless wife of Roger Carmel to make her cunt spasm with orgasm,
for the young Lonnie to tongue her to climax, and her hands gripped her heaving
breasts and squeezed with sadistic strength, her brain lost in the heat of the
fiery spasms rolling from her vaginal slit.  She wanted it... oh God, she
wanted it!

      Lonnie's twin centers of desire drove on.  She was almost ready to cum
and could not stop either her mouth or her cunt.  Her belly danced with
relentless excitement and her hot-walled vagina gripped around Zeigler's
plunging cock like a warm, clenched fist, while his balls pounded against her
buttocks and the soft-haired skin of her wide spread loins.

      Spurred on by the double sight of dog in girl and Lonnie on Cylvia,
Zeigler dug deeper, forcing Lonnie's legs farther back, his cock fucking into
her like a pile-driving machine gone mad.  Then Cylvia, the sucking lips
driving her to raw, naked insanity, rocked back and forth and she screamed out:

      "I'm cuuummmiiinnngggg!"  She jerked and twisted crazily beneath the oral
drubbings of the wife.  "Suck me harder, you bitch!  Suck me harder!"  And her
whole cunt spilled out with the juices of her orgasm.  "Ahhhh!"

      Zeigler fucked into Lonnie's churning cunt, the cries and moans egging
him with burning heat.  Lonnie cried out from the brutal impalement -- her
voice muffled -- but her greedy vagina clasped around his shaft and slithered
up wetly to devour still more.  She was cumming, tooo... sweat was pouring from
her body as she strove wildly for her climax... it was so close...

      And then --

      A wail from outside the room was heard by Lonnie.  It was so loud that it
came through the room's glass, and so pitiful and anguished that it filtered
through the liquor and sensation fogged mind of the hopelessly skewered wife,
and made her take her mouth from Cylvia's straining cunt.  She was able to see
in the reflection of the room's mirrors to stage... the girl... the giant
dog...

      The little teen-ager was in the first throes of her orgasm, and she was
screwing her cunt back against the dog insanely.  The beast jerked forward, and
his tuberous scarlet cock spit out its animal sperm in hard surges, deep up in
the girl's vagina, releasing her own climax.  Thick white cream appeared at her
cuntal mouth as her belly muscles squeezed with her sensations, and rivulets of
the dog sperm ran down the backs of her ivory thighs to the bed below.

      The large beast slipped his deflating cock from her and she pitched
forward, seemingly unconscious; the dog wagged his tail in obvious appreciation
and in a last act of depravity, licked her wide-spread thighs and pussy,
licking his own animal semen from her quivering cunt.  And this perversion
blasted Lonnie's brain.  Is a dog, is that dog, really that satisfying?  With a
shudder of forbidden horror, her whole body tensed, and that was the last
little bit needed to set off Zeigler's boiling testicles.

      He groaned and suddenly Lonnie could feel his hot waves of male seed
shoot hotly up into her dilated womb.  Her head whirled with lust as the hot,
powerful squirts filled her belly to the bursting point.  She could feel its
forceful jets spattering against the walls of her womb... but she was still
seconds away from her own frantically building release.  His cock began to
slowly stop its wild ejaculations, and she couldn't stand it.

      "No!  No!  Wait... please wait for me..."  She sobbed with frustration,
but her pleas were useless.  She clenched her buttocks desperately up against
his softening penis which had lost its mastery over her seething desires, and
her heels pounded ineffectually on his backsides as with an empty groan of
satisfaction, he rolled from her, exhausted.

      Lonnie was beside herself, torn between the hot hungering need scorching
her still insatiated cunt and the quick twinge of shame and humiliation that
flitted through her desire-contorted brain.  She rolled her head, whimpering.
Her end was so near... and yet so far.  She kicked out her legs and with her
own hands fingerfucked her desperately sucking pussy, digging into herself
greedily, trying to reach the impossible depths of the man named Ziegler's
vanquished cock.

      "Fuck me...  Oh God help me, but please fuck me..."

      "Give it to her," Cylvia goaded, sitting up, glazed eyed and for the
moment satiated.  "Shoot it to her again."

      "I will, you little nymphomaniac.  She's not dead yet," Zeigler panted,
"but I sure am for a few minutes.  God almighty, she's insatiable!"

      "Want me to make your cock hard for you?" Cylvia teased.  "Want me to
take your cock and put it on my mouth and suck you until it's hard again?"

      Zeigler groaned at the lurid thought, and incredibly, his cock stirred
slightly.  "No," he decided.  "I want Lonnie to suck me.  I want her to put
those lovely lips of hers over my cock and suck me until I cum in her mouth.
And then," he said, his eyes two glittering stones of lasciviousness, "and then
I'll screw her in that hairless little asshole of hers.  If I've got the
strength left."

      "You do, Sam," Cylvia replied knowingly.  "You always have with me,
anyway, and I'd say that little Mrs. Carmel is as much -- if not more of a
prick-riser than I am."

      "Impossible!" Zeigler said, grinning.

      "Well, if you get too tired, I know a number of guys and one large dog
that'll love to fuck her -- and are going to, if I have my way!"

      "And you always do, don't you, Cylvia?" Zeigler said with a knowing
smile. "You always do."

      Mrs. Lonnie Carmel could only hear this lewd conversation with the
infitesimal portion of her brain that was still lucid.  The rest of her was a
quivenng mass of frustrations and lusts.  Her only reaction to the two others
were her rambling cries of desire.  "Fuck me... please, I must have more...
fuck me..."

      And... in the background Cylvia Oliss' voice droned almost gleefully
on..."  And when Tamera's friends get through gangfucking that snotty little
daughter of her's I think both mother and daughter will be ready for a little
dual workout with all the boys at the same time.  Won't the sight of that tear
innocent Mr. Roger Carmel's mind apart?  He should be ready for anything we ask
him to do after that!...


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 9/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 9

      Saturday morning arrived all too soon.

      Jennifer Carmel, the day before an innocent virgin teen-ager, stared at
the blinds on the windows. Her skin was pale, as if the ice-water she felt in
her veins was actually flowing in place of her blood.  She was as confused as
any little girl could have been and she tried to sort her ambivalent feelings
as she lay under the covers of her bed.

      She curled her legs up, letting the blankets fall away so that she could
hug her knees protectively, and would have probably run to her parent if she
had any to go to.  Father was out of town.  Father was not there to be the
father she had needed before last night, and she knew that his upright morals
wouldn't have allowed him to be the father on which she could rely on for
judgment and understanding.  Mother -- hell, she hadn't gotten home until after
Jennifer had, and the noise she'd made, whooping and hollering and... well, it
had sounded like crying, but the young girl was too fogged with sleep and the
effects of the marijuana, liquor, and the sex she'd seen and done to be
completely cognizant.  Mother was still asleep, and she wouldn't have under
stood anyway.  No, Jennifer felt that she was alone, with no one to turn to for
guidance.

      Mentally she was enmeshed in the guilt of having succumbed to temptation
and allowed herself to display her sweet, tender pussy and taut breasts in
front of all those kids -- even though they were doing the same -- and writhe
abandonly in naked intercourse with Stan Lubin on the floor of that cabin.  She
swallowed, her shame-parched throat and looked down at her nubile, firm body
with its snowy crests of rounded breasts and flat stomach and the black
triangular silk of her sparse young pubic mound.  As she looked down at
herself, she miserably realized that although her dream had been shattered
hopelessly and she had given up her virginity and her dignity all in one wild
night, she wasn't entirely filled with self-abomination.  Oh, there were the
long-standing agonies to contend with, the morals and ethics which she'd been
weaned on since birth, but for all of the warnings she'd received about
allowing "advances" from a boy, she had to admit, if only privately to herself,
that she hadn't broken out in warts or become wretchedly ill or really changed
her basic nature much.

      She had had a dream of a large, soft double-bed with white, frilly sheets
and a husband lying tenderly between her open legs.  She kept thinking about
Stan Lubin buffeting her tender throbbing young cunt last night with his
lust-filled cock, her breasts swollen and hurting from his trembling hands, and
the way she willingly allowed him to do it to her over and over... until she
was ready to promise him anything for the pleasure of having more.  Now she had
no dream, no bed, no tender patience, no husband...  The dream hadn't become a
nightmare but it hadn't left her totally at ease, the way her girl-friend
Tamera certainly would be this morning.  Of course, Tamera was experienced at
letting guys fuck her -- the salacious way she'd been with her boyfriend, Vic,
last night, and then let one of the other football team members fuck her too
was an indelible imprint on Jennifer's mind.

      Physically she felt all right.  Her head was thick and stuffy like
muslin, but Tamera had told her afterwards, on the way home, that was to be
expected until she got used to marijuana.  The little teen-ager tentatively
explored her breasts and loins, found them sensitive, but in a delightful,
tingling way. Her still moist vagina was a little redder than usual -- about
the way the pink, hair-lined little slit looked after she had fingered it and
made herself cum -- and while her wet, tantalizing cunt hole was perhaps a
little larger than before, it was more alive and healthy than she could ever
recall.  She let one finger slowly draw its way up from the puckered sphincter
ring of her anus to her trembling red nub of her clitoris.  Stan's white semen
is still lying deep in my stomach, she thought, trying desperately to feel the
overwhelming, inundating sordidness and dirty anguish that she had believed she
should feel. But the more she dwelled on the episode, the more her whirling
mind replayed the dizzy climb -- starting from when Stan had put his arm around
her in Vic's car.  The drinking, the new sensation of marijuana, the heavy musk
in the air as the other couples sank into their world of writhing, naked, pagan
passion, up... up to where she was watching her girl-friend abandonly making
love with her boyfriend while Stan kissed her firm, hard-nippled breasts and
let his hand tease its way into her vaginal slit, her pink lips and clitoral
bud and moist, quivering cunt mouth... and the lewd sight of his huge,
blood-swollen penis moving into her virginal pussy, the shock of immediate
pain... and then the breaking of her hymen and his merciless sawing back and
forth while the pleasure drove her nearly insane.

      How could she lie here now and even admit that she had liked it?  But she
had!  The revelation that she had liked it, had liked the attention from Stan,
had liked the comradeship from the others -- all this bothered her more than
the smaller amounts of guilt her upbringing still made her feel.  Yes, I...
like it, and... and Oh God, I want it again. I want to cum with Stan's cock in
me.  She must be sick, must be a juvenile delinquent and pervert for having no
true shame for her actions, but only an emptiness inside her belly which was
crying for more.  Her body had not only betrayed her, but was forcing her to
search out for further indecencies. Tears of humiliation cascaded down her
cheeks in a tiny waterfall of self-incrimination.

      Slowly, like an automaton, she rose and began to dress.  Heaped in one
corner were her soiled, even ripped clothes; souvenirs of last night's
debauched party.  She averted her wet, puffed eyes from them, a shiver of
apprehension rippling through her as she zipped up a pair of stretch pants.
They reminded her that Stan Lubin had made her promise to... to have more than
himself, to let some of his friends take turns gang-fucking her, and he'd
mentioned other... things he wanted to do to her too.  And it was all going to
start that very day.  He was going to pick her up at the house, and as he'd
threatened, she'd better be waiting and ready.  Or else.

                                *    *    *    *

      Sam Zeigler sat in his luxurious appointed office and toyed with a
miniature Spanish dagger he used as a letter opener.  His swarthy face was lit
by the glare of his desk lamp, making the evil smirk which crossed his mouth
that much more devilish.  He leaned back in his leather chair, pricking his
thumb with the opener absently. Yeah, Oliss and his wife had cooked up a wild
scheme, and whether it worked or not, he had been getting a lot of fun out of
it.  He laid his head against the chair and shut his eyes and once more he
dreamed of the salacious evening he'd shared with that innocent young wife of
Roger Carmel, the black-haired Lonnie, and the insatiable Mrs. Cylvia Oliss. It
had all taken place up one floor, in his "show-room" -- and peripherally he
made a mental note to himself to raise the girl performer's salary by a hundred
a week.  His lips curled into a slightly wider smile as he thought of the
performer's near hysterical submission to Fang, his German Shepherd in front of
all of his special customers.  She'd never been fucked by a dog before, and
certainly wasn't aware that it was going to happen to her last night; but the
best shows are the spontaneous types when the girl is truly terrified and not
just acting -- just like she hadn't been acting when Fang had slipped his huge
animal cock inside her pussy and made her writhe her naked young body around in
lewd ecstasy.

      The girl had enjoyed it, Fang had enjoyed it -- the wild young wife,
Lonnie, had enjoyed it, getting heated up from that and Cylvia's hot lashing of
pink tongue against her raven-crested, clenching vaginal slit until she'd have
been willing to let the whole Club Royale staff fuck her... which was an idea
to file away for the future. Zeigler could still see in his mind's eye how the
once-proud Lonnie Carmel had looked when he had finished fucking her silly,
sprawled nakedly open on the couch, quivering, her satin legs wide-stretched on
either side and her arms dangling doll-like over the edges.  Her belly had been
filled to the bursting point with his hot, sticky cum, and her wet matted pubic
hair had glistened lewdly in the room's dim light, the insides of her creamy
thighs smeared with his white semen, which trickled together with her own
co-mingling climatic lubricants and Cylvia's saliva between her soft, yielding
crevice and puddled on the couch fabric below.

      The lewd, evilly erotic memories stirred the heat in his blood, making
his throbbing cock jerk in his pants.  God, he wasn't sure he could hold off
fucking that hot bitch of a wife again while Cylvia Oliss set up the deal for
later on tonight. He wanted to have her stretched out again, her tight little
cunt lips sliding smoothly around his hardened penis like a greased oval
ring...  He groaned and placed his hand down, trying to stop the building
pressures in his testicles from making his now painful erection from bulging
his trousers any worse than they were already.

      But on second thought, why couldn't he have the luscious Mrs. Carmel
again?  Right now, if he wanted to -- which he did.  It couldn't hurt the Oliss
plan; all he had to make sure was that Lonnie was at the Club later.  Come to
think of it, what difference did it make whether it hurt the plans or not?
Zeigler had already started his own machination going, one independent of the
Olisses for the simple reason he had no intention of sharing the money Carmel's
invention would bring to them.  If the Oliss plan worked, all well and fine
he'd ease them out after they handed over the goods.  If his own plan worked,
then he wouldn't even have to put up with a scene of recriminations and threats
which would be sure to follow the realization by the Olisses that they'd been
taken.  Besides, two ways were better than one -- Zeigler like to hedge his
bets; or, like so many of the underworld executives, he didn't gamble unless it
was on a sure thing.

      Along with the recruitment of the Olisses some months back, Sam Zeigler
had also hired a call-girl that he knew.  She had been a private secretary
before turning to the profession of prostitution for the simplest of reasons:
she liked the money and liked the work.  What the hell, as she had said, she'd
been going to bed with men for years; she might as well start getting money for
what she'd always given away.  Zeigler, spotting the combination of beauty --
for Kim Copeland was one of the cutest girls he'd ever met -- and talent in and
out of the bed, told her to go to Kirsten and get a job at the Skopos
manufacturing plant.  She was to be a ringer, and one way or the other see if
she could get information on the device Carmel was making.

      Kim hated the small town; only the fat bonus Zeigler paid her every week
made up for the dust and dumb characters and no action.  She couldn't ply her
trade without jeopardizing her job -- which she had finally gotten -- so
Zeigler had to fork over her average weekly take on top of his bonus, and added
to her paycheck at Skopos, she was able to salt away a sizable amount.  But the
only position which had occurred at Skopos had been secretary to the personnel
manager and the result was that she had learned very little about the
miniscopos, even in spite of the love affair she had instigated with the
assistant chief of production. It seemed that all the important information was
stored in Roger Carmel's head, and others only knew inconsequential bits and
pieces of the whole jig-saw, and had no access to his files.

      Martin Oliss had always considered Roger Carmel of such upstanding
character that the man would never dream of having an extra-marital affair.
Zeigler had gone along with the opinion just in case he could somehow use his
"ace-in-the hole," Kim Copeland, but the gangster was shrewder than Oliss, and
knew that just because a man is honest, doesn't mean that he can't be blinded
momentarily and lose control of himself.

      Oliss, Zeigler concluded, confused an accidental fall from grace with a
planned consideration by a person to be dishonest, for obviously Oliss had
never done anything evil or lewd without a thorough review of exactly what he
was doing. And even if Roger Carmel did reject the advances of a pro like Kim
Copeland, it was worth a try...

      Kim Copeland had been phoned that morning; Zeigler had just hung up the
phone from talking to her. She had been enthusiastic about the assignment, and
knew just the partner to get for the taking of the pictures while she and
Carmel were in her home, fucking like hell on her bed.  She'd used the man many
times before when she was running a blackmail racket, and since the squeeze on
Carmel was different only because there was going to be information handed over
instead of money, she was on familiar turf and could handle herself and Carmel
with practiced ease.  After all, she'd told Zeigler, Carmel is just another
man.  A damned fine-looking one, she'd added, and she was getting tired of  the
production assistant anyway.

      Zeigler laughed softly to himself.  Sometime today or tonight, Roger
Carmel was going to end up fucking Kim Copeland -- and that called for a little
celebration.  Like fuck Roger Carmel's beautiful, naive little wife again.  He
reached for the phone-book to look up the Carmel number.  Then he put the book
aside and picked up the telephone.  Knowing that he had fucked her silly for
over three hours last night only made him desire her more, and he lewdly hoped
that she would tease him again with her defensively resisting protests.  All in
vain, all in vain, he mused, and whistled as he dialed her number.

                                *    *    *    *

      A sudden blast from a car horn awoke Lonnie Carmel.  Then there was the
fuzzy, distant, only half-jointed sound of the pattering of shoes and the
slamming of a door... the roar of an engine, and the squeal of tires. Lonnie
lay still for a time, listening.  The house was now silent, strangely so, and
the softness of her drowsiness was slow to dissipate, like fog on a cold, wet
morning.

      Lonnie moved at last, only to feel excruciating pain.  "Ohhh," she
groaned aloud, "what happened to me?"  Her head was like a block of molten
lead, and her muscles were tied in spasming knots which made her want to jump
-- but then the pain in her skull would begin and she had to lie still until it
passed. She had a hard time thinking -- remembering what had happened to her...

      The drinking -- the capitulation of her aroused, frustrated body to the
blandishments, hands, mouth, and blonde-haired vagina of Cylvia Oliss  -- the
obscene show with that nubile little girl and that monster beast of a German
Shepherd dog -- Sam Zeigler, naked and plunging his fiery cock deep, deep into
her feverish, wide-splayed vagina... a vagina that had only been touched by her
husband before...

      The total impact of what she had allowed to happen to her hit hard and
the traces of her sleepiness vanished.  She shot upright, impervious to the
pain. "My God!"  Questions began to run through her head faster than her
muddled brain could answer them.  How did I get home?  Who dressed me?  Why did
it happen at all?  Why? Why?

      She stumbled from her bed and lurched against the bureau, staring at
herself in the mirror.  "Oh no," she moaned thickly, "I must be dreaming it. I
must be.  I just must be."

      Yet heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were sunk
deeply in their black rimmed sockets as though she'd aged ten years overnight.
She looked down at her naked, curvaceous nude body and saw the mass of
burnished marks and rose-colored bruises around her breasts and inner thighs.
Her rich, full dark-tipped breasts were nearly raw, and light exploration of
her pubic area with her fingers proved to be exceedingly painful.  She tried to
tentatively feel between her black soft hair and down between the swollen,
inflamed lips of her well-fucked cunt, but she couldn't; she had to grip the
edge of the bureau from the sharp spasm of ache which lanced from her pussy up
through her belly.

      "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, and then forcing back tears and a
wracking sob, she opened the closet next to her and took out a chenille robe
Roger had given her the previous Christmas. She slipped it over her lithe,
trembling nakedness and buttoned it part way down, then holding the bottom
portion with her hand, she stepped out into the hallway, almost fearful that
her innocent daughter would see her like this.

      In the kitchen, after plugging in the percolator, Lonnie glimpsed a sheet
of ruled notepaper on the table.  She crossed and picked it up and saw that it
was a message from Jennifer in her neat, round handwriting.

      Mom, it read, Have gone for the day with Stan. Hope you don't mind.  Will
be back tonight.  Love Jennifer.

      Lonnie crumpled the note and flung it from her.  Poor, naive Jennifer.
Her daughter was with this Lubin boy -- did her day also include being with
Tamera Ollis and her boyfriend, Vic Cain? Lonnie shuddered and sunk to one of
the chairs, miserably placing her chin in her palms.  Cylvia Oliss, how that
"friend" had fooled her!  Was her daughter the same way?  Was Jennifer safe
with Stan and Vic and Tamera... or were they all as depraved as Tamera's
mother, and were trying to lead little Jennifer into the same kind of wild,
salacious life as Cylvia had introduced Lonnie to? The horror of having her
young teen-age offspring having her tender mind and body warped by the
corruption that Cylvia represented made her almost want to vomit.

      Lonnie thought for a crazy moment of phoning the police, and reporting
that her daughter was in danger... then the bubbling of the coffee brought her
back to reality, and as she poured herself a cup and walked back in the
bedroom, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed with the knowledge that such
a panicked move would be disastrous. For one thing, she had no way of knowing
that Tamera was like her mother, or that even if she was, that Jennifer was
with her or in danger. After all, it was daylight out there, and Jennifer knew
enough not to drink or let boys get too fresh with her -- heaven knows Lonnie
had told her about saving herself for her husband enough times -- and tonight
she would have the chance for a real heart-to-heart, mother-daughter chat.
Then, in the privacy and calmness of their own home, she could make Jennifer
understand how important it would be to end her friendship with Tamera.

      To go to the police, hysterical and obviously overcome with fear, would
force Lonnie to admit her own wretched part in the affair... and then everybody
would know what kind of woman she'd allowed herself to become. Everybody --
including her husband, Roger.  Roger would be repulsed, brand her a whore, and
rightly so; he would divorce her, and she would be like so much excrement in
his eyes.  And Jennifer could ever be taken away from her!  Dear God, what a
nightmare she was living!

      Lonnie managed to climb back into bed and stretch out, the coffee
steaming on the table alongside her.  Some of the beginning hysteria with which
she had awakened passed as she sipped the brew, and now her mind could reply to
some of her questions.  She remembered the almost dreamlike trance she had
fallen into after cumming... cumming how many times?  That was lost, the count
not taken at the time.  Cylvia and Zeigler must have dressed her and carried
her to the car after they'd had their way with her; there was the dim
recollection of watching Cylvia Oliss and the gangster obscenely fucking
together on one of the couches after she was unable to spread her exhausted
thighs again.  They must have taken her home and seen to it that she was in
bed...

       Cylvia.  Her girl-friend's name was like a cancer in Lonnie's mind.  The
thought of that bisexual bitch and the flagrantly lewd acts she had performed
on Lonnie's body, of her willingness to have that Sam Zeigler seduce the
heretofore faithful wife, her constant desire for further perversions... What
had possessed Cylvia to do such things?  What did the lovely blonde woman have
against Lonnie?  Lonnie had trusted her, accepted her as a friend and
protector, and for her to lead Lonnie into perversion and participate while her
helplessly drugged body was subjected to the most depraved indignities -- was
there some thing in her nature which enjoyed seeing the humiliation of others?

      Then, with an anguished groan of realization, Lonnie remembered that she
herself had been drawn by the ravishment of the young girl by the monstrous
German Shepherd.  She had been repulsed at first, but then she had watched with
fascination, her own unleashed passions, permitting Zeigler and Cylvia to take
possession of her hungry body.  She was no better than they were, merely newer
at the games; hadn't her own body bucked and twisted in its own lustful
fulfillment beneath her attackers?  And hadn't she actually instigated some of
the perverse forms of sexual delight?  God, yes... she had, she had...!

      She unbuttoned her bathrobe and once more inspected her radiant, shining
white body, this time not looking for outward signs of damage, but traces of
dissipation.  Strange, she admitted, no body would know that I had been fucked
and sucked half-crazy by both a man and a woman last night...

      She concentrated on her breasts, and thought of how Sam Zeigler and
Cylvia had taken their taut, puckish uplift and made them come alive.  Yes,
made her come alive, she was forced to confess, come alive and beg for
Zeigler's huge, throbbing penis to salve her tortured, palpitating cunt.
Lonnie squeezed her eyes shut as the erotic remembrances flooded through her...
she had never felt so alone, so helpless in all her life.  Going to her husband
would be tantamount to ending her marriage, which was now her one support;
going to the authorities was out for the same reasons she couldn't go to them
with her fears about Jennifer; going to her daughter never occurred to her.

      The torment which boiled through Lonnie Carmel's mind was worse than the
agonies Jennifer suffered, for the black-haired young wife and mother had had
nearly twice as many years to be come infused with the mores and guilts of her
parents and society.  That, and she was of an older, less permissive age, and
the strictures against what she had done were much stronger than the ones
Jennifer faced.  Yet Lonnie also had many more years of sexual experience with
her husband, and her body was not beginning to be awakened but already the
product of fire and lust.  It had been channeled into a higher plane of
awareness by the Oliss' -- and that meant that Lonnie was that much more
demanding and conscious of her requirements. Even as she thought of the night
before and the depraved way she and her girl-friend and Zeigler had been with
each other, her hands brushed her bruised, violated body, reliving the
feelings.

      Her fingertips cooled her hot flesh and in spite of herself, Lonnie
touched one tender nipple.  The little rosebud flowered into a hardened chip,
and then in shock Lonnie sat up.  Oh God, I mustn't! Her breath shuddered,
ragged and pulsating. Control yourself.  Stop this... this carnal thinking! She
gazed down at her naked loins, seeing them outwardly calm but feeling that they
were already a seething mass of sensual desire.  Her pink-rimmed cunt lips
seemed to twitch and spasm through the covering of her dark curling pubic hair,
and as sore as her vagina was, she spread her legs, drawing the lips apart so
that the blood colored skin and her clitoris were visible, and the darker, more
wet and sensitive opening gaped, tingling from the rush of cool air. Groaning
she lay back, the blood rising in her cheeks as more vividly than ever the
memories of Zeigler's virile body, his thick pulsing cock and heavy testicles
swaying beneath his hirsute loins... and of Cylvia Oliss, taut-breasted and
desire hot in her eyes, her blonde pubic hair a fleecy, moist blanket around
her thin, pink pussy and her creamy, satin-soft inner thighs...

      Her hips dug back on their own volition and before she could gather the
strength to resist the compelling flame in her belly, she began to rub her
palms around her hair-fringed cuntal valley, her fingers gently moving back and
forth over her moistening, coral-tinged vaginal lips, and the tide of her
passion began to flow over her once again. I must be sick... I can't allow
this... I must stop myself...  I...

      And then the phone rang.

      Lonnie pulled her hand away from her moist, tingling pussy, and not
bothering with the robe walked rapidly to the hall desk.  She stopped the
phone's insistent clamor on its third ring.  Roger... maybe it's Roger. "Yes?"
she asked hesitantly, hoping to hear her husband's reassuring and familiar
voice.

      Instead she heard a voice that sounded like coal rattling down a chute, a
voice which was all too familiar and anything but reassuring.

      "Lonnie?"

      A cold, clammy creepiness stole along her spine, as if a snake was
crawling up her backsides. "What... what do you want?"

      "You know who this is?"

      "Y-yes," the hapless young mother moaned. "You're Sam.  Sam Zeigler."

      The voice on the other end chuckled confidently. "That's right,
Lonnie-baby, Sam Zeigler.  And I wanted to tell you what a pleasant time I had
last night.  I enjoyed fucking you greatly, I did." Again the lewd snicker, and
Lonnie's body chilled as if suddenly plunged in ice.  She wanted to hang up and
then dress in something big and bulky and warm.  "I've been thinking about what
fun we had, and I'd like to see you again."

      "No... never!" she gasped, the blood rushing to her face in an
uncontrollable blush, the shock of his words and their implications striking
her with deathly horror.  "I'm never going to allow such... things to happen
like that again!  Never, you hear, Mr. Zeigler?"

      "Oh, I hear you, Lonnie, but now you hear me," Zeigler snapped back, his
tone rasping and menacing. "If you think your escapade last night is upsetting
to you now, how would you like your husband to find out what you did?  How you
wanted me to fuck you over and over and how you licked that sweet pussy of your
friend, Mrs. Cylvia Oliss, until she was cumming along with you and me.  Huh,
Mrs. Pure-heart?  What would happen to your marriage and family then?"

      "You -- you wouldn't!" Lonnie groaned, stumbling against the table and
almost dropping the receiver from her nerve-shattered hand.

      "Not if we come to some kind of... arrangement, Lonnie, baby.  We're both
adults, aren't we? I'm sure that if you try hard you can think of ways to keep
me happy and quiet."

      "Blackmail!" the horrified wife cried out. "You're sick!  A sick,
degenerate blackmailer!"

      "Don't call me names, Mrs. Carmel," Zeigler snapped back harshly.  "I
mean, you are the Mrs. Lonnie Carmel the adulteress, aren't you?  You are
married to Roger Carmel, but let me and Cylvia Oliss fuck you silly at my club
last night, aren't you?"  He barked out a caustic, lewd laugh at his
rhetorical, if vulgar, question.  "Of course you are. And I'll be at your house
in a little while, Mrs. Carmel.  Lonnie, baby."

      "What -- what for?"

      "To see just how much my silence is really worth," came the smooth,
assured reply.  "Be there, and be ready to please me."

      "But --"

      "Oh, and another thing.  I like thin black undies.  You got any?  Sure,
you do.  All women have.  Well, wear them, bra and panties."  With that last
demand, the gangster hung up.

      Lonnie shook desperately, gaping at the dead instrument.  It took a long
moment for her to get hold of herself, and then her mind was a seething torrent
of agony and despair.  He wanted her again.  He wanted to debase and humiliate
her again as he had last night, and what could she do to stop it?  She had to
think... but it was no use. To hide, to deny what she had done with him and
Cylvia would be foolish.  Zeigler was just the kind of slimy man who would do
as he threatened. She was trapped, and she would have to submit or somehow
muster the courage and fight him when he arrived.  Thank God, at least, her
daughter wasn't here.

      Before going to the bedroom she poured herself a quick glass of scotch,
and though the taste was harsh and the liquid molten fire in her throat and
stomach, she downed the glass -- and had an other for courage.  Then she went
and found the black bra and panties given to her on a past birthday, which
because of their sheerness were impractical and embarrassing to wear normally.
Over these she slipped a white cotton sheath with a gold chain belt, and then
spent considerable time in front of the vanity putting on her makeup and
combing her hair.

      She wanted to be as alluring as she could when Sam Zeigler arrived in
hopes of convincing him to give her the silence she needed without compromising
herself too deeply.  But she had the forelorn knowledge that if Zeigler
insisted, she would not be able to resist.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 10/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 10

      Roger Carmel slumped dejectedly at his desk. The papers in front of him
were all a blur to him, their words and diagrams so much confused jumbles of
print before his weary, agonized eyes. He hadn't slept well the previous night;
hadn't really been to sleep at all, in fact, for too much preyed on his mind,
too much kept eating at him, and his infrequent dozings had been more light,
dream-filled slumbers between his tossing and turnings.

      Martin Oliss had implanted a bomb in Carmel's brain, a ticking time-bomb
of dread and agony and suspicion which Carmel would have almost preferred
having it explode and get it over with.  As it was, he was tortured by the
passage of time before Oliss' private detective either confirmed or denied
whether Carmel's wife, Lonnie, had fallen into the clutches of this
blackmailing Lothario Oliss' own wife had become prey to this evil perverter,
whoever he was, and it had taken Martin a great deal of courage to admit the
defiliation of his home and marriage -- and Carmel was sure that the only
reason he had finally broken down in the El Mecca lounge last night and told
him anything was because Martin Oliss held the terrible secret that more than
just Cylvia was involved, that now Lonnie was also part of the vile plot to
corrupt and destroy Roger Carmel.

      And Roger had absolutely no idea how he was going to handle the threat if
and when the blackmailer came to see him, as he had Oliss.  No plan of action,
negative or positive, in defiance or in acceptance, had come to the miserable
vice-president all of last night or this morning.  He was stymied, thoroughly
confused and wretched, unable to fathom the situation, much less how to handle
it.  The whole affair was so damned alien to him -- so utterly foreign to
anything that he'd ever had to encounter before in his entire life!  All his
whirling mind could dwell upon was the sordid, despicable picture of his wife,
his lovely, black-haired loving wife and mother of his beautiful child, in the
arms and bed of another man.

      His brain had continually swirled with lewd pictures of Lonnie and the
animal-like unknown lover... his wife's curvaceous and alabaster naked body
displayed abandonedly before him, her svelte, tapered legs spread and her rich,
warm, moist thighs pulsing, her once sacrosanct vagina and breasts maddened and
demanding, the unquenchable fires of her lust making her cunt spasm with
excitement as her lover hovered over her... the pagan debaucher was a faceless
lover, for all that Carmel  envisioned was his hard, erect, blood pounding cock
standing out from his loins, his sac of sperm bloated testicles swinging down
between his once faithful wife's open thighs as she ground her squirming
buttocks up and reached out to grasp his great throbbing penis and lead it
toward her soft pink-rimmed pussy lips... and then the wet sluicing sound as
the no-name man wormed his virile cock inside the quivering bearded mouth
between her widespread legs, her cuntal tunnel clasping it with its own
volition...  The deep throbbing... the incoherent babblings as his
desire-convulsed body reached for the magical apex of her climax... and then
the lewd cascading of their subsequent cummings... and the pool of the man's
white hot semen pooling in his wife's belly, mingling with her own sexual
secretions...

      With a piteous moan, Roger Carmel sunk his head to the desk, once more
overcome by his lurid, treacherous vision, more vivid in his imagination than
if he was actually there, seeing it all... and the horrible part, the thing
that really made him feel sick, was that he wasn't sure he had reason to think
such depravities.  Oliss had emphasized last night and this morning over
breakfast, that he could be wrong.  The detective could have made a mistake...
it was too soon to tell... wait and the phone call will tell all.  So Roger,
unable to stop the suspicions running rampant through his mind, was doubly
damned for he could be doing his sweet young wife an injustice, a terrible slap
against her purity.

      But the thoughts just wouldn't go away -- as Oliss well knew and had
counted on.  Carmel fought back the waves of nausea, ashamed at him self for
being so weak of character to allow himself to fall apart this way, of
condemning his wife in his dreams before he had the evidence. He wanted a
drink, two drinks, perhaps a whole bottle to help him forget.  He'd become
quite drunk last night, but not drunk enough... and today it was plain
impossible to do any work.  Not until this matter was cleared up one way or
another. Thankfully, today was Saturday, and the factory was only open until
noon.  He would spend the afternoon by himself and get thoroughly drunk, so
damned drunk that the lashing, whip-like images in his mind would go away...

      A knock on the open door of his office brought him upright.  He saw a
girl standing in the door way, the secretary to Larson, the personnel manager.
He didn't know the girl's name, wasn't especially interested at that
particularly moment, and said in a brusque manner, "Yes?  What do you want?"

      Kim Copeland smiled tentatively.  Demurely she clasped her hands in front
of her clinging blue shift, and in a small, hesitant voice, she said, "I'm
sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carmel, but..."

      "Well?  I'm very busy," Carmel snapped.

      You son of a bitch, you're going to pay for this. Kim's brain looked at
the muscular, handsome man who was frowning at her, and she felt the blood boil
in her.  Kim knew the best way of worming her way into the soft underbelly of a
naive and preoccupied man like Roger Carmel, and long practice she judged that
this was not the time to be seductive, bewitching, alluring; that was for
later, after he had become friendly with her and his guard was down, and
perhaps a couple of drinks was warming his stomach and dulling his thoughts.
Now she had to be all sweetness and angelic helplessness, and although inside
her beat the heart of a carnivorous feline, outwardly she trembled like the
mousiest of retiring people.

      As shy as she seemed to Roger, she still couldn't hide the fact that she
was a beautiful sensual woman.  She was proud of the thick coils of burnished
copper hair, her soft, small hands and smooth white shoulders, of her ripe,
up-lifted breasts and her large, round green eyes with their luminescent flecks
of gold.

      "Gee, Mr. Carmel, I didn't mean to..."  She blinked her eyes sadly.

      Carmel felt sudden pangs of guilt.  For Christ's sake, pull yourself
together!  No reason to jump all over this nice, lovely girl...  My problems
don't have anything to do with her, and she's only trying to do her job.  Roger
had no way of knowing that her attitude and his reaction was exactly that --
part of her job, the job that she was doing for Zeigler.  He said in a contrite
voice, "I'm sorry, miss... ah."

      "Copeland," she replied eagerly and stepped into his office.  "Everybody
calls me Kim, though. That's short for Kimberly."

      Carmel managed to smile.  "All right, Kim, what can I do for you?"

      Hooked.  The sucker is as gaffed as a salmon... "I came to tell you that
your friend, Mr. Oliss, has already left the plant.  He asked me to tell you
that he won't be able to see you this afternoon." True enough... after I called
that silly fool and told him Carmel was unable to meet with him. Kim rubbed her
hands nervously.  "I... I could have called you on the intercom to tell you
but, well..."  She lowered her eyes, as if afraid to continue.

      Now I've frightened the wits out of her.  Look at her shake!  "Come on,
Kim," Roger said softly. "But what?  Don't worry, I won't bite."

      "It was just that... that my car broke down, and... and if, if you were
going to your motel in a little while..."  She let the suggestion dangle.

      "You want a ride home, is that it?"

      "Oh, could you, Mr. Carmel?  I'd be so grateful. It isn't far from the El
Mecca, and otherwise, I'd have to take a taxi, and they're so expensive, and
--"

      Rower held up his hand, cutting off her explanations. "Of course I can,
Kim.  I'd be glad to." Least I call do to make up for the bastard way I first
treated her.  "Let's see," he said, "It's nearly eleven-thirty now.  Do you get
off at twelve?"

      "Well, to be honest," she said, smoothing her dress front, seemingly
unconscious of the way the thin material clung to her rounded thighs and dipped
into the hollow of her pussy, "I can leave anytime you're ready, Mr. Carmel. My
work is finished and Mr. Larson didn't even come in today."

      "In that case, get your coat and your purse, and we'll go right now."
Carmel was glad for the excuse to leave.  He stood, smiling.  "And for heaven's
sake, if I'm going to call you Kim, then you should call me Roger.  Okay?"

      "You know the rules about being too familiar with executives, Mr. Carmel
-- Roger," Kim said coyly, a small smile dimpling her cheeks.  "I wouldn't want
anybody to hear me call you by your first name."

      "Nonsense," Roger said expansively.  "I'll take full responsibility.
Besides, as of right now, we're both off work.  Right?"

      "Right!"  And Kim Copeland left with a swirl of her dress and a brief
flash of her lovely, slim legs.

      The Chevrolet which Roger had rented at the airport was a large, two-door
business Impala which almost steered itself as Roger cruised through the
downtown Kirsten traffic.  For a small town, it sure had enough people, he
thought as a car cut him off, making him swerve into the next lane, but then
this was Saturday and all the locals would be shopping, he supposed.  Kim
Copeland was thrown against him, and she gasped with a startled cry as the
softness of her breasts brushed against Roger's shoulder.  Her touch made him
acutely aware of her presence, more than all of the laughing and pleasant
conversation they'd indulged in since leaving the Skopos plant.

      Kim, he had found, was a smart, sparkling woman, and the rapport between
him and her was easily established.  He realized in that sudden moment of
physical contact that she had allowed him to forget his deep-set troubles, and
for those few minutes of grace, he was eternally grateful to her. The lurid
green-with-jealousy mental picture of his wife being fucked senseless by
another man became more remote as the miles passed, and by the time he parked
in front of her apartment house, he was almost sad to see her leave him.

      Nothing sexual, he hurriedly told himself. Nothing like that at all.
Just because Lonnie was  -- he snapped the sick reverie as a hot coal began to
burn once more in his belly.  He turned to the stunning beauty of Kim Copeland
and felt the tingle of her provocative physical aura and the relief from his
bitter depression.  He said: "Well, this is it, Kim.  Glad I could be of
service."

      "Won't you come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked, her wide eyes
dispelling any salacious intentions such an invitation might arouse.  Roger
felt torn between the natural hesitation of a married man to be alone with so
alluring a female as Kim and the reluctance to once more be alone. She purred
through her slightly moistened lips, "Or a drink?  It's a little of that old
Indian Summer today, and sort of hot.  I could use a gin-and tonic, and I don't
like drinking alone."

      She placed a friendly, warm hand on his leg -- not too low, nor so high
as to warn him, scare him off, just at the place mid-leg where a hand might
touch innocently.  But Roger felt her electric contact, and his mouth went dry.
"I... I really don't know if I should."

      "Do you have anything planned for right now?"

      "Well, no, not really.  I..." he looked at her, weakening, and bit his
lip.  "I don't know if it would be right, that's all."

      Kim laughed lightly, like a spring nymph enjoying the morning dew.  "Oh,
you men, always thinking about your wives!"  She chuckled again with a lilting,
teasing manner.  She moved like a lithe cat, her breasts pushing against the
fabric of her dress.  "As you told me, Roger, I won't bite."

      The reference to his wife, if only in a passing, allegorical way, made
Roger jerk on the car seat. His heart trip-hammered.  "What about my wife?" he
said in a halting voice.

      "Nothing, Roger," Kim said innocently.  "It's just that so many nice men
like you place their wives in ivory towers, and stop considering them flesh and
blood.  Sometimes," she added with a rueful almost ironic smirk, "it can be a
rude awakening."

      How true.  How God-damned true, Roger glumly thought.  Kim hit the nail
on the head.  And what the devil, why shouldn't he go up and have a drink with
this delightful, young woman?  Surely no harm would be done... certainly
nothing like the harm his own black-haired bitch of a wife was doing to him. If
she was, he had to keep reminding himself, if she was...

      "All right, you convinced me, Kim," he said, and his heart suddenly felt
free, for in the sixteen years of marriage he hadn't so much as looked at
another woman much less been with one alone and socially.

      It was just like Kim said, he had placed his wife in the realm of the
gods, and she wasn't.  His entire concentration on Lonnie had been unrealistic,
and now that there was the possibility that she didn't consider her husband as
the be-all and end-all of creation, and was unfaithful to his dream-like image
of her.  His ivory tower of devotion was crumbling rapidly now that its
inherently impractical, sand-like foundation had been cracked by Oliss' lewd
and evil lies.  And Kim Copeland, amoral whore that she was, had been tipped to
this by Zeigler, and with callous disregard or sympathy, started the final
razing of Roger Carmel's idyllic world, coldly and calculatingly using her
feminine and lurid wiles with all the effectiveness of a master game player.
Roger Carmel never really had a chance.

      Her apartment was facing the rear garden on the third floor, and was a
spacious and attractive one-bedroom flat.  Roger was a little surprised that a
secretary could afford the obviously fine quality of Danish modern furniture
and hand-rubbed walnut lamps and fine prints on the walls. There was a heady
scent of musky perfume in the air -- not unusual for a woman's apartment, but
it nevertheless tickled Roger's nostrils, making him quiver with unexplained
lightheadedness. He grinned as he sat down on the comfortable couch, thinking
of candle-light and old crystal decanters and violins.  Hell, there was no use
denying it, for all of Kim's apparent shyness, she was a very sensual, very
passionate woman.  Her modesty was all the more appealing to him, for that
meant she wasn't just a promiscuous bitch in heat, but considered the men in
her life as important and desirable for their minds and affections as their
prowess in bed.

      May God!  Stop thus kind of lewd thinking!  Roger felt ashamed as Kim
talked innocently from the kitchen while making the drinks.  How wrong he was
about her character never entered his head; the setting, the actions the whole
web she had designed to lure and capture were too cleverly done; the stage
backdrop was authentic, only the woman who starred in the leading role wasn't.
Roger chastised himself for harboring lewd thoughts about Kim Copeland's love
life -- for all he knew she was a virgin.  Hell, the next thing he knew, he'd
be getting half-way romantic intentions about her, and just because she invited
him up for a drink certainly didn't give him the right to entertain overheated
and wicked notions.  The shock of realizing that he was contemplating what she
would be like in bed was enough to scare him...

      "I see you made yourself comfortable, Roger," Kim said, walking in from
the kitchen with two full glasses.  "Slip off your shoes if you want."

      "Oh... no, no this is fine," he replied and took the proffered glass.
"Mmmm," he said after tasting the gin and tonic.

      "You like?  I make them strong, because that's the way I like them."

      "Excellent, Kim."  He looked around the apartment in obvious
appreciation. "You certainly have a fine place here."

      "Thanks to my husband," she said with a touch of girlish sarcasm.  "He
left me flat, with no money and no warning.  All I had after he skipped was
what you see here."  A complete fabrication -- she'd never married any of the
men she'd lived with.

      "You were married?" he asked inanely.

      "Too long," she replied.  "And never again.  Couples lie to each other
more than strangers do, I think."

      Her comment raised the intangible devil of Lonnie again, sweetly cooing
her affection for her husband, while Roger was kept blissfully unaware of her
adulterous relations while he was gone.  He shook his head and drank heavily.
Well, one thing was clear; Kim was no virgin, not having been married, and
Roger bet mentally that this sweet young secretary-divorcee was one holy terror
in bed.  Just watching how she walked and smiled and smelled was irrefutable
testimony to that...

      "Excuse me, will you, Roger?" Kim asked, jumping up.  "I want to get
cleaned up and out of this old stuffy work dress.  Do you mind!"

      "No... no, of course not..." Roger blinked, for her "old work dress" was
anything but stuffy  -- not with that second skin look it had as it clung to
her voluptuous young body, and the way it stretched around her firm pointed
breasts and ripe thighs.  But he knew how women love to get rid of the
reminders that they have to work; when Lonnie had been a salesgirl in a local
department store during their first, poverty-stricken years of marriage, she'd
been the same way.

      Kim kept the door of her bedroom open so that she could continue to talk
to Roger as she changed. He could hear the zip as she took her dress off, and
he quickly drowned his imagination of her standing naked in there, a few feet
away, by swallowing his gin and tonic.  He looked down at his glass again,
embarrassed.  How stupid he'd feel if the lovely girl in the next room knew he
was thinking such things?  He drained his glass, and as the gin swirled in his
stomach and fused through his blood, a strange confidence that he'd never
possessed before seeped through him.  He was a man, wasn't he?  Why shouldn't
he be excited by the lascivious thoughts of a pretty young girl naked?

                                 *   *   *   *

      Across from him, between the living room and the bedroom, was a narrow
door, which Roger subconsciously assumed was for a closet.  It was -- in a way.
A special closet in which a man sat in darkness, between two windows, both
two-way mirrors.  On the living room side the mirror was an ornate framed
decorative piece which matched a credenza and small table next to it.  The man,
named Harry Saunders, was not looking out into the living room through the
two-way glass; he was busily watching through the other mirror, into the
bedroom.  On the bedroom side the glass was the dresser mirror, canted at a
slight angle so that it overlooked the full expanse of the double bed.  The man
was moistening his parched lips and trying to stop the heavy sound of his
breathing, for in the clear glass was the lovely and lust-enticing sight of Kim
Copeland dropping her simple blue sheath on the floor.  He felt a jerk in his
pants as his cock began to throb with desire, and kept his beady eyes leveled
on her beautiful body as she moved slowly around the bedroom, fully aware he
was there, for she had hired him and put him in the closet and told him to be
ready with  his camera for another job of blackmail.  He'd done this kind of
work for her and some of her other whore friends before, and did it well -- his
fee was moderate, and all he asked was the added bonus of fucking them when the
sucker left.  His testicles ached with the lewd thought that in a couple of
hours he was going to possess that desirable, soft young cunt as he had many
times in the past. She was one piece of ass he had never grown tired of!

      Saunders felt another slight jump under his pants, his prick hardening as
Kim turned from the mirror and bent over to pick up her dress from the floor.
The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing view, and she
couldn't have been more than three feet from him, and she gave the camera man a
full, unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of her panties between her firm
full thighs as they tightened into her vagina as she bent over.  He watched her
with bated breath as then she stripped them off along with her bra and stood
running her hands up and down her satiny smooth skin, cupping her firm, molded
breasts for a moment, then dropping down to rub her soft pubic hair and tease
her pink-edged vaginal slit before opening a dresser drawer and selecting a
pair of sun shorts and halter.  He almost groaned as she slipped the tight
clothing on, looked around once, winked directly at him, and stepped freshly
into the living room.

      Saunders quickly moved around in his stool, saliva forming at the corners
of his pudgy mouth. Old Zeigler was going to get a set of photos, by damned;
one hell of a hot set -- for Kim was in rare form today, and when she got like
this she could fuck a man to death ! Saunders didn't know why Zeigler wanted
the pictures, or who the sucker in the living room was but he knew that when
they got down to nakedly writhing on the couch or in bed, he was going to have
his hands full snapping the shutter of his camera.

      Roger Carmel was stunned by Kim Copeland's change into "something more
comfortable."  She wore short-shorts of bright red, so tight that her pubic
mound and its teasing little cuntal cleft was impressed on the cloth between
her white thighs. Her long, statuesque legs, bronzed from the sun of Nevada,
were bare and curvaceous, and her belly was just as tanned and nude between the
band of her shorts and her strained halter.  Her breasts quivered, barely
concealed by the thin halter, and Roger could almost make out her nipples.  Her
sparkling green eyes sparkled vivaciously and with a hint of fire.

      She moved panther-like to the couch.  "You finished your drink.  I'll
make you another."  She seemed to catch his wide-eyed stare for the first time.
"What's the matter, Roger?  I plan to go out and suntan after you leave.  I
hope this isn't too much for you."  She smiled slyly as she undulated toward
the kitchen.  "Don't forget, I won't eat you."

      She didn't add the word she was thinking: "Yet."

      Before he could protest, Kim she was back out of the kitchen, gin bottle
in hand, glasses full of ice and tonic.  "I thought it would be better if we
made them out here from now on, don't you?" She didn't wait for his strangled
reply, but sat down very close to him and crossed one slim, tanned leg over the
other, tightening the material of her shorts until the pulsating slit of her
pussy was sharply defined, and as she mixed his drink and handed it back to
him, she leaned forward so that a good deal of her creamy, globular breasts
were exposed to him -- with just the bare hint of her ruby colored and rock
hard nipples.  He felt a flush creep up his neck.  Yet he was unable to take
his eyes off her provocative lushness. Like it had a life of its own, his cock
gave a tentative spasm against his underpants, and his testicles contracted
with a lewd spark of excitement. Quickly he took a long pull on his gin and
tonic.

      Kim chuckled to herself, knowing the effect that Roger Carmel's emotional
upheaval was having on his normally cautious, unassailable character as well as
the liquor.  Drinking when under the mental anguish which was wracking Roger,
always hit the mind harder and faster than at  other times, when a person was
relaxed, as Kim knew from her experiences with married men with marital
problems.  She drank from her glass, savoring the juniper taste of the gin and
the bitterness of the tonic;  alcohol increased her own sexual fervor, too,
though she could control herself if she was so inclined; now that she was with
Roger Carmel.

      Yes, she mused, Mr. Roger Carmel was hers, no mistake about that, even if
he didn't know about it yet.  She felt the initial droplets of her lubricants
begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her vagina as she considered what
would be taking place within the next hour.  Brother, was she going to have
this guy fuck her... it would be one fuck he'd never forget!

      Roger felt a warm lethargy overtake him as he drank his third gin and
tonic.  The quickly swallowed drinks were doing exactly what he had hoped the
liquor would do -- help him forget his troubles, and if he got drunk, all the
better as far as he was concerned.  And of course it wasn't every  day that a
man had the opportunity to get looped with a young vivacious girl as lovely and
sensual as Kim Copeland.  She was really some thing, he thought admiringly. How
could any husband ever leave her?  She exuded pure animal sex dressed in that
tiny halter and shorts; a sudden change from the demure secretary to a teasing,
alluring woman of the flesh, with a miasma of sexual fire encompassing her as
she walked, talked, breathed...

      What he'd like to do right now, right this very minute if he wasn't
married, was to take Kim in his arms and kiss her, touch her firm, proud
breasts... oh, nothing more than that, he hastily added to his thoughts; he
wouldn't fuck her or anything -- but God she was so damned desirable, so... so
damned hot-looking!  He moistened his lips with the cool liquid of his drink,
already mentally kissing her soft, coral lips, caressing her vibrating white
breasts and tweaking the pink rimmed nipples he could almost see...

      Roger's lust-provoked cock spasmed with hunger and strained for release
against his restraining band of cloth.  He tried to banish the lecherous
thoughts which were overheating his mind, but in spite of his anguish, his
rigid penis remained hard and blood swollen.  His eyes went to Kim's face... In
turn, the provocative, lurid little prostitute lowered her eyes and focused on
the bulge at Roger's loins.  She grinned again, this time more forcefully. "You
like me," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.  "I can tell."

      "I... well, that is..." Roger stammered, knowing instantly what she was
referring to: the unquenchable erection burning his pants.

      Kim laughed throatily.  Now it was time to be the feline, now was the
time to cast aside her chaffing role of the modest secretary and become the
uncontrolled hedonist, the lover of passion and sex.  "Don't be ashamed of your
hard-on, Roger. I've been married, remember?  I know how it is with a man."

      "Kim, I'm sorry.  Really I am.  I better leave."

      "No!  Don't!" she demanded in a husky voice, her mouth and eyes so close
to Roger's face.  "You think that just because we girls don't have penises, we
don't get excited?  We show it differently, and maybe not so obviously as your
stiff cock --"

      "Kim!" Roger gasped, shocked at the lewd words.

      "Cock, Roger.  You have a big hard cock, and it's because you want to
fuck me, isn't it?  That's why you're breathing as hard as I am and squirming
in your seat and are all red in the face.  You want to take your clothes off
and fuck me!"

      "Oh, God!" Roger groaned, gasping for air like a stranded fish.  His
penis was palpitating wildly, and his brain reeled with the heady combination
of gin and sex.  Had he heard her correctly?  Had this sweet, publicly modest
secretary been telling him that he was wanting to fuck her with his cock? And
what was the matter with him?  He was thinking the same filthy words!  Lord,
his testicles were aching with the pressure of his sperm as if he really was
that crude and debased as to take advantage of her.  Didn't she know what her
obscene use of the words were doing to him?  He took another swallow of his
never-empty drink and found that he could hardly hold the glass in his
trembling hand.  He must leave... get out before they were both sorry for what
he might do in a sudden impulsive move.  But he was rooted to the couch.

      Kim leaned closer, her breath a white-hot fire brand on his cheeks and
she touched his thigh lightly, her fingertips seething with desire, searing the
cloth.  "I can tell you're married, Roger. What's your wife like?"

      Roger was taken aback for a moment.  What was there to say about himself
and Lonnie?  What could he tell this teasing vixen about how he suspected his
wife of cheating on him, of letting another man fuck her...  Before he could
gather the semblance of a reply, Kim went on.

      "It doesn't matter, Roger," she said, "but I can tell by the way you
reacted that you've got problems at home. It your wife untrue to you or just no
good in bed?"

      "Lonnie's a very capable sex partner," Roger said, stiffly.

      "Then it must be my first guess.  She's being very capable with somebody
else."  Kim shrugged, her breasts in marvelous profile.  "Join my club Roger,
honey.  My husband was fucking around on me all the time, too."  She was almost
nuzzling his cheek now, and her voice was sugar in his fevered ears.  "We've
both been lashed by the same whip.  So let's lash back and have a little fun in
the bargain."

      "Kim... for God's sake!"

      "You want to fuck me... and I want you to, only I don't have a big cock
to get hard to show you.  I just have to show you anyway I can!"  Her breasts
pressed hotly, softly against his arm and her lips found his jaw line and
traced a pattern upward along his cheek, leaving a trail of molten fire along
his skin.  She let her hand on his thigh slide up higher...

      Until she touched the throbbing bulge of his penis.

      Roger almost leapt off the couch in convulsive reaction.  Kim stroked his
encased but sensitive penis, and though he tried to pull back, she was sliding
closer, increasing the rhythm of her strokings. Guilt welled up in Roger,
engulfed him in a wave of nausea at what was about to transpire, and he tore
himself free, standing up and trying to control his trembling, nerve-blistered
emotions.

      "What's the matter, Roger?" Kim asked casually, standing beside him,
slipping her hands over him and running freely over his lithe, rippling flesh.
"Attack of the conscience?  Thinking of your wife?"

      "Yes -- yes," Roger managed, averting his eyes from her lustful figure.
"What we were going to do is wrong, Kim.  It was crazy, and... all wrong."

      "I don't think so," she purred.  "If your wife is fucking around on you,
why can't you fuck a girl if you want to?  And she's willing?  Like I'm willing
to let you.  Willing?  Christ, I've got to have you!  I want your big, hard
cock fucking up inside my cunt, Roger."  Her lewd salaciousness seared a path
of lust across Roger's mind.

      "I love my wife," he moaned.

      "Sure you do.  And you'll go home to her and be very happy.  But that
doesn't have anything to do with her, with now, with fucking."

      Roger's heart hammered violently in his chest and his prick was granite
hard and seeping hot smears of his male seminal fluids.  In gathering panic he
told himself that he had to get control of the situation, that he couldn't bear
to hear any more.  That no matter what, he couldn't do it! No matter what
Lonnie was doing, he wasn't justified in fucking this woman, as hot and lustful
and desiring as Kim was...

      Kim's voice whispered huskily from behind him. "Roger, honey..."

      He turned, gathering his courage to say what had to be said, but when he
saw her the words froze in his throat.  She stood before him, completely nude.
She had unhooked her halter and stepped out of her brief shorts, and the
clothing made a brilliant puddle at her bare feet.  She stood with her legs
spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, and her hands knuckled
provocatively on her proud, bronzed hips.  She was smiling at his shocked
expression, her teeth slightly bared and the pink, wet tip of her tongue
showing.  The moist, petal-like lips of her now naked vagina were presented in
all their pink-tinged loveliness, and the soft light of the apartment splashed
across the perfectly round, white breasts which jutted from her like inviting,
ruby-crested mountain peaks.

      "Well, lover?  What do you have to say now?"

      He couldn't speak, only stare at her lewd, wanton pose -- and his cock
returned to its maddening pulsations in his pants.  He was transfixed, captured
totally by the strange, fascinating allure of this purely sex-oriented female
in front of him and the absolutely lustful sensuality of the scene he was part
of.

      Kim slid her fingers, slowly, teasingly, down from her hips, her hand
grazing her soft resilient pubic hair and the wet, glistening slit between her
thighs.  She began to stroke her thin, young vaginal slit, baring her writhing
clitoris, and stroked her whole helplessly contracting cuntal channel, sending
rivulets of her sexually aroused lubrications to dampen her white inner thighs.

      "I want you to fuck me Roger," she crooned in cadence to her rubbing
fingers.  "I want you to put that wonderful male cock in my pussy and fuck me
until I scream... and then I'll suck your cock if you want...  I'll milk your
balls dry of all the delicious white cum you've got building in them.  I
want..."  On and on she intoned and her words were perverted obscenities which
made Roger more frenzied than ever.  Her fingers in the gaping crevice of her
wet, pink cunt excited him to a peak he'd never known existed.  As much as
Lonnie loved sex, loved to have him fuck her... she never once allowed herself
to be so completely abandoned, so void of modesty or shyness.  She never said
such things, never stood before him in depraved splendor and played with her
female genitals.  Never!

      "I can't help myself," Kim moaned objectly. "You're too much a man for
me... and it's been so long, so damned long..."  She trembled and her eyes
clenched shut and hot breath hissed through her clenched teeth.  "Ohhhh, how
can you stand there and not want me?  What more do I have to do?  Please...
tell me you want to fuck me..."

      Her last appeal, couched in the kind of girlish innocence which drove him
wild, was far more exciting than a blatant, crude splash of sex from an
over-experienced harridan.  He saw Kim without a husband to soothe her inner
cravings, as being driven to embarrassing and almost hysterical actions, and
not realizing that he was the victim of a finely-tuned act on her part to use
all of his emotional aspect, put out his heart to the girl and cried: "Yes,
Kim, yes I want to fuck you!"

      "How!" she mewled, almost staggering from the whipping of her hand in her
open, lust spasming, wet cunt.  "Tell me how!"

      "Deep!  Deep and hard like you've never been fucked before!"

      "Oh, God, Roger," she moaned.  "Let's go in the bedroom and you get naked
too before I die!"

      A self-consciousness stole over Roger as he dropped his pants and shirt,
removed his shoes and socks and then slowly drew down his under pants while all
the time Kim Copeland lay on her double bed, her eyes riveted on his loins.  As
his rigid, frenzied penis stood out, she watched the blood-filled head for a
moment and moaned: "I love your cock, Roger.  I know it's going to feel good
fucking up inside me and twisting deep in my cunt. Oh, God, hurry!  Hurry!"

      He lay down on the bed beside her, dragging her over him with his arms,
and moved one hand down to cup one smooth, white, quivering buttock. Her body
was warm and soft against him, and as she raised her face to his and they
kissed, their lips locked together tightly and her hand searched down between
their bellies and closed around his rigid, swollen cock, making Roger gasp. Kim
crushed the whole length of her naked flesh against him and her lips were
yielding and yet at the same time demanding, and she ground her pelvis into him
until spasmodic chills were racing up and down his spine.  Then she twisted and
pulled him over her, opening her lovely, glistening white thighs wide so that
he could plunge his penis between them and take her.

    Harry Samuels sat behind the mirror and clicked his expensive German
camera, catching breasts and cock and balls and the splayed wet pink slit in a
series of color stills.  He felt a slight twinge of jealously as he sighted on
their passion wracked faces, and groaned with the desire to be there, on top of
her, instead of that man.  His own cock burgeoned with hardness and blood-lust
as the two naked bodies struggled on the bed, and small beads of sweat broke
out on Samuel's forehead as he watched another man about to fuck the beautiful
insatiably lascivious young girl...

    Kim's hand was still around Roger's throbbing penis, and she guided it
between the lips of her hot, desire-moistened vagina while he undulated his
loins against her thighs in a slowly teasing rhythm.  She moved his cock up and
down between the pink lips of her pulsing cunt, parting her soft, wet pussy
with his blood-filled, searching cock-head, and her pubic hairs grazed lightly
against his sensitive skin, forcing the shaft to greater hardness until it
ached excruciatingly. He couldn't hold back any longer; he'd been tantalized to
the limit of his endurance -- he flicked his hips forward and with a cruel
thrust drove his erect penis into the gaping mouth of her defensively clenching
pussy, and plummeted his thick, tender shaft up her cunt to the full depth of
her quivering belly.  Her spasming vaginal orifice was warm and tight around
his rigid member, and then as he stroked in and out with powerful surges,
lubricating wetness of  the passage surrounded it, and his balls slapped hard
against the rounded cheeks of her ass when finally he hit bottom.

      "Oh, Roger... honey, you feel sooo gooood!" Kim whispered, then smashed
her lips against him and writhed the flatness of her belly up against him.  Her
nails trailed across his back, leaving small red welts in their path, and he in
turn pushed his hands back and cupped her resilient, full buttocks in his palms
and pulled her open crotch tighter to his expanding cock.  He moved harder and
faster, insinuating the hardness of his total length inside her widespread
slit, sensing her increasing excitement and voluntary response with each
passing second.  Her hips and thighs rotated desperately against his loins, and
she raised her slender legs and locked them tightly around his body, her calves
pulling him inside her still more.

      Goddamn, he's fucking the hot little bitch good! Harry Saunders grinned
as he snapped more pictures as Roger Carmel's lust-hardened cock disappeared to
its hilt between the lovely young girl's widespread thighs.  An obscene thrill
coursed through the photographer, and a half-cruel smile crossed his face as he
wondered just what Sam Zeigler's price was going to be, what amount he was
going to extract from that writhing, heaving man who was fucking Kim so
maddeningly. Zeigler always got his pound of flesh, one way or another, and he
must have had a real fine reason behind all of this elaborate set-up.  He hoped
the man appreciated the truly talented screwing he was getting, because
Saunders knew intuitively that it was going to cost him plenty in the near
future.

      Roger Carmel was no longer the chief engineer and vice-president of
Skopos, or the inventor of the miniscopos VTR, or the husband of his lovely
wife, Lonnie.  He was a wild, untamed beast, tasting sex for its own pure sake
for the first time in his married life, the prurience of this immoral, lewd
affair was driving him out of his mind, and his body strove to superhuman
efforts as he worked to bring him and this animal of woman under him to magical
crests of orgasm.  He ground his loins into the squirming mass of flesh as Kim
strained back, arching her back up and lifting her buttocks inches off the
squeaking mattress. She moaned incoherently beneath his pounding cock, chanting
the song of intercourse as old as the world itself, and her legs opened and
closed convulsively around his strongly pumping thighs, her mouth gaped open,
and her head flailed from side to side.  Nobody ever accused Kim Copeland of
not enjoying her work.

      "Oh, God, yes!  Yes!  Make me scream, honey! Shove your finger in my ass!
Damnit it, do it, do it!  Make me scream!"

      Roger reached between her rhythmically pumping buttocks as he drove his
cock into the wetness of her smoothly grinding cunt and stretched the crevice
of her ass wider, searching for the tiny puckered ring of her anus with his
middle finder. He found it -- and a small trickle of warm moisture running from
the clasping warm fleshy glove of her vagina lubricating the sphincter muscle
making his probe easier.  He pushed against Kim's anus, felt it resist
elastically, then with a little pop the nether ring opened, and he wormed his
middle finger up to its first joint. Kim jumped forward, almost crawling on her
back across the bed from the sudden impalement.

      "AAAaaaahhhh!  It hurts!  Yes!  That's it!  Ohhh, it's so damned good!"
She screwed her buttocks back on his finger in spite of the pain until his palm
was flat against her mildly jiggling buttocks. He rotated his finger inside her
rectum, and could feel through the thin wall of  flesh separating her two
passages the underside of his cock as he fucked in and out of her.  She opened
her legs wider to give him still more access to her ravished cunt and anus.

      Roger could feel his penis expand inside her until he was sure his
throbbing hard rod was going to burst from the exquisite pleasure billowing in
his testicles.  He began ramming her with longer, harder strokes, his finger
skewering her rectum to excite her more, and he could tell that she was near
her climax as she gripped him tightly and gurgled deep in her throat from her
abandoned spiraling to orgasm, and he continued to mercilessly thrust with all
his might.

      Jesus, look at her go, Harry Saunders thought in lascivious fascination
as he watched the lithely beautiful girl racing for her climax under the wildly
fucking body of the stranger -- look at that hot little bitch go!  No wonder
she's popular with so many guys!  And she was going to let him ride her that
same way in a little while, and at the thought of himself ramming his cock
between those long, slim legs, he wished that they would hurry up and cum.

      "I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Kim coughed suddenly, and mumbled
incoherently until the sounds bubbling from her mouth were a mass of
unintelligible syllables whose meaning was only known to herself.  A low
banshee wail pierced through the sounds of the squeaking springs and the two
panting bodies slapping sweatily together, the young girl's nostrils flared,
and she pulled back her thighs until the whole of her pink, cock stretched
vaginal slit was presented to Roger to batter and crush, while her stomach and
breasts jerked spasmodically against his bells and chest. Then she held her
breath for an interminable moment and expelled it as though hit in the gut, and
her body collapsed limply onto the mattress, still save for uncontrolled
quivering of her insatiable pussy which was still locked tightly around Roger's
surging prick.  He saw that she had reached her release and he pushed deep
inside her and then lay quiet, allowing her to rest for a moment.

      It was all he could do to keep from screwing her more.  God, he'd never
seen anything like it, never felt anything like it, before in his life! The
muscles of his prick throbbed and ached deep in her belly, hoping to bring her
to life again, but after long moments passed, a semblance of sanity returned as
the first furious moments of sexual frenzy abated, and he knew that he should
begin to feel waves of remorse and shame.  But they weren't forthcoming, and
strangely, he felt only like a full-blooded, virile male who had satisfied a
true, sensual woman and who was still lusting for more.  He felt a certain
power and a much needed bolstering of masculine pride, his ego having taken a
beating with lewd, horrid news that Martin Oliss had told him.

      Lonnie... his lovely wife's name echoed in his mind and a small portion
of Roger tried again to make the guilt of this sensual orgy with a strange girl
appear, but still nothing happened, for his faith in his wife had been torn
asunder by the night and morning of devilish suspicions about her potential
adultery.  Perhaps it would come later, he thought, after he had time to think
things out, but right now, all he could do was feel the warm heat of Kim's
body, smell the musk of her perfume, and soak in the permeations of their
lusts.

      "God," Kim said, smiling sweetly, her voice drugged with momentary
satiation, "I came but you haven't yet, lover."

      "I will," he breathed hard.  "Another fuck like that and I'll burst my
balls."  The ache of his testicles throbbed hotly.

      "Roll over, and I'll suck your cock instead. Would you like that?"

      "Yes... oh, yes!"  He pulled back, sliding both his finger and his
hardened cock out of her anus and pussy.  He hated to, for he was so near to
shooting his load of white, hot sperm up into her belly that he didn't want to
stop, but he had to let her have her way.  He rolled on his back, thin trails
of their sexual secretions following his rigid shaft across her lower thigh,
and then he lay tense and expecting, his blood-swollen penis pointing straight
up toward the ceiling.  As Kim Copeland climbed up on her all-fours and bent
her head over his cock and balls, her tongue moistening lips which were wide
and trembling, Roger knew that this was going to be an afternoon he would not
soon forget.

      And behind the two-way mirror, Harry Saunders cursed the additional time
before he could sink his own angry aching prick into that hot young whore on
the bed, and put more film into the camera.  He started clicking away as Kim's
mouth slowly closed over the turgid, moist expanse of Roger Carmel's helplessly
expanding cock.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 11/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 11

      Stan Lubin came from one of the better sections of Rapier City.  Some
distance from either Jennifer Carmel's home or the cabin in which last night
the fullback football star had taken her virginity, his father, Reginald Lubin,
had leased a mansion in the shelter of a vast pine forest, a mile off the main
highway leading south.  Reginald and his wife, Elmira, had left the house in
care of their son, Stan, while they went off skiing to a chalet in Switzerland.
Mr. Lubin was a wealthy man, dabbling in a collection of businesses, all
loosely controlled by his one, main holding company with its address in
Switzerland, chosen for its tax laws, and the Swiss skiing trip was actually
being paid for by the company, as was his house and new Aston-Martin. Mr. Lubin
put everything he could in his company's name; his income tax showed that he
made about two hundred dollars a month personal income, and naturally he
enjoyed the benefits of the tax law's loopholes.

      The house itself was spacious, built in a Spanish style of white stucco
and wrought iron.  Wide, well-landscaped grounds bordered it, the two tennis
courts, the emerald-green swimming pool and twin cabanas, and a magnificent
waterfall which cascaded from a small mountain of rocks and ferns, bubbling
away into a stream which meandered among the many thick bushes and exotic
plants growing in profusion.  It gave the appearance of a deserted island
paradise if it hadn't been for the collection of hot rod cars and flashy
customed autos which lined the driveway, a full volume blast of a raucous
electric guitar band from the sunken living room's stereo, and the wild yells
and shrieks from the eight young teenagers inside.

      Eight adolescents: seven boys and one girl.  The seven were the
"swinging" members of the high school football team.  The one girl was the
lovely, radiant young Jennifer Carmel.

      The sweet, near-virginal teen-ager had been happy and excited when Stan
Lubin had picked her up in the Aston-Martin his father had left be hind.  As
she had climbed in and sat against the tan leather upholstery, her pulse had
quickened, for Stan had grinned at her, his face glittering with excitement.
She had still not been overwhelmingly sorry about what had happened to her the
night before, and actually wanted to have Stan's penis back inside her tiny,
already expectantly quivering pussy again, spewing its cum into her belly.  She
had remembered the conversation of babbling, lust encited words she and Stan
had had between them while she was being so wonderfully fucked by his hard,
slamming cock, but those words were said in the heat of passion, weren't they?
Certainly nobody would really mean for her to do all those things that Stan had
said to her... letting the football team fuck her, forcing her to suck his
cock... no, of course not.  She was his girl... he had so much as said so last
night!

      And Stan had been so nice.  He'd talked about all sorts of things to the
pretty daughter of Roger Carmel as they drove to his parent's house.  And he'd
given her a marijuana cigarette to smoke, and even another after she'd finished
it.  By the time she'd arrived, the car swinging around the crushed oyster
shell semicircular drive and stopping in front of the front door, she was
carefree and lightheaded and laughing at everything.  She was having a
wonderful time!  She was part of the "In" crowd now, and she had found it so
much fun to be part of the group, that she'd have done anything to keep in it.
Anything -- she didn't reckon on how prophetic her thoughts would later become.

      It was only when she saw the grinning, expectant faces of the other six
boys, including that of Lance Retliff, the huge Negro tackle, that she began to
feel the pangs of doubt, and terror began to creep between the fuzzy layers of
wool which the marijuana drug had swaddled her brain in.

      "Stan --" she whimpered, clutching his sleeve.

      "Relax, sweetheart," Stan grinned lewdly at the petrified young girl.
"This is sort of your initiation into the group, you might say.  Do well,
and..." he shrugged, "we'll let you continue paling around with us."

      "But --" the words of protest clung to her throat as she looked around
the cluster of eager, virile young teen-age males.  "I can't..."

      "Just like I always thought," snarled Vic, Tamera Oliss' boyfriend.
"She's chicken.  She's just a baby."

      Tears of agony and tormenting confusion welled in the girl's eyes as she
saw that unless she submitted to whatever depraved games Stan wished to have
her play, she would be ostracized, and although she had the desire to go home
to cast aside the threats, she stayed, whimpering, hoping that she could plead
for mercy.  Stan lit an other cigarette and ordered her to smoke it, deeply and
quickly.  She obeyed almost without thinking, seizing on the brown-colored
cigarette as a salvation, as a filming haze to cover her mind from making the
decision whether to save her body from their lascivious abuses or whether to
submit...

      Jennifer's black-haired head began to swim and she found herself weaving
slowly.  Some of the mortal fear and misery left her mind, being replaced by
more floating, suspended calmness, and though she was still afraid of what this
all male group might deign to mete out to her fresh young body, her courage was
tripled.  Then Stan said, "It's up to you, baby.  Make up that sweet little
mind of yours, and decide whether you're going to be a chicken like Vic thinks
or a big girl like I think.  I wouldn't have brought you along if I'd thought
you'd balk like this.  No girl of mine does that to me."

      "What -- what do you want me to do?" the fifteen year-old girl said,
gulping bravely.  "Tell me, and I'll try to... do it."  She steeled her mind,
thinking only of belonging, of the one chance she had been given to be a part
of the school scene, of being Stan's new girl... and having Stan all to herself
later.  Afterwards.

      "Strip," he commanded harshly.

      "In front... of ev-everybody?" she answered in a frightened whisper.

      "I don't mean out in the street, you stupid slut!  Now peel those pants
off and let us see that beautiful little body of yours."  Stan's stone-like
command broke through her resistance, and like a marionette, the drugged and
subjugated young girl unclipped her blouse and unzipped her pants, letting both
garments fall to the living room carpet.

      "All of them," Vic Cain added nastily, "including your bra and panties."

      Stifling a sob of utter shame, she reached behind her and then her white,
firm, quivering breasts were naked, in full view of the seven boys.  The team
members sucked in their collective breaths, for her breasts were perfect twin
orbs of purity, capped with tiny, trembling nubs of burgundy-colored nipples.
Then she slipped her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slid them down
over her full rounded hips.  Her black triangle of sparse young pubic hair was
projected to their lustful, leering eyes, bringing another round of excited
gasps.

      "Hot damn," groaned Greg Mothra.  "I can see her cunt lips and
everything. Jesus, she's a fine piece of fucking tail, Stan."

      "You're going to see a lot more of her than just this," the fullback son
of the rich Reginald Lubin sneered.  "All right, baby, now lie down on the
floor.  Lie down, I said.  That's it.  Spread your legs.  We want to see all of
your pretty pussy. Ahhhh..."

      Jennifer Carmel did as she was ordered, sinking to the wool carpet and
lying trembling flat on her back, her firm, unblemished skin glossy in the
indirect lighting, her full breasts pooling provocatively on her palpitating
chest, her flat, hardly touched stomach rippling with queer sensations of fear
and excitement.  There was something so terrible, so wretched about exposing
her young, vainly resisting naked body before all these boys that it was almost
exciting...

      "Open those thighs wider," Stan continued. "Now put your finger in your
little cunt and play with yourself.  I bet you do that all the time at home,
anyway," he snickered, and the truth of his dirty jibe made Jennifer blush
profusely, right to the roots of her hair.  "Make your tender cunt all nice and
hot while we watch you."

      Mortified, Jennifer looked down between her legs at the exposed,
hair-lined lips of her vagina, the cool air of the day wafting gently over them
and making them tingle erotically.  She swallowed hard and with her middle
finger extended and her face shining with sweat and intense embarrassment, she
slowly started to run her finger up and down the moist, wet, little valley
between her wide splayed thighs, all the way from the gently quivering crevice
where her tiny puckered anus nestled, up to the tightly ovalled mouth of her
vagina, and above, where she touched the exposed, hard bud of her clitoris.  A
shock of sexual arousal passed through her as her fingernail grazed the tender
bud, and she spasmed with a momentarily uncontrollable throb of desire.

      The hapless, broken little teen-age girl realized then that she had been
trapped in a depraved circus of evil lewdness, that her initiation was only an
excuse for these tormenting teen-ager boys to wreak their licentious passions
on her innocent body without any regard for her except the most callous of
attitudes toward on object to use and abuse.  She trembled with renewed fear,
and wished that she could smoke still another of the dream-inducing marijuana
cigarettes.  But she continued to masturbate, her legs bent wide, and as her
pink little cunt lips became used to her finger, they glistened with dewdrops
of lubrication, and an odd flame of tingling started rising out of her belly,
as if her depravity was as exciting to her as it was to the carnal, animalistic
group of boys around her.

      Stan Lubin was breathing heavily, the tantalizing sight of this young
teen-ager fucking herself with her fingers driving his cock to wild throbbings.
Without a look at the other boys, all of whom had gathered around the girl, he
unbuckled his pants and stepped out of his shorts.

      Jennifer paused in her self-abasements, even though her hot, quivering
little pussy was secreting a greater flow of sex fluids now, and her smooth
inner thighs were trembling and beginning to buck from her manipulations.  She
saw through her lust and drug-fogged eyes the giant, blue-veined shaft and
rich, blood-heavy head of Stan Lubin's cock -- the cock which had broken her
hymen only the night before and had sent her on a wild rollercoaster of
magnificent thrills, and as she recalled the exciting fucking his penis had
given her untouched vagina she shuddered with expectant horror.  He was going
to fuck her in front of all the other!  Well, why not?  Hadn't he done that
last night, up at that cabi n, the only difference being that the rest of them
were doing the same to each other? A surge of obscene desire rippled through
her, and she worked her fingers faster along her moist, pulsating cunt,
readying it for his entry, a new salaciousness taking over her dizzy,
subjugated brain as she gazed upwards at the boy working his hand up and down
his throbbing, ridged shaft, the foreskin of his penis puckering over the
engorged cock head, then wrapping itself back again over the straining shaft.

      But Stan Lubin lowered his muscular body down near her mouth until she
could see every grain, every pore of his prick in close-up, and he hissed
menacingly at her: "Take my cock in your mouth, Jennifer.  Take my cock in your
mouth and suck me off."

      The young teen-ager let out a mewl of surprised rebellion.  She couldn't
do that!  Not after all of this, she still couldn't force herself to take his
penis in her mouth, wrap her tongue around his sperm-loaded rod and... no! The
girl reached up her free hand and cupped Lubin's young, virile testicle,
kneading them tenderly.  "Please, Stan. Not that.  Fuck me in front of the
others, if you want.  Fuck me like you did last night.  I want you inside me...
now."  Tears streamed from her eyes, running down her cheeks and soaking into
the carpet.  A trickle of the warm, clear liquid slowly dribbled between her
heaving, hard-nippled breasts.  "Fuck me, Stan... don't make me suck your
cock."

      "You don't hear so good, I guess," came his mocking voice.  "I told you
last night that I was going to have you suck me next time, and by God, it's
next time right now!  Goddamn it, you're going to do as you're told, you bitch!
Now, put my cock in your mouth!"

      She tried to resist, but the football hero wrapped his hands painfully in
her black hair and brought her head up to where his cock weaved magically in
front of her lips, and he held the moaning young adolescent girl steady, unable
to move.  "Hurry up, you fucking bitch, hurry up! My balls are ready to
explode!"

      Jennifer stared at the writhing cock-head of Stan Lubin's hot young pick
which glistened wetly with its thin sheen of lubrication, and it seemed to her
a symbol of everything despicable and sick in the world at that horrid moment.
The marijuana dulling her mind was a blanket which thankfully diffused some of
the stark terror and made her a meek, quivering slave to the whims of the
devilish high-school boy who kneeled naked in front of her, and she knew inside
her that she was going to have to obey him without further question, that it
was too late.  She'd said she would be part of the group no matter what, and
now that she was here, if she tried to back out, she knew instinctively that he
would stop her.   And then in would be worse -- far worse for her than if she
submitted now.

      "Ohhhh," she mewled in abject misery, and bent her head forward.  She
kissed the tip of his purplish cock-head hesitantly, and tasted the pungent
tang of male secretions for the first time, in her young life, and its
distinctive spice instigated wild tremors coursing through her...  But instead
of disgust and a feeling of nausea which she had thought she would experience,
the rippling spasms of emotion were of delight, for incredibly she had to admit
the taste of his cock was actually pleasant to her.  It was hard, yet fleshy
and resilient, and gave her trembling young lips a peculiar feeling of warmth
and desire as if the boy's penis was some delicious stick of candy which she
couldn't get enough of.   Tentatively, still unsettled and fearful about this
new discovery, Jennifer lavished her wet, slippery pink tongue along his whole
glans, then brushed and grazed along the palpitating, heated shaft from its
wide underside to its coronal ridge, washing and playing and caressing with
increased fervor with every lapping stroke.

      Then she parted her glistening lips and opened her fevered mouth and slid
his penis along the full-length of her tongue, while tiny drops of lubricating
fluid seeping from the tip of his cock, filling the warm cavern between her
cheeks with its pungent, salty taste.  Yes, she had been wrong! She had thought
she'd hate to suck on a boy's cock, but now, forced to do it, she was finding
the lewd perversion extremely exciting, and with out further hesitation she
began to bob her head up and down along his expanding cock shaft, feeling its
head hit the back of her throat.  She moved so that she could continue to slide
the fingers of one hand in the throbbing young curls of her black pubic hair,
and beyond, into the open wet slit of her clasping pussy, feeling her vaginal
walls squeeze against her hungrily probing finger.  Jennifer Carmel became
increasingly wild with frenzied new sensations churning in her belly and loins,
erotic fermentations that she'd never dreamed could exist.  The delicious
masculine piquancy of the boy's genitals was driving her almost to the point of
orgasm, and more and more her mind singled out the one burning craving to suck
him until she could taste his sperm. Quickly she trailed her tongue back over
his pumping shaft and throbbing head, while Stan commenced a slow undulation
with his hips, sliding his thick, wet cock in and out of her tightly ovaled
mouth in time to her own movements, his hands still viciously entwined in her
hair.

      The sight of the now crazed young teen-age girl's naked body slavering to
make the groaning boy empty his balls into her mouth was entrancing to his
other teammates, and spurred on their own young, insatiable passions.  The
collection of muscular high-school football players gaped as tingling
sensations of lewd, voyeuristic delight coursed through their minds, and they
one by one began to undress and strip off their clothes until they were as
naked as Jennifer and Stan. Some dropped to lie on their back and massage their
engorged, aching pricks with their hands, a couple even helped rub each other's
cocks in mutual masturbation, but all were drawn with envy as the daughter of
Roger Carmel sucked with tight, elastic lips the cock which was fucking her
mouth, her cheeks hollowing on the out-stroke and expanding obscenely on the
instroke.  The child's eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic film of animal
lust that sent shivers of excitement through them as well as her own naked
body, forcing her hand to rub her pink, wet pussy lips with faster and faster
abandon and sink two, then three of her fingers into her quivering, lust
expanding cunt hole, and she began to gyrate and undulate her hips in total
lewd-abandon.  Some of the closer boys could even see thick fluid, a
combination of saliva and secretions, dripping from the corners of the girl's
mouth and run in tiny streams down her cheeks as the little innocent daughter
and the others reveled in the cruel humiliation which Stan Lubin was subjecting
her to.  All the boys were able to view through the daze of their own mounting
desires Jennifer's soft, wet mouth clasping greedily the growing penis pumping
into her face, the thin, tensile rim of her lips clinging to the throbbing
shaft as though clamped there by unseen fingers.

      Stan Lubin grinned more lewdly than his friends as he fucked this
virginal girl, and hungrily watched as her lust-contorted face sucked and
licked his relentless shaft.  She had taken her hand from his testicles and
placed them behind his muscular flexing buttocks and was pulling him
demoniacally to her, and his eyes feasted first on her masturbating fingers
revolving in her dilated cunt and her heaving thighs, and then on the thick,
pummeling shaft of his cock seemingly disappearing into a lengthened fusion of
her face. She sucked his penis like a wanton whore, and as blood seethed in his
veins and his cum boiled in his balls, the star halfback of the team drove
forward like a pile-driver, sinking his prick so far into the little girl's
tender mouth that his pubic hair brushed the tip of her nose and his balls
danced with slapping unison against her up tilted chin.  He could sense that
his orgasm was about ready to explode, and feverishly he sought for his
release.  "Shit... shit, shit, shit..." he groaned.

      And then the gathering of teammates saw some thing that in all their many
lewd and perverted orgies, they'd never seen before!  Stan suddenly jerked his
cock out of Jennifer's hungry, clasping mouth and held his huge, red glans
about two inches away from her lips.

      "No, no... Stan, please, I want it!  I want your cock!" the teen-age girl
mewled abjectly, her fingers wildly slipping inside her hair-lined cunt and her
mouth gaping wildly.  And as if in answer, Stan Lubin's penis began to spew
hot, sticky white cum directly into the searching cavern of her mouth, and she
immediately opened it wider and thrust out her wet lips in an abandoned effort
to receive more.  The thick, quick spurts streamed from his cock's head hole
like milk from a cow's udder, and Jennifer swallowed voraciously to keep up
from being overflowed and losing a single precious drop of his hot,
lust-incited fluid, her Adam's-apple bobbing rapidly as his wildly ejaculating
cock shot its lewd sperm into her face. Stan's prick throbbed out its last
remaining stream of seminal fluid and thin strings of his hot, sticky seed ran
down the tip of his penis to her glistening wet lips, but the debauched little
teen-age girl desperately lifted her head off the carpet still more and took
the deflating cock in her mouth, sucking like a starving calf with her lips
until she had licked him clean.

      Finally she sunk back to the floor, her pussy still a writhing and
contracting fury of unquenchable desire which her fingers couldn't control or
put out, and piteously she pleaded, "Please, fuck me now, Stan.  Put your cock
inside me... I must have you... my cunt's on fire, Stan... don't leave me like
this... I beg you, fuck me!"

      Stan Lubin chuckled and rolled to one side and sat up.  "In due time I'll
fuck you, you bitch... when I feel you've earned it."

      Her breathing came in short, hard gasps, making her full, young breasts
rise and fall in deep panting motion.  Her glazed, pot-drugged brain was filled
with her own starved and unsated passion, her belly and loins ached in seething
unfilled lust, and she all but crawled along the floor in her quivering state
of maddened frustrations. "Ohhhh, Stan... you must, you must give me your cock
now..."

      "I'll give you a cock if you want," he chuckled lewdly, "but not mine."
He grinned at the group of players around him.  "Who wants to go first with
her, pals?"

      "Me -- me," stuttered the giant Negro tackle, Lance Retliff.  "I -- let
me go first Gawd!"  He gawked wild-eyed at the white little girl.

      "You've got such a big cock, Lance, you'll tear her in half and not leave
anything for the rest of us.  No, you go last.  How about you, Vic?  You
deserve seconds, I'd say; you and Tam were the ones who set this thing up."

      Jennifer shuddered uncontrollably as her drug maddened mind deciphered
the lewd, carnal words of Stan Lubin and the others.  They... they were all
going to gangfuck her, and there was nothing she could do about it, for her
body was one seething mass of raw naked passions.  She was crying out for
release, cowering on the rug as seven boys gleefully watched her shamefully
writhe on the floor, her fingers still working desperately up in her
unsatiated, wet, young cunt, and she knew that she would submit to any of their
demands, no matter how depraved, to keep the fevered devil of her sexual fire
from eating away her belly and loins and tearing at the innards of her body.

      The blanket of the marijuana drug was not enough.  The torture of knowing
that first Vic and then sit others including the lewd thrustings of Stan's
hard, blood-swollen cock would make her nothing more than a lewd receptacle
into which their vile sperm would spew, and that she would allow their great
shafts of hardened young flesh to drub her helpless pussy with or without the
deadening smoke, sent tears of wretched humiliation from her tortured eyes, for
she was at that point where she had to have cock.  Cock, with a capital C...
Cock deep, deep inside her innocent young womb...  She moaned in fatalistic
anguish at Tamera's boyfriend, Vic Cain, the thick muscled, leering halfback
and Stan's closest buddy, stood and came over to her.

      The squirming teen-age girl looked up, hoping that he might have taken
some small pity on her hopeless condition, but the boy's eyes flickered in
appreciation as he saw the delicious nubile feast spread defenselessly before
him, undisguised rapiousness glittering from his pupils.  His long, hardened
cock jerked from the shadows of his muscular belly, and for one agonizing
instant, Jennifer wondered how Tamera could take all of that in her tender
girlish cunt.  Then Vic sank to his knees and leaned gleefully over her and
began running his rough, calloused hands over the adolescent, girl's smooth,
cringing flesh.

      Jennifer's reaction was violent!

      A deep, indescribable electric shock shot through the frayed nerves of
her body like a thousand sharp needles, dancing wickedly along the inner
softness of her moist thighs, her buttocks ground desperately into the carpet
to quench the seating hot flames licking hungrily at her naked cunt and rising
bud of her exposed clitoris. The path of the high-school boy's coarse fingers
rippled in her now quivering belly and out into the black-berry-like nipples of
her throbbing breasts, drowning out the debasing humiliation of his strange
roaming of her flesh, and her ivory breasts rose and fell heavily with her
labored breathing.

      Vic Cain couldn't wait -- only a fool would have. He pushed her
unresisting thighs wide with the rough palms of his hands and crawled eagerly
over between their lush fullness.  Desire-ridden flames rose higher around the
pink, wet edges of Jennifer's naked cunt as she felt the boy's weight on top of
her nakedness, and she dizzily thought of herself as one hot, moist tunnel
which had to be filled.  Her eyes locked greedily on the hardened cock
quivering from his kneeling body, hovering between the slimness of her
wide-stretched thighs, and uncontrollably, she kicked out her legs and curled
her heels around his hips, pulling him toward her writhing body.  He guided his
thick, hardened penis straight into her throbbing cunt, his full weight
smashing her to the floor with a deep moan, and then he rammed his pulsing rod
as deep as it could go in her hungry, clasping vagina. His balls smacked
heavily against her upturned, churning buttocks as he bored hotly into the
yielding softness of her belly.

      Jennifer had only one maddened thought at that moment: she wanted him
deeper, wanted him to burrow further into her hot, quivering cunt, and she
groaned and splayed her legs wide out on the carpet to give the football player
greater access.  "Fuck me deeper!  Fuck me deeper!"

      As if in apology, Vic rammed his tongue in her mouth, and Jennifer sucked
thirstily at his drooling saliva in wild frenzy, her body caught up in a
whirlpool of raw lust as his jerking cock pistoned into her mercilessly, the
brutal thuds of his pelvis smacking her resounding noisily, and she felt her
climax beginning... she was so close...

      And then as she bucked uncontrollably against Vic Cain, she felt his
plunging cock stiffen without warning and spurt its white-hot liquid far into
the hidden recesses of her tortured womb.  Jennifer moaned in frustration, for
he had cum too soon, leaving her a second away from her own magical apex, and
she strained against his rapidly deflating cock and cried out with anguish when
he rolled away from her with a happy, satiated smile.

      The fire burned on in Jennifer's churning thighs, and she waited
impatiently for the next boy Stan would chose, "Oh God," she sobbed
hysterically, "I'm going crazy!  Someone!  Anyone! Fuck me!"

      Greg Mothra threw himself over the girl's squirming body without
ceremony, straddling her stomach heavily, the soft whiteness of her writhing
skin as it brushed against his dangling testicles causing his long, slender
prick to jerk in anticipation.  To the insatiable little girl, he was only a
boy, a boy with a cock that could slice her burning pussy, and that was all
that mattered, but Mothra had other indecent, perverted plans for his
schoolmate's girl; he moved forward and lay his hard, wet penis between the
valley of her full, fleshy young breasts and cupped his hands around their
quivering mounds, pushing them together and trapping his pulsating cock softly
between them Jennifer looked down her nose and watched the red bulbous head
growing between her tightly held breasts, and could feel it throb against the
sensitive tissue of her skin, sending further sheets of hotlicking flame down
to the quivering slit of her palpitating cunt.

      "No! Fuck me, fuck me, please, please!  Not there!  Not there!"

      Mothra slid his blue-veined cock faster and faster between her straining
breasts, ignoring her anguished pleas, saliva trickling from his puffing lips
moistening the narrow valley and making the passage easier for his rampaging
shaft.  Desperately he pumped, faster and faster, and then before the teen-age
girl's horrified eyes, his lust-built cum spurted out in hot sticky streams
over her heaving young breasts, ran across her creamy white shoulders, splashed
against her neck and chin, and sent droplets clinging to her cheeks, forehead,
and flaying hair.

      "Goddamn you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, and cursed the boy
with all the foul words that came to her lewdly deranged mind.  "I want a man
in me!  I want a cock up my cunt! Now!"  Her vagina was a steaming hot cavern
that twitched like a nerve out of control, and her body was going to explode if
someone didn't stuff his penis in her soon.  She sobbed hysterically crying out
for deliverance.

      Stan Lubin grinned with cruel, salacious satisfaction as he saw the
lovely little daughter of Roger Carmel writhing out of control on the floor.
The teen-ager was beyond objecting to anything now, and she would probably
welcome it, he thought gleefully.  But he couldn't go too far, he knew; he had
his orders from Tamera to do so much to this surging young female child and no
more -- and one didn't cross the orders of Sam Zeigler, even those given
indirectly through Tamera and Vic -- not if one wanted to keep a steady supply
of passion-inducing marijuana coming. Anyway, what the hell; there'd be other
times, other days...  He turned to another of his teammates, who was stroking
his own turgid penis, by the way he was moaning and whipping his hand over his
shaft, he was about ready to shoot his cum straight into the air, and it would
be a shame to waste it when there was Jennifer ready and willing to accept the
load.

      "Ken, go get her, boy!" he said to King, one of the team's receivers.
"Fuck her like she wants!"

      Jennifer's eyes were glazed in uncontrollable lust, and all she wanted
was to feel the deliciousness of a man fucking her.  The young girl wanted her
belly filled with great swirling pools of white hot semen and feel it shaking
around wetly inside her.

      The heavy body of Ken King flowed over her and once more she was lost in
the sea of perversion and unquenchable desire.  She fitted his oversized
cock-head incautiously into the entrance of her pink-lipped, wet cunt, and
frenziedly she locked her legs tightly around his back and jerked her hips up,
gyrating wildly, holding the boy deep in her gripping vagina.  King came
quickly, his hot juice splashing her womb, and then she felt the cool rush of
air against her fevered genitals as he left her.  Before she could protest and
beg for more or Stan could call out to the next boy, George Slade leaped up and
grabbed her slim, tapered, wriggling ankles and thrust them up until her knees
were hard against her swollen, still sperm-drenched breasts.  As she lay so
totally exposed, her hair-lined pussy splayed wide and her tender anus
puckering in full view, the teen-aged boy rammed his trembling cock deep into
her cum-filled cunt with a violent thrust.

      "Ahhh!" Jennifer wailed as she felt the school boy squeeze his penis
along the full length of her tightly clenching cunt, his body quivering from
his delicious fucking, his hips surging against the soft flesh of her raised
wide-splayed cervice and moon-shaped buttocks.  His swollen cock-head hit the
top of her burning channel, mashing her cervix, making her writhe hot and
delirious.  "Yes, oh yes... fuck faster... fuck faster...!"

      The little, once-naive, once virginal teen-ager, strained desperately
against his ramming prick and bucked crazily, arching and rearing her white,
wide-stretched ass like the bitch in heat that she was, while George Slade
groaned and whined with a torrent of insensible words and rotated his thighs,
splitting the walls of her milking hot vagina with each pounding stroke.  Then
he gave a hoarse cry and the glans hole at the peak of his blood-swollen penis
opened like the gates of a dam and wildly lashed hot, thick semen into her
writhing belly, just as the others had, sending shivering geysers of hungry
tension flooding through her loins, the wash of sudden excitement mixing
obscenely with his molten cum juice spurting from his cock buried in her
churning, still unsatisfied cunt.

      And then through the dulled screen of her drugged and orgiastic-maddened
mind, Jennifer opened her eyes as the boy removed his limp cock and another boy
took his place almost without a pause.

      "That's it, Gene!" Stan urged the teen-age teammate whose nickname was
'Cowboy."

      "Yeah, man, she's one wild ride today!"  And then he laughed with a
barking, sinister laugh of utter contempt and lewd delight, as he added in
reference to Roger's love of horses and horseback riding, "Too bad you don't
have spurs, Cowboy, you could really make her buck!"

      "Cowboy" Rogers giggled shrilly and pulled the unprotesting almost
incoherent little girl on top of him, his prick slipping into Jennifer's
overflowing, hot young pussy as he did; then holding her white, slippery thigh,
he bounced her harder and harder on his length of shaft, while she arched over
his pumping body and spread her legs wide on either side, giving all the boys a
different, more provocative view of her now up-tilted anus and crevice of her
vagina slit, which was wetly pink and nibbling at the virile penis sawing
upwards into her tender hair-fringed cunt.  She was moaning and groaning now,
for although she was incapable of either controlling the boys or her own wild,
spawning need to find final release from her spiralling excitement, the
previous series of pummelling, cruel fucks had rubbed her thin, unaccustomed
walls of her lubricious, tiny vaginal tunnel absolutely flooded, and the new
and different cock slamming into her made loud wet sluicing noises in the other
boys' cum as it plunged rhythmically in and out of her.  When finally Rogers
screamed out his bursting orgasm, and her womb was once more filled with alien,
strange seed that hit her inner belly with savage, boiling cream, she dropped
off of the boy and lay panting on the rug, her loins and thighs still twitching
and jerking with unrequited lusts.  But she gripped her small, young hands into
fists and clenched her eyes shut and cried out in defensive agony:

      "No more... let me rest, please let me rest... my pussy is so filled ...
it hurts now...  I must have a rest..."  Her feeble pleas were directed as much
to herself as to the ring of panting, lecherous young males, all naked and
glassy-eyed with lewdness around her, for she knew that her body was crying out
for more, ever for more... and she had to stop herself from demanding an other
cock, or else she'd never be able to walk again.

      "N -- now me, Stan," groaned Lance Retliff in a stammer of lusting head.
"You -- you promised I could have her too, after the others... I gotta have her
or, or I'll cum all over your rug, I will!"

      "Sure, Lance," Stan Lubin said to the great, hulking Negro team member.
"You can have her, and right now."

      Jennifer opened her eyes, and her shocked gaze fell on the black boy's
monstrous penis pointing directly at her.  She gasped in abject, astonished
fear.  She couldn't take his huge cock even if she wasn't so wretchedly,
painfully exhausted!   He'd split her open from anus to navel, she knew it!
And... and he was a Negro!  Frantically, with visions of her ripped and torn
body bleeding on the carpet flickering wildly through her cringing mind,
Jennifer looked around the room.  They couldn't allow this to happen!  They
couldn't!

      But all she saw were horribly excited young faces and eager sweaty
bodies, and heavy, excited breathing.  All of the young football team members
were wide-eyed and eager for Lance Retliff to cruelly ravish her white
quivering body with his burnished black penis.  The Negro stepped to the
tortured girl, his ebony penis rearing out from his muscular dark stomach like
a third leg, his two great, sperm-laden testicles swinging below.  Jennifer,
through wide-splayed thighs, watched in frozen awe as the black-skinned torso
descended over her like night across the sands of a bleached desert, and a
shock rippled through her as her straining, defenseless cunt felt the
trembling, wet head of his mammoth prick graze her already sperm-drenched
vaginal lips, the shock of which traveled from the base of her loins to the top
of her skull, where it shattered in a cascade of licentious abandonment.  Her
pussy jerked involuntarily forward to nibble hungrily at it, and nothing else
existed in the world except that huge, fiery sword of black, hard flesh.  She
had to be filled in spite of what the Negro might do to her, and gone were her
natural prejudices against his race, her principles, her humiliation; there was
only the teasing reality of his probing cock crawling between her hot, steaming
vaginal furrow, tracing lines of tiny wet circles of anticipatory secretions as
it searched for her pulsating, bearded little cunt mouth.  The alien cock
jostled for a moment against her pink ragged edges of flesh, insinuating itself
gently between them -- and then Lance Retliff flicked his hips and forced his
blood filled cock brutally into the open lips of her rubbery flesh.

      Jennifer threw her head wildly from side to side.  "Aggggg!" she screamed
and desperately kicked her legs, trying to free her impaled little cunt.  In
her wild passion she'd overestimated herself, and she'd been right with her
first, fearful reaction: his negroid cock was too big! But Lance Retliff
grinned lewdly down on the white young teen-age girl and levered his hands into
a push-up position and slid another inch of his relentless monster into her
excruciatingly painful vagina. Jennifer screamed again -- another inch burrowed
inside her --

    "Nooo... nooo," she sobbed hysterically, tears gushing from her swollen
eyes, but her struggling protests and resistance only brought more crushing
thrusts from the Negro boy until his black cock plowed through her rippling
pink soft flesh and smashed her inner organs into tight tiny balls that could
not breathe or move.  His penis was coming out her throat, out her mouth,
curling around her brain...

      Suddenly it stopped with an earth-shattering jolt as Lance thudded
heavily against her white, up-turned buttocks, his inflated, sperm-bloated
balls smacking heavily into the widespread crevice, and his huge ebony cock was
imbedded to its hilt.  The boy lay still for a moment while the bereaved
pale-skinned daughter of Roger and Lonnie Carmel became adjusted to the
presence of his huge shaft, and he lewdly savored the way her pain-contorted
face slowly relaxed, her gnashing teeth opening with a soft sigh.  Then, unable
to control himself further he began a slow revolving motion with his hips, a
slight sawing motion as he ground his cock in and out of Jennifer's moist,
wide-stretched pussy, thrusting forward mercilessly from the apex of his
withdrawal and battering her pain-wracked body hard against the floor,
expanding her still cringing walls of her vagina until she fit around his
instrument like a well tailored glove of flesh.

      The rapined, drugged little teen-ager was dimly aware through the haze of
pain and desire that the rest of the boys were closing in, peering
unbelievingly within inches of Lance Retliff's huge buried member, amazed that
the tight, slender cunt they had seen before was capable of swallowing the
whole of his black shaft.  From both sides hands came out and began to rub
lewdly over her moon-shaped buttocks, pulling and teasing the fleshy
hair-covered lips locked so tightly around the pumping Negro boy's penis, and
more hands clawed over every part of her skin until she thought she was covered
with a thousand tiny insects.  The living room became a giant octopus of
grasping tentacles reaching out to help the obscene crushing of her moral and
physical being. Weird sensations tingled through her helpless body as the
outrageous debasement and subjugation brought strange masochistic pleasures
seeping through her every sinew and marrow, and her hips started an unconscious
response to the black cock fucking her and the thousand fingers groping at her
and the mass of leering faces surrounding her.

      "Ohhhh, yes, yes..." she crooned.  "Oh God yes, fuck me like this..." She
squirmed lewdly among the myriad hands teasing her flesh.  Cocks were
everywhere, the boys of the football team stroking them over her in time to the
lewd black and white flesh smacking together before them -- long ones, short
ones, fat ones; she was a prisoner of them and the great ebony piston fucking
into her deliciously wet and expanding cunt.

      "Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!" she grunted and she gyrated her thighs
and buttocks faster in a vain attempt to match the poles of hardened flesh
above her and in her, and then she felt her hands uncontrollably grasp a couple
of the wavering penises and she started to stroke them viciously and hard in
communal rhythm to the shaft of anthracite-like penis pummeling her throbbing
vagina.  She was no longer a little, despoiled youngster, but a great morass of
flaccid female flesh, unable to think or breathe.

      Then all of a sudden, the Negro boy's cock inflated momentarily and he
too grunted out his release of alien semen, shooting the hot, torrential flood
of sperm deep up inside her, the load ricocheting wildly back against her
battered cervix and flowing obscenely down from her matted hair-lined cuntal
lips to drip down between the white crevice of her still uncontrollably
convulsing buttocks and stain the rug.  Other penises similarly exploded,
bathing her in a shower of mixed semen as the lustful, virile young boys from
her high school drenched her already sticky, wet flesh, her proud,
darkly-nipple breasts, her passion lined face with surges of hot, white,
gushing seed.

      And Jennifer's long-sought wish came true, for the utter lewdness, the
total rage of unhindered salaciousness had finally been enough to trigger her
own impending climax simultaneously with the boys' urgent releases.  She
screwed her tight, young buttocks up hard against Lance Retliff's still
squirting penis in her cunt and with a scream between her wide open, sperm
glistening mouth, she felt her newborn tender young body burst into a
Roman-candle of colors and stars, orgasmic juices swirling from the depths of
her womb and churning obscenely together with the black boy's alien seed.  She
screamed, her legs flailing the carpet on either side of his rampaging thighs
and the cock fucking her, and then her strength was suddenly gone and she
collapsed as Lance slowly removed his limp penis from her semen-drenched pussy.

      Stan Lubin stared in awe at the quivering, quietly moaning young girl on
the floor, as thunderstruck with the overwhelming perversion based actions she
had be a party to as the others were.  She was the most fantastic, most
insatiable girl he'd ever encountered.  Great God, you couldn't wear her cunt
out!  One or a thousand fuckings were all the same to her, spurring her on to
wilder uncontrollable frenzies of lust.  He took a deep, trembling sigh, and
even though he'd cum twice already the very prurience of this virginal looking,
innocent-acting little girl enticed his prick to give a little jerk of renewed
interest.

      "We'll take her on again, fellows," he said to the panting, excited group
of teammates.  "We'll fuck her all day if you like, because she doesn't have to
be at the Club Royale until this evening."

      "Can we... can we go to the Club, too?" Ken King asked.  "I hear tell
they've got some wild shows in the upstairs rooms, and... and if this little
sweetheart is going to be an attraction there, oh God, I'd love to see her
then!"

      Stan Lubin shook his head sadly.  "Naw, not even I can go.  You know how
strict the state is about under-age drinking, and Zeigler won't let us in
because of our age.  We'll have to make-do with her until he comes to pick her
up."  He grinned lewdly.  "What are you worried about, Ken?  You fuck her
enough here and now, and you won't be able to move a muscle tonight anyway."

      "Yeah..." King responded, licking his rubbery, wide lips.

      Time, after that, became a meaningless and blurred merging of cocks and
more cocks to the hapless, sex-drugged young daughter of Roger and Lonnie
Carmel.  She was beyond emotion, her body still reacting with orgasm to several
of the boys' fuckings, but her strength was gone and she followed mechanically.

      Many long hours later, she was dressed and cleaned up by Stan and a
couple of the other teen-agers, her limbs too weak and satiated to be able to
perform for herself, and only dimly she heard the gravelly voice of an older
man directing Stan to take her to his car.

      Slowly putting one rubbery leg before the other, she leaned on the boy
and allowed him to take her outside and to a large, gold-colored Cadillac
parked near the door.  Exhausted, soiled, but pleasantly satisfied with a
euphoria of drugged unawareness of what she had done, she tottered as he opened
the back door of the large limousine and almost fell inside, lowering herself
to the soft cushions and unconsciously feeling the warm, heavily breathing body
of a woman next to her. She looked up, and then her eyes flew open with
startled, abject bewilderment.  Torment surged like a stimulant through her,
sending all of her previous torpor from her in one split second of
comprehension as she recognized the woman, but she still didn't understand why
she was there, why she was in the back of this strange man's luxurious car.

      "Mother!" she gasped, and collapsed in a dead faint.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 12/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 12

      Sam Zeigler, for all of his aching desire to once more delve into the
hot, tingling pussy of Mrs. Lonnie Carmel, wasn't able to drive to her house
until the early afternoon.  Business before pleasure, he ruefully had to admit,
and there were many things to take care of at the Club Royale before he could
break free.

      The girl performer from last night, for instance. She had been due for a
bonus, after letting Fang, the German Shepherd, fuck her with his long animal
penis during the show, but Zeigler had discovered that the girl was still
moaningly delirious, almost insane from the perverted act, and he'd had to
arrange for sanatarium care for her instead.  Which was too bad, because she
was a star attraction on his second-floor theater-of-the-lewd. They couldn't
get over the different way different women reacted to Fang -- the lascivious,
totally debauched wife of Martin Oliss, luscious blond-haired Cylvia, had
nearly gone mad when she had let Fang fuck her, but in the opposite way; she
couldn't get enough of the dog's immense wet shaft, and cried out for more,
more! Idly, Zeigler wondered how Lonnie Carmel was going to react, when she met
the carnally trained German Shepherd for the first time...

      And then there was an order of broken glasses to take care of and an
explanation to his superior in Los Angeles why the weekly take wasn't its usual
high figure... little things, but what with one thing and another, he didn't
park his Cadillac El Dorado in the tract-house driveway of the Roger Carmel
home until after one o'clock.

      Lonnie, black-haired and eyes swollen with fear and regret, tremblingly
answered the door.  She meekly let him in and the gangster had a hard time
controlling his cock from leaping into full erection just at the clothed sight
of the lovely wife.  She was as delicate as an orchid, and her eyes were
half-lidded and sensually downcast, and it was obvious that she'd spent the
torturous hours while she agonizingly had been waiting by drinking...  Good,
good...

      Lonnie was in a disparaging, irrational state of panic; the frozen kind,
in which the body is too confused and terrified to really plan out a course of
action, and now facing the gruff, not unhandsome but craggily ruthless face of
the sneering gangster she was ready to bolt and run past him, out into the
quiet Saturday afternoon suburban street, screaming at the top of her lungs for
help... but then her desire to protect herself, her marriage, her family
occurred to her and she stifled her first impulse.

      "Come in," she said softly, with a choking catch to her normally smooth,
warm voice, "come in, Mr. Zeigler.  I -- I expected you before now."

      "Business, Lonnie," he said, grinning and entering the foyer.  "And call
me Sam.  After all, we're good friends.  Intimate friends," he added with a
snicker.  He threw his hat on the hall table and rubbed his hands together,
eager to get down to business.

      The trembling, misery-and-guilt-laden wife of Roger Carmel felt unsteady,
and the room swayed as she stepped with him into the living room. She'd had too
much to drink, she knew that, but she'd hope that the headiness the scotch gave
her would act as a blessed covering over her naked shame, and she felt naked
under his lascivious gaze, naked and dirty, even though she had showered twice
and was wearing a dress.  Perhaps it was the black brassiere and panties.  The
very thought of what he had so pruriently demanded her to wear, had made
abundantly obvious on the phone this morning would excite him to see, was the
implied filth crawling over her white, satin smooth skin...

      She took a seat on the low couch, aware that her shapely legs were
provocatively exposed to his gleaming, salacious vision, and as she looked up
at his reddening face and saw how hard he was breathing, there was no more
doubt in her mind as to his intentions.  Sam Zeigler was after only one thing:
her body.  The gangster walked slowly around her and sat down close to her
thigh, leering at her ripe, quaking form, his lips glistening with saliva and
his left eye ticked slightly from his obvious anticipation.

      "Now, Lonnie, let's consider you and me," he said softly.  "I want
something you've got, and you want me to give you something in return.  I think
a straight trade can be arranged very easily. Don't you?"

      "Mr. Zeigler -- Sam," she said hastily, catching the fire in his eyes,
"Sam, I love my family..  I want to forget about what happened between us last
night... I've never been with any other man except my husband before... please
let me alone."

      "You joke," Sam replied, his voice cool and contemptuous. "A great deal
of money was spent on you last night, and I don't like throwing money away.  I
like to get a return for my investment, and damnit, you're going to work it
off, let me tell you."

      Lonnie stared wild-eyed at the sweating, greedy gangster, his beady eyes
glowing like burnished wet olives in their sockets as he devoured her full,
rich body.  "Money... I'll pay you back.  I'll give you money," the hapless
wife babbled.  "How... how much?"

      "I don't want your money," Zeigler spat with a cruel smirk.  "No, I want
you, Mrs. Carmel, you and your wild-ass, swinging body."

      "Oh, God," Lonnie Carmel moaned and fell back against the couch, her
whole body displayed to this evil underworld leader, her skirt hiking up to
expose most of her slim, young, milk-white thighs.  "I can't make love to you
again, Mr. Zei --  Sam, I just can't!"

      "Yes, you can," Zeigler coaxed, thick lips shining as he licked them.
"And you will.  God, you're too beautifully built not to, for Christ's sake.
I'm going to really enjoy this little swap."

      Lonnie's mind whirled from the scotch and the humiliation of sitting
beside this vile, depraved man while he uttered his degrading monologue of
lurid demands, and frantically she attempted one last desperate act of bravado
in the faint hope that she could scare him into silence and letting her free
from his evil bondage.  She looked at him, steeling herself to be cold, her
courage spurred by the overdose of liquor and her desperation.

      "If you don't leave right now, Sam, I'm going to call the police.  You're
trying to blackmail me in the most despicable way imaginable, and that's
against the law.  You'll be arrested as a sex offender, I bet, on top of
blackmail and coercion, and in this state that means even after you serve your
prison sentence, you have to always report to the police in every town you live
in.  You'll lose your license to operate that dirty nightclub of yours and
you'll be out of a job and --"

      His harsh, biting laughter cut off her threats like an axe through a
piece of kindling wood. "Don't be so damned naive, Lonnie.  You think I could
operate without the cops knowing about what I do?  Do you know that the county
deputy sheriffs deliver my bootleg in the trunk of their cruisers at night, and
the mayor, two councilmen and the chief of police himself not only take cuts,
but were at the performance last night?  You think they'd do anything about
your accusations, even if they believed you -- you, who willingly came to my
club and joined in the fun?" Zeigler chortled at the young, tear-streaked wife
and dropped his hand down between her clenched, defensively resisting thighs.
"Lonnie, I'm going to fuck you and fuck you good, or otherwise I'll ruin you."

      Lonnie had to face the stark, cold fact that there was no other choice if
she wanted him to always keep what she had done a deep secret from her husband
and daughter, and if she didn't do as he commanded, she would lose Roger and be
castigated beyond belief.  Her hips and rounded buttocks jumped at his
familiar, decadent touch, but she didn't protest as Zeigler's hand slid her
dress up her front until his cool, grasping finger tips suddenly came into hot,
searing contact with her thinly covered flesh.  She squirmed back a little,
whimpering helplessly as he slipped one finger under the tight elastic band of
her erotic panties and gently teased the narrow, sensitive slit of her vagina,
parting her soft raven-hued pubic hair and tickling her throbbing tiny
clitoris. She sucked in her breath tightly, trying to hold back her
overwhelming urge to hit and scratch the gangster's gloating, blood-infused
face, to pick up a knife and plunge it through the ice-water heart of this
insidiously corrupting man.  But she couldn't; all she could do was sprawl
helplessly while Zeigler roamed his hands over her body at will, building up to
the final, most indecent liberty of all, and a cascade of tears once more
poured her mortification and sickness down over her trembling cheeks.

      "Spread your legs, Lonnie," Zeigler breathed harshly.  "Big Daddy Sam
wants to see those pretty black panties stretched over your pussy."

      "Oh God, no, not here.  Don't make me do it here," she pleaded softly.
"My daughter might come home and catch us."

      Sam Zeigler, well aware that her daughter wouldn't be home, that Jennifer
Carmel was at the home of Stan Lubin getting gang-fucked by some of the boy's
friends, didn't tell the distraught woman that lewd fact.  Instead, he removed
his hands and stood up, pulling her upright and giving the now totally
capitulating wife a moment to smooth her dress down.

       "You're right, Lonnie baby.  We'll fuck in your bedroom."

      The full impact of his evilness hit Lonnie then. He was going to force
her to make love on her own marital bed!  On the same sheets where she had so
often taken the warm and loving embrace of her husband, Roger!  Sam Zeigler
couldn't possibly find a more despicable way of debauching her, truly crush her
slightest mental resistance, but the wretched young wife allowed Zeigler to
lead her down the hall to her sacrosanct bedroom, shocked into surrender by the
utter baseness and brutal obscenity of the gangster.  How could he do such
things?  He wasn't human.

      "Now, come on, Lonnie-baby, get that dress off and let's see you in the
nude," Zeigler grunted, and before she even had time to react, he was
unbuttoning his own clothes.  She watched him strip, frozen trancelike in
horror as his thick penis stood out from beneath his slight paunch like a
heavy, blunt spear, and he grinned lewdly at her and stroked his massive
uncircumcised shaft back and forth, taunting her.  "Like that, Lonnie? Remember
it from last night?"

      Lonnie tried to speak, but no sound came from her constricted, parched
throat.  Against her will, her eyes dropped again to his hard, fleshy cock that
he was holding in his hand, and she knew that there was no possible escape. The
crude gangster was going to ravish her defenseless body no matter what she did
or tried, and she was alone and completely at his mercy -- and she was well
aware now that he had no mercy in him to give. Only lust and sadism.

      "Are you going to take that dress off or do I do it for you?" Zeigler
snarled, reaching out his thick, meaty hand, and with a sudden jerk he drew her
hard against him, his erect and throbbing prick ramming her in the belly
painfully.  He snaked his hand around her body and in one swift downward motion
unzipped her dress; Lonnie could feel the cool rush of the afternoon air
against her naked skin as he slid the garment from her shoulders, and then she
heard him mutter in lusty appreciation as the dress fluttered to the carpeted
floor.  He dropped in front of her, his knees thumping hard against the floor,
and while she swayed above him, he hooked his fingers in the elastic band of
her black lacy panties and pulled them down slowly over the softness of her
round, full buttocks, letting them drop with her dress in a skimpy pile on the
floor.

      "Don't... don't take off your brassiere," he ordered in a panting voice,
his gasps having a wheezy quality to them as if he was laboring with an asthma
attack.  "It... it turns me on with you like this!"

      She stood before him, humiliatingly naked except for the black cups of
thin material surrounding her white, quivering breasts, and she almost lost her
balance when she felt the sudden wet contact of his glistening lips pressing
tightly into the nude, flesh of her soft, vaginal area.  Her soft, dark pubic
hair grazed his cheeks and he spread her pink, moist pussy lips with his
fingers and flicked his lizardlike tongue into the sheath of the softly
pulsating slit.  The beautiful fear-crazed wife jumped from the electrifying
assault on her female genitals, falling backwards, the edge of the double bed
catching her behind the knees, and she sprawled with a soul-searing moan on the
mattress, flat on her back, her thighs inadvertently wide as she landed.

      Zeigler pounced on the bed and caught her by her ankles before she could
close her legs; she struggled, but it was a one-sided battle, and then she
relaxed, offering all of her pink, hair-fringed cunt to his salacious and
greedy eyes, knowing that she would have to give in eventually, and that there
was nothing left now but the horrible submission to the gangster's every
obscene whim. Her body was a helpless toy to be abused as he wanted, and he
would only cease his animalistic quest for satisfaction after he'd exploded his
hot liquid sperm inside her soft and resilient belly.

      "On... on your knees, Lonnie-baby," Zeigler groaned, his licentious
excitement aroused beyond belief by the mere sight of her voluptuous body. Her
inspiring nudity with her erotic, pleasure filled thighs, perfectly formed hips
and legs, trembling, begging vaginal lips -- never in Zeigler's debauched life
had he seen such perfection! "On your knees..." he husked impatiently.

      "Why?" the bitterly humiliated young wife mewled.  "What... what are you
going to do to me?"

      "Just a little fun, Lonnie-baby," Zeigler crooned hoarsely.  "Don't you
worry none.  You're going to get the ride of your life, because Big Daddy Sam
here loves to fuck ass."

      Ass!  He wants to put his giant penis up my anus, to clam in my rectum!
Lonnie had prepared herself a little bit, as much as she could, for any thing
he had wanted of her -- but this, this sodomy between her buttocks wasn't
human!  It wasn't right!  He couldn't mean what he said, he was only trying to
frighten her further, to make her crawl and plead with him.  He wouldn't dare
make love to her there, like some rutting animal!

      Rough hands suddenly pressed against her firm, hot flesh, Zeigler's
massive paws digging into the resilient, protesting skin of her buttocks and
thighs, leaving painful red marks of his clawing fingertips.  "I said turn
over, bitch!" he snarled impatiently.  "Turn over, or by God, I'll break your
arms!"

      Whimpering, sucking back her desire to cry out in torment and horror,
Lonnie Carmel obeyed, rolling over and then kneeling with her head pressed
tightly into the sheets, her frail little hands clutching desperately at a
pillow for support, the full, white moons of her buttocks stretching up in
sacrificial offering to the lewdly uncontrollable gangster.

      God! Zeigler heatedly thought, my balls are aching... and he longed to
thrust forward, into the narrow teasing slit of the clenched, soft crevice
between her quivering cheeks.  But he knew that this was the moment for the
conquest of her mind, now that the first stage of physical submission had been
successfully breeched, and the change of spirit was best accomplished with
softness.

      He slid to his knees behind her wavering white buttocks, leaned forward
and planted a warm, wet kiss with his thick, slavering lips on the thin, pink
folds of flesh which covered her protruding vagina, and he felt her quiver and
heard her groan slightly as her body trembled from his moist contact.  Then he
ran his long, wet tongue slowly and teasingly down the full length of her
tightly clenched crevice, and with gleaming eyes, perceived that the submissive
wife slowly let the straining muscles of her inner thighs relax and the
beginning formation of aroused moisture gleaming on the soft pubic curls lining
her cuntal lips as Lonnie let her buttock cheeks slip wider and wider apart.

      Lonnie had geared her mind to the fighting of pain and subjugation, but
not the softness and pleasure she was feeling now as Zeigler pressed his open
mouth hard against the pink lips of her vaginal slit and thrust his tongue deep
inside the smooth, fleshy folds of her gently throbbing cunt mouth.  She
squirmed slightly, and he tightened his hands on her buttocks so she couldn't
slide from him, and then he began to work the whole inner crevice, sucking and
licking at it crazily as her buttocks throbbed and swayed around his face.  The
unexpected switch from brutality to caressing tenderness had, in spite of her
vow not to succumb physically to his rapacious demands caught her off guard,
and she sensed a great weight being released from around her constricted heart
and soul, and unconsciously, the unbelievable relief that follows such lifting
of a burden began to allow her body to respond sexually.

      "Ahhhh," Jenny Carmel's young mother sighed as slowly she found herself
being unwillingly but irresistibly drawn into desiring more delicious and lewd
sucklings of her loins, and from deep within her belly and flowering,
palpitating cunt came strange, magical stirrings of tingling ecstasy.  She
shivered as the heat of spasming lust first started small and then grew with
the impetus caused by Zeigler's curling and flicking wet tongue imbedded up
between her thighs until she couldn't help but screw her buttocks back against
his wildly licking face, her taut hip muscles making them hollow and contract
around the sides of his cheeks.  She was unable to prevent herself from
writhing and churning in a lascivious dance of ravishment as the gangster
licked and sucked at her with a greedy, untamed lust that threatened to drive
both of them crazy.

      Her wide-splayed cunt surrendered completely to Zeigler, for in a gasp of
dazed, purely emotional reaction, Carmel's terror-stricken and humiliated wife
no longer even wanted to resist the hot, teasing swirlings of tongue, mouth and
lips in her swaying vaginal crevice, and her pussy secreted lubrications which
ran in warm trickles down her inner legs and over the oscillating cheeks of
Zeigler. The depraved gangland leader lapped up her sexual secretions, adding
them to his own saliva as he teasingly bathed her cunt and the tiny puckered
sphincter ring of her defenseless, fully exposed anus.

      Zeigler sensed from the wild abandoned tempo of her body that she had
capitulated mind, body and soul, and knew instinctively that it was time...
time to ram his burgeoning cock into her innocent, softly working rectum, its
tiny, tender opening now well lubricated.  He raised up behind her buttocks on
his knees and taunted her cunt with the violently quivering head of his blood
raging cock, her helpless little whimpers drifting back to him as he ran its
insinuating tip between her wide-splayed pussy lips.

      She was moaning incessantly as he wormed the first, small portion of his
blunt cock-head into her anus with a slight pop as the tiny puckered mouth gave
way to his pressure.

      "Oooooooh, God!" he heard her groan down into the pillow but still
continued his constant penetration of her viscous-coated rectal channel until
the entire length of his massive penis was being submerged up inside in slow,
tormenting inches. Zeigler doubted whether the lovely, now completely conquered
young housewife really was aware that he was going to fully penetrate her
asshole and he grinned lewdly to himself and wormed more of his large cock into
her snugly tight aperture, savoring with pleasure the clenching fist of her
burning entrails as they closed over his thick penis like a custom-made fleshy
glove.  And then, he gave a quick hip-thrusting stab, seething with the
knowledge born of experience and intuition that the devastated mind of the wife
beneath him could only flash signals that it was all right... that it had to be
all right, because she could say nothing else to counteract the rape of her
back sides.

      Lonnie thought crazily, it's all right... it's all right... as his
passion-inflamed cock ground its way through the vainly resisting barriers of
her clutching anal muscles.  Then suddenly she felt as if she was filled with a
telephone pole, and a warning spasm that her tortured body was being ripped
open, her belly painfully bursting at the seams, flooded her brain.

      "AAAAAAggggggg!" she cried out deliriously, "God, nooooo... it hurts!
It's going to kill me!" She tried to pull away, but she was too fully impaled
now by his tremendously throbbing penis, and Zeigler held her fast by the
buttocks and rammed in some more.  He grinned excitedly: Of course it hurt her.
It was supposed to hurt... at first!  His penis moved forward inexorably, and
he thrust his thighs forward until she could barely think for the pain.

      "Push back!" he commanded.  "Push back, you hot little bitch!"

      She did, for she knew that every way was agony, and she opened her ass
that final inch because she had been so ordered and stretched her quivering,
tortured buttocks wider until she thought she would die.

      Zeigler's vicious prick surged into the full confines of her back passage
until his balls slapped harshly against the wetness of her up-turned vaginal
slit, and then crooning with delight, the gangster began to fuck rhythmically
and mercilessly in and out.

      He watched as he kneeled above her white moon-shaped bottom, seeing the
reddish skin of her round little anus draw back with his cock, grasping it as
if it didn't want him to leave.  At first the pressure had been almost
unbearable, but now it was just tight and warm, the type of squeeze which
always promised to draw his sperm out of his testicles with the ferocity of a
sucking whirlpool.  He thrust forward again, hearing a howling cry of pain tear
from the grimacing lips of the Jenny's mother's wide-open mouth, and his cock
tingled with fire.  He would cum soon, and he wanted to feel his torrent of
semen surging into her beautiful white, once proud buttocks. That would be the
ultimate subjugation!

      "My God!  My God!" Lonnie screamed.  "You're killing me!  My husband will
kill you for this!"

      Zeigler laughed cruelly.  "Are you planning to tell him, Lonnie-baby?  If
you do, I'll have to tell him all about last night," he taunted, and stroked
more rapidly into her anus hard and fast, battering her defenseless, tormented
thighs with his hips.  Lonnie groaned loudly with the agony, and then moaned
abjectly as Zeigler added: "Don't forget, bitch, that this is your husband's
house, you husband's own bed... and I'm fuckin' you in the ass in it!  You
think he would ever touch you again, your preciously upright husband?"

      Lonnie dug her nails into her palms and bit her lower lip as the lashing
of his words stung her mind insensate.  But for all her humiliation and tearful
misery over the situation to which she had allowed herself to fall prey, she
began to sense that his rape of her anal passage was not as painful as it had
been when he first thrust his cock in.  There was an odd mixture of stimulation
joining in, and the constant plunging was now more a discomfort than torture,
and she felt strangely wet between her buttocks and throbbing vaginal lips
below -- wet and morbidly ashamed, for she was being sodomized and knew it, and
yet the pain was weirdly turning enjoyable. She tried to concentrate on this
horrid, perverted response of hers, but Zeigler thrust a buttock-splitting jolt
into her just then and astonished, she found that she automatically squirmed
back on his fleshy shaft, heaving and undulating her body, moving her buttocks
in tiny, welcoming circles.

      Roger Carmel's wife couldn't halt the maddening excitement which was
starting to reach her through the torment of muscle and flesh, and a violent
shudder rippled through her, and she fell to mumbling unintelligibly, wiggling
her thighs salaciously back against his pounding cock, unable to comprehend
what was seething through her body.  But too dizzyingly numbed by her
overwhelming growth of unquenchable lust-fire to question it.  She could feel
the increasing wetness back in the crevice of her buttocks and try as she
might, she couldn't feel her initial pain any longer -- but only the wetness
and Zeigler's magnificent cock pummeling her battered rectum and smoothly
widened anus.  Lonnie dropped her shoulders to the bed, raising her buttocks
and gleaming thighs higher in the air so that the hungrily surging penis could
fuck up into her heaving belly more deeply.

      Sam Zeigler, seeing her obscene acceptance to his cruel fucking of her
backsides, was drawn on like an infused satyr.  He watched her beautiful
profile as the wife's complexion flushed to a crimson red and her hair strewed
down over her forehead, and Lonnie Carmel unashamedly shook her head from side
to side like a mad-woman, her teeth bared, her breasts jiggling.  She was his!
A slave, submitting at will!  He reached down and pulled the soft, pliant
cheeks of her thinly perspiring buttocks wide apart and drove his cock into her
with hard, ramming jerks, his aching testicles slapping against her quivering
flesh below with resounding whaps, heavy with the sperm which had to be emptied
soon or burst from the excruciatingly delicious pressure.

      "Fuck back harder!" he yelled at her.  "Fuck back!"

      "Oooohhhhh, yes... yes." Roger Carmel's now wanton wife hissed to the
gangster sodomizing her.  "Fuck me harder tooooo!"

      Her sudden lewd response was too much!  Sam Zeigler threw back his head
and blurted: "I'm cuuuuummmmiiinnnggggg!"  He thrust his cock's full expanded
length into her wide stretched, defenseless anus and his body jerked
convulsively, his mouth hanging slack, his vision clouded as he clawed at her
buttocks with harsh grasping fingers, pulling her moist, fevered crevice even
farther apart to receive the full blast of his orgasm.

      Lonnie felt the first torrents of his hot, white cum splash up into the
depths of her open rectum, surging through her desire-wrenched belly with the
force of a fire-hose stream.  The delectable sensation touched off her own
climax -- a climax which she would have stoutly and angrily denied could happen
only short moments before and she creamed out her spiraling pinnacle of release
in a vast flow of rising female juices as pleasure ran rampant through her; she
shivered from the welcomed congealing of his hot, sticky sperm with her
orgiastic secretions as together they pooled around the throbbing crevice of
her wide-split buttocks and the open slit of her still pulsating cunt.

      Then Sam Zeigler withdrew his rapidly shrinking penis from inside her
deflowered, sodomized rectum and fell over with a deep, satisfied sigh on the
bed covers.  Lonnie, unable to support herself, her every muscle trembling from
sheer exhaustion, collapsed beside the gangster and lay on her belly, her
throbbing body falling into an obscene spread-eagle position, her legs still
splayed wide.

      Then, a few moments later, her passion-clouded mind cleared in the wake
of her played-out sexual ecstasy, shame and revulsion once more inundated her
passion-fogged mind, causing tears to once more blur and darken her swollen,
guilty eyes and dribble down her cheeks to soak into the sheets.  Dear God,
forgive me... I must be sick!... I had to submit, but there is no excuse for
allowing myself to desire him...  I actually wanted him to perform that bestial
act on me... Oh God, let me die, let me die...!

      Sam Zeigler rolled closer and put his arm around her sobbing waist, and
through her still partially glazed pupils, the self-loathing wife saw that he
was smiling in lewd triumph.  "That was fine, Lonnie-baby.  As fine as I've
ever had," he complimented, showing his pearly, even teeth. "You mustn't grow
morbid or sulky on me; a good fuck in the ass never hurt any girl, and you have
to admit you really turned on something fierce by my cock up your asshole.  Let
me rest for a minute, and then I'll fuck you in the cunt, like I did last
night."

      The completely crushed wife of Roger Carmel, submissive in her obeisance
to the gangster's superiority over her, shut her eyes tightly as his filthy
words sent a wave of sickening nausea coursing through her.  She was caught in
an abominable trap and there was no way out, no where to turn.  She had to
protect herself, and Roger must never know how badly she had broken her wifely
promise of fidelity.

      "Later on, we'll go down to my club, Lonnie baby," Zeigler continued, his
hand now fondling unhampered with her moist, red, quivering vagina. "Yeah,
we'll go down there... after we stop by a house and pick up something.  I think
you'll get a real big surprise at what we're going to pick up, too."

      The gangster's chuckle was obscene, and Lonnie trembled at the lurid
thought of what that "surprise" might be -- but she never even considered in
the most dark, forbidden recesses of her trepidations that what Zeigler was
going to pick up was Jennifer, her own daughter, who would also be in a
somnambulistic state of sexual satiation.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 13/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 13

      Roger Carmel groaned and lifted his face from the double bed as the
entrancing young whore, Kim Copeland, sucked his stiffened, aching cock.  He
stared down at her contorted face, and the salacious view of his hard shaft of
flesh sunk between her ovaled lips increased his excitement a thousand-fold.
His penis was still wet from the juices of her recent orgasm and it glistened
like the stump of a rained-upon tree as she bucked over him, a mad demoness of
desire.  Vast heat built deep in his balls and he arched his back, moaning
incessantly, and the muscles of his stomach tensed until he thought his spine
would snap.

      Suddenly he howled as from the depth of his boiling testicles swirled the
mad rush of his hot, sticky sperm up his rigid cock, and before he could warn
her of his climax, his cock-head was spewing thin streams of creamy hot semen
into her mouth.  Kim's cheeks expanded and contracted as she greedily swallowed
the warm flood of his surging release, and she held her head to his pulsing
shaft as he emptied his molten seed down her throat until the flow ended and
Carmel collapsed with a groan, to lay still and spent on her bed. She nibbled
gently on him for a few moments and then crawled up his body to cradle his head
in her heaving breasts, and she bent and kissed him warmly on his quivering
lips.

      "There," she whispered.  "Your cum tasted so good going down my throat."

      "Mmmm," was all that Roger could muster, looking up into her eyes with an
appreciative gleam.

      "I just love to suck cock," the lascivious girl said with a shudder of
delight.  "I can't describe the thrill I get running my tongue over a great big
prick and tasting the cum when it shoots into my mouth.  It's like the finest
candy in the world to me!"

      In the hidden closet, Harry Saunders couldn't control a groan of anguish,
for the prurient sight of the prostitute hired by Sam Zeigler -- and who had,
in turn, hired Saunders -- performing the lewd, perverted act of fellatio made
his own penis nearly ejaculate the load of cum he'd built while snapping
pictures of the couple through the two-way mirror.  He had been totally
absorbed by the passionate and fevered Kim Copeland burying the straining cock
up in her throat until she was nuzzling pubic hair, the lust-producing scene
making the photographer nearly throw his camera aside and rush out to join the
carnal orgy.  He quivered, sweat streaming down his face, and wiped his damp,
clammy palms on the thighs of his stained pants.  Well, now it was over, and
both the lovely girl and the stranger who had been set up by Sam Zeigler's
express and insidious order were resting after their orgasms.  In just a little
while he, Harry Saunders, could throw off his clothes and burrow his fat, angry
cock in Kim Copeland's pussy and mouth, and if she was game, her asshole too.

      Another wheezing groan bubbled from his lips as he clenched his thighs
closed around his fully erect prick...

      Roger Carmel heard that last groan.  He furrowed his brow, wondering what
the strange, out-of-place, muffled cry had been.  He sat up on his elbows and
turned to the sensual young woman he thought was merely the secretary to
Skopos' personnel manager.  "Kim, what was that?"

      The Copeland girl knew full well what it was -- Harry steaming in his
juices behind the mirror -- but she wasn't about to say so; the last thing she
wanted was a scene here and now.  Let Zeigler have that fun when he showed the
pictures to the vice-president; she was only the girl who got Carmel in
trouble, not sprung what the trouble was on him.  She said hesitantly, "I
didn't hear anything, Roger honey.  You must be mistaken."

      She licked her still-wet lips, savoring the few droplets of Carmel's
semen which had stuck to her mouth.  "Just relax for a minute, and... and then
perhaps you'd better go."

      "Go?"

      "I mean, if you want."  She grinned weakly at him, feeling a tendril of
apprehension.  She knew that Saunders, as good a photographer as he was -- as
good a fuck as he was -- was one man who couldn't be stalled indefinitely. Most
of the times she actually got a little evil enjoyment out of making him suffer
as he watched her being fucked by her male "customers" -- it helped to arouse
her own insatiable desires when finally he came to her, rutting and grunting
like some jungle animal. But Roger Carmel had proved one fine cock to satisfy;
it was almost as if he hadn't had a piece of cunt in all the time he was
married, which his prowess in making her excited and screaming for more belied,
and to Kim he was one of the finest men she had ever had make love to her, no
question about that.  As a result the time had flown by, way past the usual
deadline where she had the guy dressed and out the door.

      She was a little sorry to have to see Carmel leave, to tell the truth,
for her pussy was almost seeping new and lustful lubrications of desire again,
and not for Harry's prick either but for the muscled, handsome one rooted in
the loins of the virile male lying next to her.

      Still, she had a job to do, and a girl in her profession could only mix
so much pleasure with business.  She had to get him out of her apartment before
Saunders was unable to control himself and do something stupid like groan
again.  It wouldn't take much to set Roger Carmel on the scent of what was
happening; he wasn't dumb in spite of his lack of extra-marital affairs.  Kim
rose languidly and walked to the closet beside the bureau, trying to keep her
eyes off the bureau's mirror, which was actually the two-way glass behind which
Saunders sat with his camera.  She opened the closet door and took out a thin
nylon robe, and was about to slip it on when Carmel said from the bed:

      "Don't, Kim.  Don't cover that beautiful body of your's.  I want to see
it, all of it."  His eyes were feverish with pure lust for her.  "I'm not about
to leave, not unless you want me to.  I can't explain it, Kim, but you make me
so damned hot just standing in the nude like that, your cunt hair glistening
and your breasts hard and throbbing, that I'm going to get hard again."

      Kim stifled a moan of her own, lewd reawakening, only to hear a soft,
course whisper from behind the wall -- Saunders again, the damned fool! -- but
as fearfully aware as she was, the excited young prostitute was still shivering
from the thrills Roger's merciless penis had given her. She gazed with
enrapturement at his supine form, saw that incredibly his cock was slowly
filling out with blood, growing harder... harder... and a hot seething knot of
tingling need lashed at her vaginal area... yet she couldn't risk Roger staying
here any longer...  She groaned and taking a shuddering breath, said, "Maybe
another time.  T-tomorrow, perhaps."

      "Now," he grinned wickedly at Kim, catching the luster in her eyes and
knowing that it would be now if he wanted it, which he did.  He stared with
rapacious eyes on her beautiful, provocative loveliness as she smiled with a
combination of shyness and passion, and unknowing to him with indecision as her
lusting mind swirled indecisively between prudence and desire but her body
ruled supreme, and with breasts jiggling proudly and thighs matted pubic down
flashing enticingly, she began to teasingly parade before him, unable to
control her own spasms of lurid ecstasy... and he was tantalizingly brought
under her sheer wanton depravity.

      He had the sudden urge to kiss her pink-tinged, moist cunt and smell the
tang of her perfumed secretions as her cuntal valley opened to his lips and
mouth -- and he said so unashamedly.

      "Come here, Kim, and I'll suck your pussy like you sucked my cock!"

      His lewd words brought forth the moan of licentious excitement that Kim
had been able to choke down before, and on rubber, trembling legs she started
for the bed, running her hot, fevered hands up and down her rich, white and
tanned body, cupping her breasts...

      Roger Carmel was completely captivated by this abandoned vamp of a girl,
and the guilty self-loathing which he had tried to conjure up earlier in an
attempt to assuage his feelings of lust and satisfaction were now entirely
blotted out by the absolute free and unhesitating debauchery of which he was a
willing partner.

      He had tried to tell himself that he should feel shame and remorse for
what he was doing, tried to tell himself that the only reason he had allowed
himself to become an adulterer was because of anger and hurt and jealousy over
his wife's similarly despicable behavior -- but he knew that it wasn't true. He
didn't know for sure that Lonnie was unfaithful to him, and what difference did
it make anyway?  He would have still thirsted for this girl who was slowly and
teasingly coming across the bedroom to him...  He just plain wanted to suck,
fuck Kim Copeland and God knew how many other willing, depraved girls if he
could...  Fuck -- the word described what he wanted to do perfectly, as in
contrast to making love, which was what he and Lonnie did in the privacy of
their marital bed.

      And perhaps even more perverse was the consummate love he still had for
his black-haired, desirable wife.  He still wanted to go home and wrap his arms
around Lonnie and have her wrap her vagina around his cock so he could make
love to her, for no longer was he tortured with righteous indignation over
whatever lewdness she had gotten involved in.  He had the faith and the
unquestioned belief that Lonnie loved him in return -- that she was fucking
that man, if she was at all, as he was fucking this girl, in a purely physical
gratification of the senses and nothing more. In a way, he had the urge to call
her up and tell her this... but he wouldn't.  Because Kim Copeland was placing
one knee on the bed now, her eyes wide with hunger and her lips wet with the
moisture of her licking pink tongue-tip...

      A psychiatrist might have diagnosed Roger Carmel as a man who had an
irrational and sub-conscious fear of the basic male characteristic to mate
indiscriminately.  Perhaps this had stemmed from his Victorian mother who had
smothered him from birth with the conviction sex was inherently bad and all men
were beasts, and who had sentenced her son to a cocoon of prudery as he
reflexively strove to prove that he wasn't such a contemptuous type, that he
was a gentleman first, last and always.

      Perhaps... but Roger Carmel wasn't a psychiatrist, nor at that moment was
interested in pondering why he had kept the lid on his perfectly natural
instincts with a blind attitude and stiff-necked disdain, or why this one
adulterous fling had not brought the wretched self-incriminations he had
assumed he should feel.  Time enough to unravel such details later, for his
chest was pounding as Kim Copeland crawled across the sheets to him, the
predatory feline that she was, and his semi-hard cock began to flinch with the
renewed pressure of arousal...

      Roger Carmel had not changed -- he had evolved, breaking out of his
self-imposed, unhealthy cacoon from a mind-shattering combination of pressures
from his work, his turmoil of anguish over his wife's alleged infidelities, and
the liquor-fogged plunge into the world of sex for its own hedonistic sake.  He
had matured into a complete, physically whole man, virile, ripe, and alive, as
his unconscious grip on the darker caverns of his soul was wrenched away, and
no longer could he -- or would he attempt to -- return to the shell of his
former half-life.

      "Yes, lover," Kim breathed in panting harshness, "kiss my cunt and make
me cum that way... then we'll fuck some more..."

      And Harry Saunders in the closet couldn't repress the tortured moan of
frustration as he saw that he was in for another voyeuristic session before he
could empty his balls of their overloaded weight of churning seed.  His hands
trembled and he knew that he couldn't take any more

pictures not now.  He couldn't hold the camera steady enough, and all he felt
was the crazy tide of his own sex-craved passions, the insane jerkings of his
thighs and belly and especially of his now stone-hard cock as it fought the
imprisonment of his trousers.  His breath steamed the two-way glass and he
thought he was going to have to take his penis out right there and use his hand
to release some of the burgeoning explosions which engulfed his mind and body.

      And Roger Carmel heard that groan, too, and recognized it for what it
was. He sat upright, the shock of knowing there was a man some where nearby
dampening some of his prurient longings for the warm, moist cunt of the girl
panting over him.  "Damnit," he said, "I heard it that time for sure.  There's
somebody else in this apartment!"

      "No!" Kim Copeland cried out sharply.  "No you must be wrong.  It -- it
must have come from next door."

      "Don't be silly, Kim," Roger said, getting off the bed.  "Your bedroom
overlooks the back garden; there's no connecting walls with the other
apartments."  He shook his head, frowning.  "I'm going to take a look in the
living room."

      "No!  Please don't!" the luscious, now panicked prostitute tried to
grapple Roger by the arm. "Come back to bed, don't leave me."

      Carmel eyed her, frowning over her odd resistance. "You sure as hell
don't want me to go out there, do you?  Why not?  You know something I don't?"

      "Of -- of course not, Roger.  It's just that... that I'm so hot and I
want you now... I've got to have you," she pleaded insistently.  "What's more
important to you?  Having me or some imaginary noise?"

      "It'll take me just a moment, and then I'll feel more at ease.  I want
you as bad as you want me, lover, but I just won't feel right until I make sure
we're alone.  It could mean our jobs if we're caught.  I'd think you'd want me
to check around."

      "No..." Kim whimpered, but it was too late. Roger opened the door to the
living room and padding in baby naked, he looked around.  Every thing was as he
had left it, glasses on the table, the two thin pieces of Kim's lust-provoking
sun suit... Carmel went on silent bare feet across the carpet to the kitchen
and stuck his head in; nobody there.  He turned around, scratching his hair and
wondering if his imagination was playing tricks on him, that thinking only
peripherally of his wife and her suspected lover hadn't given him an
over-impression of plots and blackmail.

      Harry Saunders, whipped to a fever pitch of sexual emotions, rashly took
that moment to shift positions on his stool.  He had heard and seen the man
jerk upright and knew that he had heard his groaning.  Trembling with the fear
of being discovered, Saunders had sat perfectly still while the man went into
the living room, but he couldn't see the man while he was looking through the
two-way glass into the bedroom; he had to turn around and look through the
living room mirror for that, and when he heard the squeaking kitchen door, he
assumed in his blind position that the man had stepped inside. If he was going
to turn and follow the man's search, he had to do it then... which he did.  He
was very quiet about it, too.

      But his trembling, sweat-slick hands dropped the camera.

      Roger Carmel whirled around, hearing the thank of something coming from
what he had assumed was the coat-closet door.  Anger stirred in him, and with
caution and modesty thrown aside, he crossed and wrenched open the door, and
the pale light of the living-room fell across the hulking figure of a
middle-aged man, his straw-colored hair brushed European style back across his
head, his large nose and dilated nostrils quivering, and his two, small,
marble-glittering eyes filled with the kind of illogical fear of a cornered
rat.

      Saunders hurled himself off the stool, panic making him into a
single-motivated body in search of escape.  He swung at Carmel with his camera,
unthinking that he was using the one object which he had been hired to use, its
metal case hit Carmel on the side of the head and inadvertently the catch on
its back snapped, and the roll of film flew through the air, unwinding to the
light like a spool of yarn a cat plays with. Saunders stumbled toward the front
door and freedom...

      Stars danced in front of Carmel's eyes, but with unleashed fury of a man
pressured far more than a mere tight corner, he reached out and caught the
fleeing photographer's coat-tail and spun the short, dumpy man around.  The
camera came up again, Saunder's teeth set in a grimace of frenzy...

      Carmel blocked the metallic blow with his left forearm, and blood pounded
in his temples as he answered with a fist to the belly of the intruder. It was
like slugging a bag of sand -- wet, hard sand -- and then he was catapulted
forward as Kim ran from the bedroom screaming and lunged at his naked back.  He
swiped with his arm, and the lovely young prostitute fell away, sprawling
unceremoniously on her delectable buttocks, her legs splayed wide and showing
the full, rich furrow of her cuntal slit, where only moments before both men
had been so lustfully engrossed. Her breasts heaved and danced, but the men
took no notice now; her attack had sent them down on the floor in a tangle of
arms and legs and the foulest collection of swearing Roger had ever heard in
one place before.  He caught the photographer's right wrist in his hand and
bent it back, squeezing for all his might, and the older, unconditioned,
unmuscular Saunders squealed in pain and dropped the camera he'd used as a
weapon.

      Kim Copeland was trying to crawl between them and bite Carmel's hand or
leg or cock... anything to allow her confederate time to escape, but Carmel
twisted away and then kicked out at her, catching her in the breast.  She
howled and toppled away, in a somersault which exposed her full white expanse
of buttocks and the deep, pink, and still moist crevice between.  Carmel,
catching Saunder's ear, pulled the man upright in one savage jerk which brought
a guttural cry from the man, and then Carmel, seething with rage at what he
instinctively knew was a plan to compromise him, allowed all of his built-up
frustrations to explode and in a purge of his confusion and torment that had
collected from yesterday evening, drove his naked knee crashing into the
unprotected groin.  Saunders yelped and doubled over, and Carmel unmercifully
brought his knee up again, catching the nose this time, and the blackmailing
photographer sagged and dropped, moaning and babbling incoherently, his face
chewing bits of the wool tuft, his nostrils gushing red blood on the carpet.

      Panting, still livid with all the fury which had driven him on, Carmel
turned to the cringing whore, Kim.  She was slumped against the table, her
sensual face pale white and waxy, her mouth a twisted pink slash, and her hands
were clamped to her bruised breast where he had hit her.

      "All right," he snarled grimly, "Spill."

      "I... I don't know what you're talking about," Copeland said sullenly,
averting her eyes.

      "Yes you do, and you're going to tell me, right now!"

      "I never saw that... that man before in my life!" Kim cried out
defiantly. "I don't know how he got in here!  Honest!"

      Enraged by the bald-faced lie, Carmel swung the flat of his hand across
her face, slapping her with a resounding sound that rocked her over onto her
side and left a red imprint on her swollen cheek.  "You slut!  Who do you think
you're trying to snow, anyway?  Some half-assed kid out of the hills?  You were
helping him, not me... or don't you call trying to bite my cock off fighting
against someone?  You're in this up to your cunt, you filthy bitch, and by God
you'll talk or I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of you!"  His own lewd
threats shocked even him, for never in his life had he allowed himself such
full reign of his emotions -- but that was the new Roger Carmel. Even the old
one would have recognized the situation for what it was, but where before Roger
would have slunk off with his tail between his legs, dejected and a gelatin of
confused self-pity, now he was a dervish of cold-blooded intensity as strong as
the hot-blooded reaction to Kim Copeland's salacious, teasing body he had had
and expressed.

      He glowered at the gasping, terrified young whore, void of any sympathy
for her.  He had fucked her, not loved her; used her, in a sense, and he was
neither in the mood nor the rationale to brook her mercy.  He brought his hand
back, fully intending to hit her again if she didn't cooperate. "Talk, you
hear?"

      "Please..." came the whimpering whine, and she brought up one quivering
arm to ward off the stinging blow, her eyes horrifyingly darting first from the
savage male standing wide-legged and naked over her to her coughing, writhing
partner on the rug and then back again to Carmel's enraged features.  "I... I'm
sorry, Roger... I get my kicks this way, see; yes, that's it. Harry is a friend
of mine who likes to take pictures of people fucking, and I... I get turned on
by it... just like I do when I suck cock."

      She looked up to see if her lame excuse would be brought, but Carmel only
laughed contemptuously and used his hand to slap her other cheek, sending her
tumbling over backwards with moaning wail as if she was dying.  And then Carmel
reached down and grabbed her by one slim, tapered ankle, and with his bare foot
holding her other tanned, firm leg down, stretched her in a painfully lewd form
of the splits.  He bent her one upward-spread leg back, farther, her white
buttocks undulating on the rug as she struggled for balance and surcease, her
soft auburn pubic hair parting to show the wide wet expanse of her vagina and
anus.

      "Bitch," he cursed her through clenched teeth. "Let me help you get on
the straight and narrow path," he said, pulling on her wide-stretched legs and
bearing down on her cunt with his foot.  "I've got an invention everybody
wants, but until last night I never had the balls to think that there were scum
in the world low enough to use a healthy thing like sex to compromise my career
and honor so that they could get their grimy hands on it.  Well, last night and
today have sure been an eve-opener for me, one hell of an awakening, and I'm
not going to sit by and let a bunch of shit-heads roll over me.  Clear?"

      He yanked viciously for emphasis, and Kim Copeland squealed out a
torture-wracked, "Yes! Oh God, yes!  Stop it!"

      "Martin Oliss told me how his wife was seduced and he approached, and he
said that my wife may have fallen victim to the same slimy man.  And I bet that
whoever's behind our wives getting fucked planned this little party up as
well."  Carmel indicated the broken camera and the long roll of exposed,
grey-backed film on the floor next to the still gibbering, still fetal-curled
photographer, whose hands tenderly cupped the ruptured remnants of his manhood.
"The set-up's the same, the method's the same -- hell, maybe even the bastard
taking the picture's the same.  Uh-uh, Kim, I know too much not to see the
obvious connection."

      "You're wrong!  You're damned wrong!" Kim spat back in a last-chance
blaze of defiance. "You've gone stark raving mad, I tell you."

      "No, I've grown up, you little vixen," Carmel retorted, jerking her leg
again with evil satisfaction. "You see, if everything had been left alone, I'd
probably have gone along with the deal. I would have been the usual doting
husband wearing horns, afraid of public scandal and feeling sorry for myself.
But this attempt to blackmail me directly was one step too many, was the one
little shove which has made the worm turn.  You and your boss have a tiger by
the ass, bitch, not the pussy-cat you had when you started."

      Kim Copeland put the back of one white hand over her sobbing mouth, wild
with fear and the impact that what this savage maniac tearing her naked limbs
apart was saying was true: the easy push-over of male inadequacy had become a
forceful, exerting masculine giant.

      "He'll kill me if I talk," she whispered in defeat, in respect to the man
who now dominated her.  "He'll kill me when he catches me!"

      "Tough shit.  I'll kill you right now, if you don't talk!"

      Kim looked up in horror, and read the cold, glittering eyes in Roger
Carmel's stern face, and believed it.  Nodding with numbed unresisting
capitulation, she whimpered.  "It... it was Sam Zeigler."

      "Zeigler?  The hairy ape who owns the Club Royale in Rapier City?  Is
that the man behind all this?"

      "Yes, lord yes... now please, let me up! Oaaahhhh," she moaned in abject
pain and humiliation. Never in her life had she been so callously treated, so
heaped with disregard for her usually effective seductive charms.  Her head was
spinning, and she was a shriveled husk of her once ice-like scorn of men and
their trepiditous, sniveling pursuit of her body and cunt.  She had the
perverse desire to beg to this male who had her in his power, to try and please
him, as the masochistic ambivalence of pain-pleasure ripped from her broken
thighs and loins.  "Really... I'll tell you everything, only please stop
hurting me. Oh, please!"

      "Tell me now, and then I'll decide whether to let up or not," Carmel said
derisively.  "Is Zeigler the one fucking around my wife?"

      "Yes... yes, he said he was!" Kim said, nodding her head wildly.

      Zeigler?  Hot wrath boiled through his nerves as Carmel pictured the not
unfamiliar face of the gangster.  Now the image of the lover fucking his wife
gained solidarity, the pumping male body gaining a satyr's face but Zeigler
wasn't the "Latin Lover" type Oliss had described and the sales vice-president
would certainly have recognized him if Zeigler had been the one to approach
with the blackmail threat.  No... there had to be another man in the woodpile,
and maybe the Copeland girl was lying again.  Carmel twisted her leg higher.
"Bullshit.  Who's really behind it all?"

      "AAAAggggg!  I'm telling you straight!  It's Zeigler!  He... he called me
this morning... ooohhhhhhh..."  Carmel relaxed his hold for a moment, and
blessed relief washed over Kim's writhing groin.  She babbled out what she knew
in panting, gut-wrenching rackings of air.  "He... he said, he wanted to make
sure you were hooked, and this other idea to get your wife needed insurance,
that maybe you'd be so bloody high-nosed and indignant you'd throw her out and
not go along with the scheme."

      "He... he happened to say that getting your wife wasn't his idea but this
one was, and he wanted the photos to use so he could double-cross the others
and get your secret direct."

      "What others!"

      "I don't know!"

      "Come on, you were doing so well," Carmel said, tentatively wrenching her
leg again.  "Don't clam up on me now."

      "I doubt know!" the tear-drenched young whore screamed.  "I... I think
that one of them works for Skopos, but I'm not sure."

      "For Skopos!"  Carmel was struck with shock. Who could such a traitor be?
There weren't many who could fit the requirements -- He'd have to be high up in
the company, and lives in Rapier City so that he could be near Zeigler and the
wives... Carmel went through a mental index of the executives, but didn't
decide on anyone.  He turned back to Kim.  "You said others.  Do all of them
work for Skopos?"

      "No... just one, if I'm right.  The other is... is a woman, by the way
Zeigler talked.  But honest, Roger, I could be wrong.  I just don't know,
Zeigler never told me.  I could be wrong..."

      "No," Carmel said in a hissing sound through his teeth, for the identity
of the stab-in-the-back traitor suddenly occurred to him when the Copeland girl
said the other was a woman.  "No, you're not wrong, Kim.  You're right, and I
know who the bastard is who's ruined so much of my life." He kneaded her ankle
with his hands as if it was a neck he'd like to wring.  "You bet your sweet ass
I know."

      "Who ?"

      Carmel almost blurted out the name -- Martin Oliss -- but he held his
tongue, shaking his head. "Never mind.  The less you know the safer I am." He
dropped her leg, now finished and unconcerned about the lovely girl.  His blood
was a volcano of anger and resentment toward his co-worker; Zeigler was the
sewer, to be expected to follow his life-style, and Carmel couldn't find
anywhere near the raging hatred for the gangster as he could for the man he had
befriended and worked beside for so long.

      And it had to be Oliss.  It fit too perfectly not to be.  Oliss and his
sultry wife, Cylvia, in the superb position to undermine the Carmel family;
Oliss in a company position which wouldn't give him access to the miniskopos
invention directly, but would allow him to infiltrate to where the plans fell
in his lap; Oliss, the egocentrical socializer always living way above his
means and always talking about sex, which gave him the motivation and the ideas
for this perverted form of insidious blackmail.  All of what Oliss had so
convincingly told Roger last night had to be so much crap, therefore -- there
was no Latin Lover getting into Cylvia's pants, at least not unwillingly and
with the intent to force information from her husband later; there was no
private detective, either, it stood to reason.  What nefarious idea was behind
the long, weepy story was not clear to Carmel yet, but that it was total
fabrication was evident.

      The vice-president and developer of the much sought-after invention
churned with thoughts as to proper retribution.  Bull his way through? Confront
the tricky bastard.  Oliss, with what he knew in a display of temper and
indignation?  No... that didn't befit the crime, and Oliss could merely deny
vehemently his role in the defilement of Roger's wife and... and daughter?
Jennifer was a close buddy with Tamera Oliss, and would that utterly
unprincipled man and wife have the temerity to bring in their teen-age daughter
to corrupt his own, innocent fifteen year-old offspring?  And Oliss had dropped
such a hint last night -- with seething flames of tormented loathing, Roger
Carmel inwardly had to admit that any abomination who would stoop as low as
Oliss had would stop at nothing, not even the despicable corruption of a naive
little virgin. That settled it in Carmel's blazing mind; he was going to have
to be as sneaky and as lacking of scruples as his enemies...

      He was whipped back to the present tableau of violence and lewdness as
Kim's raw, accursed nude body molded itself to Carmel's similarly naked loins.
She clasped him around the neck in pleading supplication, tears washing down
her blue-rimmed eyes, streaking the light application of mascara and makeup she
was wearing.  She bent her head haplessly to his throbbing chest, pressing her
firm, white, hard-nippled breasts to him in a frenzy of terrified subservience,
and uniquely, her writhing body strove to join with his in a one-ness not out
of sexual craving but from abject desire for mercy, forgiveness, protection,
and affection.

      "Please... please," she whimpered in mournful, unabashed forlorness,
"please... help me now. I... I told you everything, and if Zeigler ever found
out, he will have one of his boys take a knife to me... if he doesn't have me
killed, he'll leave me scarred."  She gulped with horror.  "Have you seen what
one-inch of a blade can do to a face or figure?  I have..."  She shuddered and
clenched the body of Roger Carmel with desperation, all thoughts of
independence vaporizing.  She had changed in the last hour, and now nothing
would ever be the same for her again.

      Carmel's first impulse was to fling her away as a piece of rotten
carrion, but then with a bitter smile he looked down on the weeping, shaking
head of Kim Copeland and thought better of his indignation.  The idea he was
contemplating and the lewd perversions of which he had been a partner with her
certainly didn't entitle him to be the holier-than-thou, starched collar prig
he'd been when he entered her apartment; she'd been a damned fine fuck and had
given him all the lewd enjoyment of sex he could have desired, and she'd loved
it as much as he had, and it hadn't taken too much to break her down.  What the
hell, he owed her something.

      Carmel patted the frightened young whore on her shoulders and held her
quivering body closer to his.  "Don't worry, Kim, don't worry.  All you've got
to do is convince your friend there on the floor that you hadn't been
successful in seducing me.  The film's no good anyway, so if you told Zeigler
anything else, he'd be mad that he didn't have any pictures to show."  He
grinned reassuringly down at her blotchy, but still delightfully sensual face.
"Simple, right?"

      "But... but what are YOU going to do?" she stammered.  "Aren't you going
to the cops or tell Zeigler what you know?"

      Carmel shook his head.  "He may not have the proof of me fucking around,
but if he's tricked my wife to spread her lovely legs for him, he still thinks
that will work.  Him and --" he almost named Oliss again in a burst of profane
anger. "No, what I want to do is nullify their threat, and besides, if it
hadn't been for Zeigler I wouldn't have met you, and if I hadn't met you, I
wouldn't be as changed as I am."  He put a finger under Kim's chin and smiled
warmly at her. "The trick is to use what they unknowingly have given me to my
advantage, and lover, what they gave me is priceless."

      "You really mean that, Roger?" Kim mewled, almost unbelieving.

      "I mean it."  He slapped one luscious rounded buttock cheek playfully,
and said, "I've got a few minutes of phoning to do.  Get that bum on the floor
out of here while I work, and then we'll... well, we'll see what happens next.
Okay?"

      The Copeland girl nodded, a tender smile crossing her swollen moist lips
for the first time in almost an hour.  "Anything you say, Roger.  Anything..."
she breathed huskily and went over to where Saunders was now wretching on the
carpet, and she hunkered down beside him.  Carmel went into action with a
decisiveness which he'd never had before.  He checked information, found out
the number of the El Mecca, and dialed.  He asked for Oliss' room, but there
wasn't an answer, so he had the call transferred to the cocktail lounge, and
after a short wait, the familiar voice of Oliss said: "Hello?"

      "Martin?  Roger here.  Heard from your detective?"

      "Christ yes, I have," the insidious sales vice-president replied in a
show of concern.  "It's just as we feared, I'm afraid.  Lon... Lonnie is...
is..." He paused as if choking on the news.

      "Oh God," Carmel moaned, playing his part now, "Oh God, what can I do?
My home, my family, my lovely Lonnie..."

      "Do?  Why Roger, I know what I'm going to do," Oliss said.  "I'm going
back.  Tonight, on the supper flight that leaves at five.  I've already booked
a reservation for myself.  I... I didn't know where you were, so I took a
chance you might feel the same way I do and want to come along.  I have a
ticket in your name, too."

      "Yes, yes, I want to come along," Carmel groaned into the receiver.  "I
want to... I want to see the detective... and my wife..."

      "Good, good," Oliss said, hard pressed to temper the gloating in his
anxious voice.  "But where the hell have you been all afternoon?"

      "Drinking," Carmel confessed humbly.  "Trying to drown my aching heart
and soul.  One bar after another until I lost track of the time, the number of
drinks, even the place I'm in now."

      "Well, just make sure you get back here in time to catch the plane,
Roger," Oliss said sympathetically. "I don't blame you for behaving like that;
I'm sitting here doing the same, drinking."

      "Sure, Oliss.  We have to stick together, I can see that.  I'll be at the
motel in a little while, after another drink."

      After hanging up, Carmel glanced briefly at Kim, who had gotten Saunders
to his wavering feet and was cleaning him off, all the time telling him the
story he had to stick to so that Zeigler wouldn't get his boys after him as
well.  The photographer was nodding, casting balefully malignant eyes at
Carmel, who couldn't have cared less.

      The long-distance operator connected Carmel with Skopos' vitriolic and
ruthlessly overbearing president, Jerome Quarren.  Carmel told him after
introductions that he was coming back to Rapid City on a personal matter that
was most urgent.  And may last into the next week.

      "If you, your wife, or your daughter aren't dead or dying, it's more
important that you stay there in Kirsten and finish the project," Quarren
rasped.  "I don't pay a man to shirk his duty."

      "I'm not asking permission, Jerome," Carmel said levelly.  "I'm telling
you that I am returning."

      "That, young man," Quarren said coldly, "smacks of insubordination and a
high-handed, un-cooperative attitude.  I would reconsider your rash judgment,
if I were you."

      "Sorry, but my mind is made up."  Carmel was getting hot under the
collar, if he'd been wearing a collar or anything else, and he felt more of his
already unleashed anger rising at the misanthropy his employer was showing.
He'd never realized how kowtowed, how meekly under Quarren's thumb he'd been in
his former all-too trusting and humbly honorable skin.  Now he was resenting
the blustering domineering as Quarren retorted with a stinging charge of
disloyalty and lack of company dedication.  He let his superior rant on,
fleetingly remembering himself hurrying into the office early yesterday
morning, torn between the insistent poles of his wife's needs and his company's
demands, and how he had wavered with the woeful rationale that some how he had
to serve two masters at the same time and why couldn't either of them take that
into consideration.  Thanks to the even more selfish taking by Oliss and
Zeigler, Carmel was no longer their slave; no, by God, from now on he was going
to serve only one master, himself, Number One -- and they were soon going to
realize that, all of them, Quarren included.

      "Don't you threaten me with being fired, Jerome," he suddenly snapped
into the phone, catching the drift of the president's last few
implication-laden sentences.  "Believe me, you give me much more static about
my returning and I'll quit.  And I'll take my invention with me."

      "Haw!" Quarren scoffed.  "I can see that generous promotion has fattened
your head, Carmel. You can leave anytime and I could replace you with the floor
sweeper, but if you try to take your invention, I'll sue you for breaking the
contract you signed with me.  Or don't you remember the part about giving me
exclusive control?"

      Why that dirty son-of-a-bitch, Carmel thought. He's no better than
Zeigler, only he is working behind a very thin skin of legality.  He grinned
with cruel satisfaction.  We'll see about that. Quarren wasn't aware that the
miniskopos was only the forerunner of a whole series of developments which
Carmel had been envisioning while working on the prototype. Up to this moment
he had firmly decided to hand over the developments as he got around to them,
but the retiring manner of the previous Roger Carmel had at least been good for
one thing: it had provided an indirect veil of secrecy which effectively
prevented anyone else from following the trail he was blazing should he leave
Skopos.  Yeah, he vowed, we'll see about Mr. Jerome Quarren after Oliss and
Zeigler are dealt with.

      Later... he glanced at his watch and saw that he'd spent too much time
arguing with Quarren as it was.  Quarren didn't matter right now, and there
were other things to do.  "Jerome," he said in a perfectly calm tone, "Jerome,
go piss up a rope."  He slammed the receiver down in the middle of an outraged
squawk.

      He turned to Kim, who stood in the middle of the room, still downcast and
broken, her face tearfully helpless.  She said in a quivering voice:  "Saunders
is gone.  He'll... he'll go along with us."

      "He has no choice, lover," Carmel said, crossing to her.  Kim's firm,
taut breasts trembled provocatively, and as he let his eyes roam over her
hour-glass satin form and down to the enticing triangle of pubic hair with its
coyly pink hint of vaginal lips, the newfound virility in his own loins began
to stir once more.  He stopped and allowed a full, pregnant minute of silence
to pass as he salaciously openly admired her soft, white and bronze skin, and
he licked his lips with the saliva his regenerating passions had provided.  His
penis began to perk and pulsate with the blood of his salacious thoughts, and
he let it grow unhindered and unashamed until it was stiff and hard in its
glistening erectness in front of his now aching scrotum.

      Kim gasped, her eyes glued to the excited, lust responsive rigidity of
his cock, a tingle of her own lascivious desires began to sweep through her
blood, and she suddenly realized she wanted this naked, animal-like man
standing spread-legged and proud before her to crush her with the heat and
intensity of his lurid, unquenching sexual emotions.  She wanted him to fuck
her again and again... in any way he wanted to... as she had never wanted any
man before.

      "There's a couple of hours before I have to get back to my motel," Carmel
said, now moving to where his prick grazed her rippling belly.  "And I think
that we were going to do something before we were so crudely interrupted."

      "Yesss," she moaned, melting in his engulfing, muscular arms.

      "Let's go back in your bedroom and I'll suck that sweet, tender cunt of
yours like I promised. Hell, no use wasting a perfectly good opportunity like
this."

      He placed a hand on her white, smooth buttocks and together they returned
to their carnal arena of unbridled lusts.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 14/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 14

      The small dressing room above Club Royale's second floor stage was
misnomered; it was almost exclusively used for undressing.  The haggard
miserable wife of Roger Carmel, Lonnie, and his similarly black-haired young
daughter, Jennifer, stood huddled in shivering fear, icy tendrils of horror
touching their spines and making their white, firm flesh tremble convulsively.

      The ride from Stan Lubin's house had been a kaleidoscope of nightmares,
and both mother and daughter had sat dazed, unable to speak to each other for
the long, interminable minute it had taken to drive to the rear entrance of the
club.  Sam Zeigler had sat hunched over the steering wheel, chuckling lewdly
from time to time, occasionally taunting the pretty wife and her teen-age child
with obscene comments as to what was going to happen to them.

      "I guess you're surprised to see your daughter here, aren't you,
Lonnie-baby?" the vicious, immoral gangster had sneered.  "Your once virgin
little Jennifer?  Well, look at her, look at what half the football team of her
high-school has just finished gang-fucking!"

      Lonnie had stared in utter disbelief as her shocked mind absorbed his vile
words, and when she had looked over the rumpled pants and stained blouse of her
innocent naive daughter, had heard the mewlings of satiation and desire bubble
from the tender, swollen young lips, and had caught the trembling jerks of
Jennifer's still throbbing, still demanding loins and thighs, the wife of Roger
Carmel had thought that the earth would open up and hell would swallow her for
sure.  She had almost screamed with agony, putting her fisted hand to her open
mouth and biting her knuckles until they bled, her torture-glazed eyes bulging
wider.

      She had somehow managed to gasp out around her constricted dry throat:
"Why, Sam?  Why, oh God, why my daughter too?"

      And Zeigler had laughed low and ugly.  "Because it was part of the price.
Because your daughter was needed to make sure you would never dare say a word
to anybody not in the know, not in the same world of lust and sex that you're
in now, and she in turn must save her mother from the same fate by
cooperating..."

      His corrupt, salacious talking had cut through the dream-like trance of
Lonnie's debauched young daughter for an instant, and little Jennifer had
fluttered her eyes open for the first time since she had fainted.  "Mo...
mo..."

      Those had been the only croaked gasps of intelligibility that the girl had
been able to mutter throughout the whole ride, though she had tried to work her
mouth, her jaw moving up and down soundlessly as she locked her tear-blurred,
puffed eyes on her mother's tormented face.

      Lonnie, bitterly grieving at this shattering confrontation, had realized
that the final point of no return had been reached -- then, that never again
could she have her baby girl curl up in her lap and cuddle with the warmth of
love and security without them both recalling this horrible day and the still
more terrifying night that was surely to follow.

      And as for the night, the gangster had left no room for hope as he had
driven the large Cadillac through the city streets.  "This is almost too good
to be true," he'd cackled.  "I couldn't have asked for a better deal if I'd
arranged it myself, but you have your friends and neighbors, the Olisses, to
thank for setting this up."

      The evil light in Sam Zeigler's lustful eyes had grown larger as he had
glanced at Lonnie in the rearview mirror and seen how tenderly she cradled her
raw, sore, abused child.  He had been tempted to stop the car and turn around
and watch how the lovely wife of Roger Carmel would react to the lewd
confession that the Oliss plot was more than to simply pervert the two Carmel
females, that the reason was to strip their husband and father of his
livelihood, and that the one man they were doing all of their immoral
submissions for had betrayed them by fucking the young girl he'd hired, Kim
Copeland.  Christ, mother and daughter would probably go mad with that news!

      But Sam Zeigler had plotted the downfall of too many once pure men and
women to lose control that much; he had the experience to know that should he
spew out the full details of what had been going on since Roger Carmel had
first announced the development of his invention might well wreak havoc on the
carefully laid machinations of both the Olisses and himself.  Lonnie Carmel
still adored and worshipped her husband, and as long as she thought she could
keep her sinful capitulations from him, she would do any thing to save what
little there was left of her marriage and home; to learn that her beloved Roger
was the true target could very well make her change about and warn her husband,
sacrificing herself in his interests.  On the other side of the coin, allowing
Carmel's wife to know that he'd been unfaithful, either now or after the
pictures of him and the Copeland whore were developed, might well turn her
against her husband in a fury of anger, spite, and jealousy, and she would tell
all.  That would spell disaster, Zeigler had thought as he drove, for the holds
over the Carmels depended that the wife and daughter didn't know what the
husband was doing -- and vice versa.

      Yes, he'd just have to be patient.  The day would come for the
confrontation -- after Roger Carmel handed over his invention -- and then there
wouldn't be any more reason not to sadistically enjoy spilling the secrets each
hoped the other would never learn.  Besides, tonight there was going to be a
confrontation of sorts, for the Martin Oliss plot required that Carmel learn of
his wife's and daughter's public depravities in an inducement to cooperate with
the man who had enslaved them.  At this very moment, Oliss and Carmel were
flying back to Rapier City after being sent for by Oliss' wife, Cylvia, who
called in the guise of the "detective" earlier that afternoon. Zeigler had
smiled with self-satisfaction at the corrupting, degenerate plan, and could
almost picture the husband wringing his hands and moaning, a spineless,
puritanical milksop who'd capitulate to the insidious terms with insipid
whimperings and no more; serve the pretentious Carmel right to look out of that
window a nd view his worshipped wife and teen-age daughter as the main
performance -- with the help of Big Daddy Sam and his wonderfully trained dog,
Fang, as added attractions!

      The gangster laughed out loud at that point, and lashed out with further
invectives at the helpless mother and daughter cringing together in the back
seat.  "Everything has been a lead-up for to night, Lonnie-baby," he'd taunted
on, "In a little while the Club Royale is going to offer its special
second-floor patrons the delights of a mother-daughter act for the first time
in its history, and you'll do it, you hear?  You and that hot-assed
prick-teaser Jennifer, unless you want your husband to find out about the
sordid sex lives of his two sweet girls.  Those are my terms..."

      Lonnie Carmel had been fully cognizant of her and her child's exact
position, but she had looked into Jennifer's wooden eyes and had realized that
the tremendous pressures the girl had already gone through had snapped her
immature mind like a twig, and that the inundation of lewd, savage cocks by
innumerable young boys had stopped the girl's brain from coherency the way a
computer would throw its circuit breakers to halt unrepairable damage from a
short.  Perhaps it was better this way, she had thought; perhaps if her sweet,
angelic daughter wasn't able to comprehend what tonight's pagan orgy would be
like she could be saved the self-loathing and disgust which gripped at Lonnie's
pain-wracked soul, and her barely formed life might still have a chance for a
normal, happy and love-filled future.

      "... Both of you are going to fulfill all the promised delights of your
tender bodies," Zeigler had continued to taunt delightedly.  "You and little
Jennifer are going to get fucked every way I've ever wanted or dreamed about,
and you two are going to do it back good and proper..."

      His words had droned on, even after the Cadillac had been parked and the
gangster had escorted Lonnie and the still mercifully half-conscious Jennifer
into the private entrance of his night club. Lonnie's own helpless mind had
come to the brutal conclusion that nothing mattered anymore except to get the
night's lewd ordeal over with as fast as possible for her husband and her
daughter's sake, and she had taken deep shuddering breaths as she mentally
promised what she would do. With each faltering step on the narrow, steep back
staircase leading to the room above the stage, the tortured wife of Roger
Carmel had set her mind into a single vow that while she would awaken tomorrow
permanently scarred with memories she would take to the grave, she would not
let it destroy her family; that Roger must never know the horrors she and
Jennifer were going through because the so-called friends they had liked and
trusted had sold out her and her daughter to this evil maniac.  She would
protect her husband and, as little as she could, her child too, with all she
had -- and all she had left was her body.  A body at the mercy of Sam Zeigler
and whomever he chose to share its secret pleasures.

      She would show him, she had drummed through her recoiling brain, she would
show him that she could please no matter what he would demand. He wanted her to
act as a whore, then she would be his whore!  She would suck anything if he
said suck, fuck anything if he said fuck!  Nausea had made her weave and clutch
the faded paint door way of the room, but somehow she staggered onward, holding
onto her child with determination born of hysterical hopelessness.

      The (un)dressing room had been small, like a closet, most of it taken up
by the huge, white-covered double bed and gold chains which she knew all too
well.  Lonnie's stomach had churned with the lurid remembrances of seeing the
young girl only slightly older than her own little girl being cruelly raped by
an enormous dog while she... while she...  The mental words hadn't come to
describe her own inexcusable acts, and for an instant the room had blurred and
she had the distinct feeling that she was falling... her eyes faintly staring
up at the electrical hoists mounted on the ceiling which lowered the
chain-driven bed to the spot-lit stage below.

       Zeigler's fingers had caught her in time, and his talon-like grip had
made her perk back to the real world, for his touch had been something
incredibly repulsive to her now; but she had made a promise, and swallowing
back the nausea which acidly choked her throat, she had allowed the gangster to
lead her beside the large, rectangular bed, and she had breathed deeply of air
musty and unclean, with its odor of untamed sex and depravity-induced sweat.

      And now the lecherous gangster, Zeigler, was rubbing his hands up and down
his pants in anticipatory excitement, and his eyes burned holes through the
pretty young wife of Roger Carmel. He said with a hoarse, trembling
raucousness, "The show's about to begin.  It's time you and your daughter,
Jennifer, got ready.  Strip, Lonnie baby, take those clothes off just like you
did for me once today, and if that hot-cunted little girl of yours won't do it
herself, you undress her, too."  He chortled demoniacally.  "Just pretend
you're home and Jennifer's unable to get into bed herself, and you have to do
it for her."

      In spite of her admonition to be brave, Lonnie Carmel couldn't help
herself from moaning with heart-rending sobs.  Tears burst from her dejected
eyes, and she cried into her hands with long, weeping sobs.  "Oh God help us,"
she blubbered.

      "Goddamnit, I said take off your clothes!" Zeigler roared in uncontained
urgency.  "There's fifty people down there waiting to see you two perform, and
at a hundred bucks a head entrance charge and five dollars a drink, they want
their satisfaction!"  And so do I, his raving mind continued silently.  My
balls are as aching as they were before I Sucked this sweet young mother's
virgin ass-hole today, and Fang is waiting down there as well!  Damn, this is
going to be one fine night once I get them going!  I know it!

      "Hurry up!" he bellowed frantically, taking his own clothes off in a
display of frenzied incontinence, "by hell, I'll rip you both naked if you
don't!"

      "Nooooo!" whimpered Lonnie, but it was her only defiant gesture.  With
fingers so distraught that they couldn't unbutton her blouse without intense,
frustrating effort, the now nearly mindless wife gritted her teeth, reaffirmed
her decision to take the brunt of Zeigler's wantonness, and peeled off her
garments for the second time that day.  Zeigler commanded that her bra and
panties were removed instead of lasciviously allowing her semi-nakedness to
distract the gangster; he was already overly aroused, and the customers
wouldn't be as appreciative as he would have been -- they wanted total nudity.

      Lonnie stood in the cold, impersonal room with out anything on and
clenched her eyes tightly shut so she wouldn't have to see Sam Zeigler's
immense, hard and glistening penis again or his lusting leer at her vibrant,
shivering flesh.

      "Now," the gangster breathed, "now your daughter.  Let me see that tender,
sweet little cunt of hers that's just been gangfucked by all those teen-age
pricks..."  And like a robot hearing a master's command, Lonnie reached out for
Jennifer's cherubic body, the miniature twin of her own rich, blossoming, curve
of breast and thigh. But her daughter suddenly spoke, the first real words that
she'd been able to manage since she'd been shoved into the back of Zeigler's
car -- and to Lonnie's incredulous, tortured ears, her tone was low and even
and bitter with resignation.

      "It's all right, Mother," Roger Carmel's young daughter said quietly, "I
can take off my clothes by myself."

      "Jennifer..." moaned the tottering, nerve-shattered mother.  "Jennifer..."

      "Don't worry, Mom," Jennifer replied, her voice now losing some of its
original calmness, and breaking slightly as she spoke.  "I... I know what this,
this man wants us to do."  The word man was spat out as if it was a more
horrible swear word to the young adolescent than any foul, filthy four-letter
guttural.  "I heard it all in the car, as if I didn't know about this
beforehand." She had her blouse off and was unzipping her pants with unsteady
but determined little white fingers.  "I'm no better than you, Mother, no
better at all.  Worse, in fact, because I've just let seven boys fuck me over
and over... and, and I liked it."  Her bluish lips were quivering with remorse
and shame, and her eyes mirrored her parent's in that they were welling with
the warm liquid of torment and revulsion.

      "You poor child," Lonnie consoled, her heart wrenching for her daughter's
broken innocence. "This is horrible, horrible."

      "Yes, but we have no choice," Jennifer said in a whisper.  She slid her
pants down, stepping out of them to show her firm, young, lithe legs and
thighs.  Zeigler gasped at the salaciously exciting build of the girl, and his
cock throbbed hard and painful in front of him, but Lonnie's daughter turned to
him and curled her lip in disdain. "We've got to do it, Mother, I know it.  It
would ruin Daddy if we didn't, this horrible man would tell him without a
hesitation.  I'll go through it with you even if it kills us both."

      Through hazed eyes, Lonnie watched her only child slowly roll her already
sperm-drenched panties down until the sparse, young triangle of her still moist
pubic hair was visible.  Then, when the gangster so commanded, mother and
daughter climbed on the bed and lay down side by side, and she beheld all of
Jennifer's pubescent, slender and curvaceous body, saw that it was as proudly
developed as her own, and realized in a blinding flash of respect for her that
no longer was she a baby, but a physically complete woman, one who, as the
sickening words returned in haunting reverie, could take on seven boys and like
it.  Jennifer had become a woman in body if not in mind, and could respond to a
man with all the passion and sexuality of her gender.  And Lonnie Carmel wept
again at the tragic way her daughter was being introduced to the world of
physical sex.

      The depraved Zeigler stood naked with his pulsating cock pointing straight
at them by a large switch mounted on the wall, the control which would
automatically lower the bed to the full, lasciviously waiting view of a
half-hundred patrons below, and fingering the bloated, sperm heavy sac of his
testicles with his other hand, he snapped out: "All right, you hot-ass
beauties, let's start the action.  Mother and daughter night," he grinned
callously, "and mother and daughter will start out the performance by playing
with one another's pussy."

      Lonnie gasped in horror and revulsion at the salacious demand.  Not only
was he desiring lesbianism, a terrible perversion unto itself, but with
Jennifer, her own child!  She couldn't!  With a face shining with
anguish-caused sweat, she regarded her daughter once again, gulped with
parched, torture-wracked gasps as she studied Jennifer's trembling breasts with
their dark rosettes and hard nipples and then lower, to the hair lined lips of
her so recently well-fucked vagina and the dainty pink clitoris nestling in
their wet, trembling folds.

      "Jennifer... my daughter, my love..." she groaned.

      "Mother..." came the responding mewl of undisguised misery.

      "Damnit, it's either you two make love, or I go to your simpering prig of
a do-gooder you call husband and father!  Now, do it, you fucking sluts, do
it!"

      Lonnie's arms went around her black-haired, quivering daughter even as she
felt Jennifer's arms go around her.  They touched one another as they were
drawn together by their mutual need, their mutual pain, their mutual goal,
their mutual familial love.  Their breasts touched and their nipples pressed
against the other as if mother and daughter were trying to fuse together in
their bondage.

      With a spasming cry of exaltation, Zeigler witnessed their defeat, and he
threw the switch. Slowly, with creaking and groaning and an odd, weightless
vibration, the bed began to descend. Sam Zeigler leaped on the bed, his eyes
slavering at the incredibly lewd and corrupting sight of mother and daughter,
Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, locked tightly in each other's arms.

                                *    *    *    *

      Roger Carmel descended from the jet, maintaining his pose of shock and
moral indignation and the effects of too many drinks as he moaned his plight to
Martin Oliss.  Oliss had been most sympathetic during the whole trip, buying
Carmel drinks in his role as comforter and companion in grief until Carmel was
in fact slightly tipsy.  He had a hard time playing the part of an anguished
cuckold, for inwardly he glowed with satiation and revengeful pleasure, and he
made sure that Oliss, who undoubtedly felt the same mental satisfaction at the
thought his evil plot was working perfectly, was run ragged with putting up
with a seemingly demoralized and wronged husband.  If the traitorous Martin
Oliss concluded that he, Roger, was more of a prig than ever, well so much the
better.

      "Now... now what, Martin?" he asked in a servile whine as they entered the
terminal.  "Now what do we do?"

      "According to my private detective," Oliss said, licking his thin, taut
lips with hardly contained zest, "we can catch our wives with this sonofabitch
who's been sleeping with them while they're at the Club Royale.  You know of
the place?"

      "No," Carmel lied.  "I've never been there."

      "It's a sort of roadhouse, not far from here." Oliss made a face as if he
disapproved of the club.  "Lots of rather, ah, questionable goings on there, I
understand.  A place that a rat like this blackmailer would be apt to take
another man's wife."  He curled his lip with disdain, and walked toward the
baggage collection point with hurried forcefulness.  "I've even heard rumors
that decadent entertainment is run for a certain type of low-life that likes
that kind of thing."

      Carmel still wasn't sure exactly what Oliss' final game was, but he was
certain that to give the executive enough rope would allow him to find out in
time -- and then hang him.  Kim Copeland hadn't been told by Zeigler all the
details, for she wasn't in a position to need them for her part in the lewd
sedition of Carmel -- a debauchery which had backfired so badly that if the
gangster were to have known of its true outcome, it would have sent him fleeing
-- so Carmel was still ignorant that Oliss was plotting to show him his wife
and daughter on stage and then with the aid of his wife convince Carmel that
the only way he could rescue his abandoned family was to cooperate with
Zeigler.

      Oliss watched Carmel with a degree of contempt that he didn't know he felt
for the vice-president before.  It was all he could do to keep from laughing in
his silly face right now, but he knew that he had to wait and keep up the
facade of outraged decency or he would destroy the confidence Carmel had in
him.  He was caught a little off guard by some of Carmel's reactions, and had
been careful to not make any rash, loose moves during the whole trip back --
and then Carmel threw him another curve when the distraught man beside him
asked:

      "Didn't you say just now that both our wives are at the Club?  Isn't that
odd that the guy who seduced our wives would be able to escort them together? I
mean, that is what you said, Martin, isn't it?"

      "Why, er... yes, yes, I said that, Roger," Oliss stammered.  "What I meant
was that my detective said your wife was with the man and my wife was... was
also there, but alone.  That's it. She's alone because... well, I'm not sure
why because he never said."  He took out his handkerchief and wiped his
forehead, damning the way Carmel could pounce on every word he uttered even
though so high-strung.  Never seen him this want before!  What a job it turned
out to be to maintain a hurt, gentlemanly attitude with this prudish fop.

      Carmel smirked to himself as he picked up his suitcases.  So both olives
are going to be there, are they?  This should be Interesting...  I wonder what
they'll be doing?  For all of his feeling that he had the situation under
control, that he now could pull the strings as he desired, Roger Carmel still
wasn't prepared for the totally heinous sybaritic saturnalia which would be
thrust before him when he arrived at the Club Royale.  If he had, he wouldn't
have been in such eager hurry to go there.


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 15/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 15

      Lonnie Carmel and her daughter, Jennifer, stared into each other's
pain-flecked eyes and seeked solace in them, and the pained mother knew, as
instinctively she was aware that her teenage child knew, that they were both
the same, having committed lewd, unspeakable acts of the flesh, and were now
caught helplessly in the evil, enslaving web of Sam Zeigler's depravity.  The
immoral bonds tied them more closely than the best of friends, for they were of
the same blood, and a mute empathy and bond of love was sewn between the two
ravishingly beautiful young women, and somehow that knit helped blank out the
hot, hard lights which bore down upon their exposed bodies from the circle of
spots around the open stage, silenced the hoarse urgings of the naked and
lewdly incensed gangster who was on his knees with them on this bed of public
display. Things were a little less terrifying for both mother and daughter, and
together, they fought to hold their sanity during this longest of all nights.

      The warm, comfortable air of the stage area was like a blessed covering,
and the lights were bright mirrors which no matter how hard one might try,
could not be seen through, but Lonnie knew what was on the other side of the
lights, surrounding the bed like pits of hungry carnivores; she knew because
she had been on her back herself getting fucked half senseless the previous
night in one of the ringing small rooms, and had gaped in fascinated excitement
at the lewd performance transpiring on the bed which now supported her and her
own daughter.  Now, wanting to protect her Jennifer, she didn't say that a few
feet in any direction would bring them face to face with glass-enclosed
voyeurs, devoted to the worship of vice and gross sexual immorality.  She
didn't say anything at all, for the time of talking was past...

      Slowly, Jennifer pressed the soft, young curling fleece of her pubic hair
into her mother's loins, and arching her back, she moaned in the bitterness of
what had to be done for her father's sake, and she kissed her mother, kissed
her hard the way she had kissed Stan Lubin, and found to her shame that her
mother's lips were enticingly agile, pliant and soft. And, in spite of the
guilt of knowing that her daughter was kissing her as if she was a lover,
Lonnie stiffened her resolve to show Zeigler that she was cooperating and she
fluttered her tongue out, entering the opening of her daughter's hot, moist
mouth as an answering tongue invaded her lips; she sucked the pink, trembling
tongue and found that she could not help running her hands over the fresh, firm
skin of her child, touching her naked, taut breasts and buttocks.  They
squirmed on the bed, locked in their lewd, incestual embrace, and the tiny
puckered little anus puckered more from her mother's finger as the girl's firm,
white, young buttocks parted inadvertently.

      Jennifer, sensing her mother had steeled her mind to continue with this
depravity, melted with the deep love which she had for her, plus the sympathy
she held for any woman who loved her husband so dearly and with her own similar
affection for her father.  She gasped as she saw the gangster who had
engineered this sinful orgy over her mother's shoulder leering down at them in
vile delight, then she shut her eyes, hearing Zeigler's lewd chuckling, and let
swiftly flickering tongues and familiar soft hands send out urgent, teasing
messages radiating outward along her nerves, and she allowed her own fingers to
rub along her mother's rippling satin backsides as she trembled with the
strange forbiddeness of her degradation.

      "That's it!  That's it!  More!  More!" the gangster hissed down at them.

      Spurred on by Zeigler's sex-crazed demands, mother and daughter caressed
each other's breasts until they were swollen and throbbing with unwanted
sensation and their nipples were four chips of dark rock biting into the
other's tormented flesh.  Lonnie could feel Jennifer's hot breath on her face
and her mind cried out in a futile gesture of anguish, but her hands were
moving of their own volition, down over the hot, fevered hips of her naked
child, down, down to the moist covering of hair around Jennifer's quivering
pubic region.  Oh God... oh God...

      Roger Carmel's teen-age daughter felt her mother's fingers seek out and
find her pink, wet vaginal slit, groaned with the lancing, undeniably
pleasurable spasm of the contact, and her extended middle finger located her
mother's clitoris and returned the attention, tweaking it as if she was
masturbating and she was touching herself.

      "Enough!  Enough!" Sam Zeigler shouted, his rubbery lips drooling
uncontrollably as he watched the mutually subjugated mother and daughter
fondling each other's female genitals before him and the audience on the other
side of the klieg lights.  His thick, hirsute body was also on display, and he
reveled in the exposure, as his blood-sated and pulsing cock stood rigid and
his hand stroked it lightly, causing a smear of his male secretion to form on
its tip.

      "Now you, Jennifer," he panted with obscenity, "you turn upside and kiss
your mother's cunt. That's right, get between her legs!"

      Jennifer moaned, but began to slide away... down the trembling form of
her whimpering mother, giving a shudder of dull abhorrence at the order. Lonnie
raised her head to watch in half-revulsion, half captivation as the nubile
voluptuousness of her daughter moved up on all fours... she didn't think that
Jennifer could do it, would do it... but the girl was already positioning her
lovely young moonshapad buttocks over her face, and Lonnie could see the barely
mature long pink slit of her daughter's cunt open slightly, and the crevice
widen to show the child's hairless, puckered rosette of her anal opening as
Jennifer lowered her shoulders down to her mother's open, defenseless thighs.

      Jennifer had always considered the act of oral love between two women as
incredibly abhorrent, one of those things which, as a little girl, she never
allowed herself to think about, but as she sucked in her breath and took a look
at the close up, softly hair-lined lips of her mother's vagina and the enticing
pink flesh just beyond which was honey-dewed with sparkling droplets of
moisture that her own fingers had raised, and then breathed the musky, perfumed
scent, she quivered excitedly, flicked out her tongue and teased the fleshy
folds.  She heard her mother moan and raise her buttocks up off the bed in
involuntary reaction, her body twisting slowly from side to side from the
grazing tickle of her daughter's tongue.  Jennifer eased her mouth inside the
now wet, tingling cleft and found to her humiliation that she got an
electrifying stimulation from the delicious contact, and she lashed out
everywhere, her pink, wet tongue and lips invading her mother's pussy,
forgetting in her excitement where she was, or who was under her, as her mind
soaked up the ambrosia of slippery female juices and sensitive flesh which
quivered violently under her assaulting mouth.

      Her mother groaned from deep within her belly and began to pant
explosively from the salacious and unwelcome passions which were flowing out of
her convulsed loins.  She heard her daughter gasp for air and then with a
hungry lurch, bury even her nose back into the wild cavity of her cunt, and she
begged the young girl to stop... stop before it was too late... but then she
realized that it was too late, that she was no longer just enduring the sweet
agony and was enjoying the depraved immersion in her cunt. "Oh, no... no,
Jennifer... God, that's enough... oh, no more, please no more..." she begged
weakly, and she twisted in the grip of her daughter's increasing voracious
tonguing, writhing as Jennifer refused to stop, shamefully aware that she
herself was unable to break the open, nibbling mouth which was glued to her
insanely responding pussy.  Her pleas died in a strangled mixture of a sob and
a sigh, and her body convulsed as she wanted and yet didn't want her daughter
to stop.

      Once more the lust-maddened gangster interrupted. "No more!" Zeigler
cried out, and Jennifer withdrew her wet, glistening mouth from her mother's
palpitating vagina.  "I can't stand it any longer!  I've got to have you now!"

      "How?" moaned Lonnie, fearing the worst. "How?"

      Zeigler's mind raced with combinations of perversions and lewd acts,
keeping in the back of his mind that the dog must still have his animalistic
way with the lovely, cringing wife... his heart slamming in his chest, his mind
awash with the pleasures that flamed in mental images, his chest a bellows
emitting grunting sounds, he paused... then chuckled with a lascivious glee
which glazed the hearts of both his victims.

      "I think I'll have Jennifer suck my cock... something which if I know the
football team, she's already well practiced at."  Then he groaned and grimaced
with ugly, satanic lust.  "But first I'll fuck the girl my favorite way... in
the ass.  I already reamed yours out today, Lonnie-baby, and I don't think your
daughter should be deprived of the same thrill, do you?"

      Lonnie couldn't believe the absolute pit of depravity she had unwittingly
fallen into.  Even though her passions had been unnaturally aroused and were
coursing through her heated blood in spite of her best efforts to reject the
ministrations of her daughter's loving tongue in her cunt, the mother was
shocked speechless by the impact of Zeigler's words.  God, he was going to
sodomize hers and Roger's daughter!  The obscene thought of the ravishment
about to take place right here a few inches in front of her horrified face
caused her to groan and grind her own heated buttocks against the bed, and one
look at Jennifer told her that the girl was too far gone in her humiliation and
shame and determination to save her father to resist.

      "Come here, little girl," Zeigler hissed, crooking his finger at
Jennifer. He lay on his muscular back, his massive penis jerking with its
swollen erection, and as he thought of what was to follow, new sensual spasms
of hazy delight taunted his cock to still higher rigidity.  "Yes, come here, my
sweet one, come to Big Daddy Sam."

      "Yes," sobbed Jennifer mournfully, "yes... but please don't hurt me..."
She crawled over the well-lit bed, tears stinging her eyes as she gazed
stupefied at his immense cock.  But the Negro's on the football team had been
larger, she told herself, and if she could take his, she could take anything...
A phyyric note of vain hope.

      "Now, Jennifer," Zeigler commanded, "squat down over me, facing your
dear, loving mother.  I want her to see just how brave you are when you feel me
up inside your rectum, and how you love cock there after you get used to it.
You're just like your mother I bet, and she almost went crazy when I fucked her
in the ass."

      Jennifer gave an awful look of sadness to her mother, which Lonnie could
only return with tear-blurred eyes, and then the girl moved over Zeigler's
loins and assumed a semi-squatting position, her white, firm buttocks and the
darker shadows of her crevice poised directly above his blunt, aching penis.

      Lonnie moaned involuntarily from the lewd scene as Zeigler ran his hands
between the girl's legs, his fingers greedily pinching the firm skin of her
inner thighs and the smooth cleft between them, and then he parted her
trembling buttocks with both hands so that the tiny, virginal anus was visible
to Lonnie's gaping eyes.  Her own backsides still throbbed from the effects of
the gangster's earlier defilement of her rectum, and she knew instinctively
that he was doing this to her daughter as a special way to break them both.

      "Look at it, Lonnie-baby.  Nice and young and hairless."  Zeigler taunted
the frozen woman.  Then he leered up at the quivering back and lower torso of
the fifteen-year-old daughter of Roger Carmel and felt her cower as he drew her
firm young buttock cheeks wider apart.  Then he levered her down... down...
pressing the tip of his cock into the tiny, throbbing hole, wet from her
inadvertantly aroused excitement.  Arching his loins, he raised up slightly,
directing his hard instrument straight into the tightly clenching orifice, and
Jennifer screamed:  "AAAAaaaggg!  Uuugh!" and she twisted her buttocks above
his thighs, trying to throw the slowly invading cock from her, but he held her
firmly and with each buck of her body his prick skewered into her defensively
resisting anus another cruel and painful inch. Her mother held her breath and
then groaned in empathetic response to her daughter as she saw Jennifer's tiny
stretched anus clasping desperately at Zeigler's thick, throbbing cock as he
sunk his rod halfway to its hilt, and she knew that her daughter had no more
chance of resisting than she, herself, had had that same afternoon.

      Jennifer flailed her legs on either side of his as she rocked backwards
in agony, and that made her sit on his huge cock with no other support -- and
she grunted helplessly and dropped to his loins as it slipped unimpeded up into
the rubbery depths of her small, child-like rectum.  She jerked spasmodically
and then lay still to ease the pain of the cruel and complete occupation of her
asshole, knowing it was impossible to fight it, and movement only served to
widen and stretch her tiny, hopelessly clutching little anal cavern to greater
and more painful dimensions.

      Zeigler ground his teeth together.  "Christ, she's tighter than you were,
Lonnie-baby, but damned good!" he hissed, and then he guided her with his
massive hands on each outer side of her trembling, young thighs up and down his
turgid shaft in long, smooth strokings, bringing groans of pain and humiliation
from the teen-ager's tortured lips each time.

      Lonnie watched mesmerized, moaning in concert with Jennifer's mewls of
agony, her eyes a few scant inches from where the gangster's hardened penis was
stretching her daughter's backsides and pile-driving rapaciously into her anus.
Lonnie could see every detail; the moist long cock wet with its own secretions
drawing the ragged pink edges of her daughter's pink sphincter muscle out on
the outstroke, then disappearing back inside as he rammed it home again deep in
her belly, and the mother got up on her all-fours, her vision totally absorbed
by the obscene spectacle of this man sodomizing her only daughter on and on,
screwing her from behind and beneath as Jennifer rode bravely up and down on
his lust-hardened cock.

      And as Lonnie stared in subservient anguish at her helpless child, she
began to detect that Jennifer's moaning cries of pain subtly changed to low
whines and then to a tone which left no room for doubt!  Jennifer was beginning
to enjoy it with a strange kind of masochistic pleasure, the same kind that had
thrilled her mother to orgasm that afternoon.  Perhaps it caused by the very
helplessness of her position or from the lewd, obscene thought of being fucked
in the ass while being watched by a hundred beady, lust-incensed eyes; but
whatever it was, Jennifer was loving it, and her hips started to move of their
own volition, meeting the upthrust of Zeigler's cramming prick, her whole,
young nubile body undulating in tiny, abandoned circles.

      The sight of her daughter, her innocent darling young girl, going stark
raving mad the way she was and turning into a sex-crazed female was too much
for Lonnie Carmel.  She continued to watch the sodomized, ravished Jennifer
respond more and more feverishly, and once again she thought of her own
reactions this afternoon when she had taken Zeigler's huge cock all the way in
her rectum and had pushed back in torrential explosions... and in the loving
way one person can feel vicariously for another, she sensed an odd wetness in
her own anus as if he was screwing her again instead of her daughter.

      Then was added further ambivalence of agony and fascination to heat her
loins as Lonnie superimposed the depraved scene she had witnessed the night
before on this very same bed, confusing her daughter with the incensed girl of
then.  It was too much, too damned much for her not to react to, and Roger
Carmel's black-haired wife started to mechanically, as if she had no mind of
her own, undulate her own body salaciously as weird sensual thoughts grew in
her mind, swamping her flesh and fibers; and as she continued to watch the
corruption of her daughter, she began to push the fear, the self-guilt, the
hatreds out of her head and replace them with desire.  Desire -- dear God, she
was beginning to enjoy the sight of the depraved assault on her young
daughter's naked anus!  Her belly churned and a tremendous wave of sensual
excitement poured over her, inundating all other emotions.  Oh God... how could
she not enjoy it!

      Jennifer Carmel was crooning now, her mind filled with the horrible
pleasure billowing from her tortured rectum.  She gyrated her buttocks down
hard against Zeigler's pelvis in an effort to knowledgeably widen her back
passage, and she leaned back against the debauching gangster, her arms resting
on the bed at the elbow.  Her beautiful black hair-covered pussy was wet and
glistening with her excitement now, and her mother could see its long, pink
furrow trailing from her quivering young clitoris down to her writhing buttocks
where the gangster was massively splitting them with his hard, pumping cock,
his hands holding them apart with his urgent and spasming fingers while he
buried all of his thick, sensitive shaft in the girl's wide-splayed anus, his
heavy balls pulsing in full, erotic view.

      Lonnie couldn't have contained her own seething sensations any longer had
she wanted to.  She crawled the remaining few inches and nuzzled her face in
the soft, sweet-smelling pussy of her daughter, returning the liquid embrace of
Jennifer's mouth on her vagina by starting her tongue from the tip of Zeigler's
testicles, taunting the half-inch of exposed penis not yet swallowed by her
child's pulsating, open hole, and upward, finally sucking the inner lips and
clitoris of the young excited girl.  She reached back between her own legs and
massaged her now burning, unquenchably fired cunt, wallowing lewdly in the
pleasure of her debasing inability to prevent her wild, desire-maddened body
and mind from demanding fulfillment.

      The depraved gangster lasciviously watched Lonnie Carmel become subjected
to the entrancing sight of the anal fucking he was giving her daughter, and
instantly he was spurred on by the absolutely lust-billowing enhancement of
Carmel's wife licking his balls and her child's tender pussy.  He flexed the
shaft of his impaling, thick cock and made a tight, half-choking laugh as
Jennifer wailed in pleasure/pain and surged downwards with her rectal fist of
soft, pliant flesh, and violent spasms of delection whipped through his loins.
Jennifer continued to raise her hips and thighs up and down over Zeigler's
plundering cock, and simultaneously press her wet flowering vagina against her
mother's wildly sucking mouth while furiously Lonnie lapped her tongue about
her daughter's delicious tasting pussy, her own unsated passions building and
building until she could hardly breathe.

      "You... you want to be fucked, Lonnie-baby?" Zeigler in his ecstasy
stammered out to the young wife and mother.  "You want to be fucked?"

      The answer tumbled out before Lonnie could even consider the lewd
question rationally.  "Oooh... yes, yessss!"

      "Then raise up your ass behind you as high as it will go," he ordered,
and he waved his hand in a gesture to one of the guards standing to one side of
the stage.  "Get ready for the best fuck of your life!"

      "Yes!  Yes!" Lonnie cried out, her tongue still buried in her young
daughter's now hungrily quivering cunt as she thrust her white, round buttocks
as high as she could.

      The guard, seeing the signal, released Zeigler's huge German Shepherd
dog, and the great beast surged for the bed, his tail wagging and his thick,
long tongue lolling as the specially bred animal salivated with the remembered
pleasures his master had trained him to perform.  Fang leaped on the bed and
headed straight for the provocatively waving buttocks of the woman.

      I don't care...  I don't care any longer... as lewd and despicable as
this is, I can't help myself...  And then the wife of Roger Carmel felt the
additional weight on the bed behind her, and she turned, wondering who her
lover would be, but not really caring so long as he had a long, hard cock to
fill her hungry, seething womb.  And then she came back to reality as she saw
the dog. Oh God!  It's that dog from last night!  Lonnie screamed out in
undiluted horror as the great, panting brute growled the same, menacing way he
had when he had subdued the young girl to hopeless subjugation.  Lonnie could
do nothing except freeze, her hand still deeply impaled in her masturbated cunt
as Fang lowered his head to her defenseless, upturned buttocks.

      "Oh God, somebody, help me!" the lovely young wife mewled in helpless
horror.

                                *    *    *    *

      "Oh Lord!" Roger Carmel blurted out.  "It's Lonnie!  My wife's out
there... and Jennifer too!  And... and..."

      Oliss finished the choked-off sentence.  "And Sam Zeigler, the man who my
detective said has been fucking your wife.  Look at him, Roger.  Look at what
that bastard is doing to your daughter!"

      Carmel looked wildly out the window of the little second-floor room Oliss
had led him to, then around at Martin trying to swallow his obvious lustful and
malevolent pleasure at the carnality going on out there, and his depraved wife,
Cylvia, who was sprawled on one of the low couches with a Cheshire cat grin all
over her smug face.

      "It's just like I told you, Roger," Oliss's blonde and lovely wife said
throatily, "I thought there was something... terrible and hideous about
Zeigler, and I followed him tonight.  He picked up your wife and daughter and
brought them here. I... can't tell you how sorry I am to have been a party to
this horror... but Zeigler is a bastard... I couldn't help myself, though I
know I'd never have allowed myself to fall so thoroughly under his spell as
your wife and child obviously have."

      Lying hitch! Roger Carmel's tortured mind screamed.  They all set up this
circus of perversion! His mind whirled with the total nightmare of what he and
countless other people -- were viewing, and all his brain could fathom was that
Lonnie and Jennifer weren't really out on that bed, but they were!  Oh Lord,
they were!  His face grew blue with rage and sickness as he watched first
Lonnie, completely enslaved by a giant German Shepherd, her trembling white
body spread face down on the bed while the brute's thick tongue slithered into
the exposed crevice between his adored wife's smooth-ivory buttocks.  Roger
gulped aloud, and he stared horror-stricken at his child-like, innocent
Jennifer being pummeled by a man older than Roger, and not even in her tender
vagina, either, but in her anus!  His own teenage daughter was being sodomized
in front of him -- and liking it; both wife and daughter were liking it,
performing together in the lewdest of debauches... and... before a depraved,
lusting audience!

      In the back of his blindingly fogged mind Roger Carmel thanked God that
at least he had been forewarned of this treachery by Kim Copeland, and that he
had prepared himself a little bit by assuming the worst possible thing that
could happen would be catching his wife making love to Zeigler in private... if
he had come upon this prurient exhibition cold, the way Martin and his wife had
plotted he would, he knew that he would have gone out of his mind in one
searing second of comprehension!

      And then, if that wasn't enough punishment for the unsuspecting husband
and father to witness, Zeigler gnashed his teeth suddenly and jerked Jennifer
off his turgid, slick cock, and rolling her around with a sadistic grin
implanted on his face, took the young child by the hair brutally and thrust
forward to rim his thick, glistening penis deep into her gaping mouth.  Roger
held his breath in wretching pain, fearing that his teenage daughter would
choke to death from the sheer size of the gangster's cock buried between her
lips, but to his amazement, Jennifer not only swallowed the shaft greedily, but
began to suck it hungrily while Zeigler fucked into her tightly locked mouth
like it was another cunt.

      And Carmel caught the look on his wife's face as she watched in envy as
their teen-age daughter slavered with all her vigor on the alien penis fucking
her tiny, clasping mouth.  The child's eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic
film of lust that sent a shiver through both her parents, and Lonnie began to
gyrate her own naked body back against the lapping tongue of the German
Shepherd behind her.

      Cylvia Oliss said something to Roger but Carmel was too engrossed with
the incredible unfolding of the next horrifying act.  The dog was mounting his
wife from behind now, paws wrapping around her waist as if she was a bitch in
heat, and Carmel could plainly see the brute's glistening scarlet penis jerked
and danced from its furry sheath as it slid along her vaginal slit in search of
her pink, clasping cuntal hole.  The husband held his breath as did the Olisses
beside him and the other spectators in their little rooms as the massive dog
bucked at Lonnie's wide-spread buttock cheeks and bared its jaws and growled in
his attempt to skewer her on his hot, still growing animal prick.

      A groan of abject disbelief came from Roger Carmel as Lonnie reached back
between her wide-spread legs and grasped the dog's slippery rod of beastial
flesh and guided its glistening tip to her moist, throbbing cuntal slit... and
then the huge animal humped forward and buried its canine penis deep in the
lovely wife and mother's squirming pussy mouth until it was interred to its
full extent and the hairy testicles swung lewdly below into her wetly matted
pubic hair.

      "Great Heaven above!" Martin Oliss exclaimed in fascination.  "Look at
her!  You see what I mean now, Roger?  You don't have any choice except to
submit to Zeigler.  You tell him about your invention and whatever hold he has
over your wife and kid will be broken.  It's the only thing you can do, Roger;
believe me, you don't have any choice."

      Only thing to do... no choice... no choice... Roger Carmel laughed
shrilly and hysterically at the revolting words of the traitorous Martin Oliss.
No choice?  The hell there wasn't!  He'd show them!  He'd show Martin and
Cylvia and Zeigler, he'd show Jerome Quarren if he was in the audience, he'd
show his wife and daughter, he'd show everybody what choice he had, including
that damned dog out there!

      Carmel couldn't stand it any longer.  Reeling like a wild, uncontrolled
animal, incensed by all of the plotting and lewd seductions of his family,
intent on punishing the whole world for what he had become a victim of, he
turned from the window and stumbled out the door, into the hallway.

      Oliss stared in complete bewilderment at the departing, maniacally
laughing man, bewildered by this odd turn of events.  He said to his wife:
"What the hell is Roger up to?"

      Cylvia, her gaze still wrapped in the lust-provoking performance on the
bed, didn't turn her head but said, "I don't know and right now I don't care!
God, would you look at those two girls go!  Mother and daughter teams really
work the best.  Ohhh, I wish Tamera was here right now! My cunt is steaming for
a good licking and -- God, Martin, look!  It's... it's Roger!  He's running out
on stage!  And... and he's naked!"

                                *    *    *    *

      The lust contorting sight caused Sam Zeigler to drive his cock farther
into the passionate teenaged girl's face, and he stared down at her lips
pulling out grotesquely and clinging to his hardened penis as the Carmel child
sucked it hungrily, while next to them his monster dog, Fang, fucked Lonnie
Carmel with a long, animal shaft which sent the woman's buttocks grinding back
in wild tempoed fury.  Then his attention was shifted by a slight scurry of
muffled shouts, the scuffle of shoes, and a groan which he recognized as having
come from the guard at the stage entrance... and then Roger Carmel came dashing
into view, naked as the day he was born... and Christ, he had the biggest
hard-on that Zeigler had ever seen!

      The first thought was one of terror, and for a moment, the gangster
missed a beat and staggered, almost pulling his erect cock out of Jennifer's
young mouth, but then Roger Carmel was on the bed with him, a leering, crazed
grin on his contorted face, a demoniacal laugh coming from his slack-jawed
mouth.

      "Carmel! What the hell!"

      "Shut up and fuck, you bastard!" Carmel roared.  "You don't have a
goddamned thing on me or my wife!  To hell with you!  To hell with everybody!"
He stood and pranced around the bed, waving his hard, blood-turgid shaft in all
directions, cackling insanely.

      Lonnie Carmel's head whirled in terror and humiliation, and she froze in
her pumpings against the dog's enormous prick.  "Roger!" she moaned in
mortification at her husband seeing her and their daughter like this, naked and
shamelessly perverting every sacrament of marriage and decency.  She lowered
her head to the bed, sobbing, the shame of hers and Jennifer's broken and used
bodies blotting out the comprehension of what her husband was doing in his
insane, perverted dance of naked exhibition.

      "It's all right, honey," Roger said, coming back to her.  "Everything's
going to be all right.  Zeigler and the Olisses don't have a hold on you or
Jennifer or me any longer.  Don't you see?  We do it as a family, together, and
what the hell can they do?  Don't you see?  It's the perfect answer!"

      "Carmel, you damned fool, what the hell --"

      "Stop your spluttering, Zeigler.  You're not getting my invention," the
once meek husband spat at him contemptuously.  "Now start fucking my daughter
in the mouth, if you want, because I'm going to really show you an act tonight.
You want a mother-daughter team?  Well, Zeigler, you bastard, you're going to
get a mother-daughter-father team, and at no extra cost!"

      "Yes, father!  Fuck me!  Fuck me in my cunt!" babbled Jennifer around the
huge thick cock in her mouth, and she squirmed her beautiful vibrant, tender
buttocks back and spread them wider, her first impact of shame and humiliation
gone in the wanton depravity of the incestual desire. She loved her father,
loved him more than ever for what he was doing to salvage their family and she
wanted him inside her, to feel his long, hard cock cum, for it was a cock she
loved and not one of so many strange, uncaring penises which had visciously
violated her innocent body.  Her father groaned and slipped his hand in her
flowering, wet pussy as he kneeled down behind her, and then his prick made
electrical contact with the soft, sparse pubic hair covering the slim folds of
her tender, adolescent vagina, and with one hand, the daughter reached under
her body and her fingers lovingly guided his thick cock to the warm moist
flanges of her now well-educated little cuntal hole.

      Roger felt the softness of his child's curly soft lining of pubic hair
tease around his aching penis as it entered her.  He had lost all sense of
modesty or decency with the driving luridness that Zeigler and the Olisses had
unwittingly instigated in him and which had boiled once today with the mad
fucking of Kim Copeland and which now threatened to overflow the very barriers
of his sanity with the lewd, ruttish sight of his wife being willingly raped by
a vicious animal and his daughter voraciously sucking the hardened cock of the
most obscene man in town.  Unable to contain himself, the new Roger Carmel
erupted in his now-changed emotional and rational being, and he threw back his
head and rammed his heavy, pulsating penis into his kneeling daughter like a
battering ram, deeper and deeper until he felt the white soft cheeks of
Jennifer's wide-split buttocks flatten out against his belly.  He convulsively
reached forward and clasped his hands around her narrow, wasp-like young waist
and held her tightly to him, relishing the low, dragging moan of ecstasy which
came from her lips as he surged into her with long, deep strokes... into the
wet, palpitating slit between her thighs which hollowed and shook with the
desire to milk her father of his sperm... the sperm which had once created her
in her mother's womb.

      Lonnie felt the pit of her stomach hot and moist and the savage force of
the dogs brutal cock ramming into her as she heard her husband's wild denial of
Zeigler's rapacious, depraved threat to her and her family.  With blurry eyes
she gazed with fondness and love as Roger drove his penis deep into the walls
of their teen-age daughter's cunt, and she knew then that all was well, that
her loved ones would be with her, all together from then on, and breathing a
sigh of relief, Lonnie began to once more move rhythmically backwards to meet
the German Shepherd's supreme thrusts, her lust-twisted mouth moaning words of
encouragement.

      "We're together," she panted, grunting under the animal strokes, "We're
really together... oh, I love you... both... yes, yes... and we'll stay a
family..."  Lonnie knew that her mouth was open and pouring what she felt at
the deepest depths of her soul, but at the same time the rolling thunder of
sensation made her disembodied and free, and she undulated her buttocks in
salaciously lewd circles, abandoning herself completely as she watched the
lascivious trio next to her to the erotic pleasures of the beastial fucking
this wonderful dog was pounding into her from the rear.  Now, wantonly
delirious with her release from subjugation she could truly revel in the
delights of the brutish monster and she heaved her thighs and loins against the
dog's hairy, hammering body, feeling as if she was a quivering mass of animal
flesh herself, and the mounting pressure in her belly and cunt signaled that
her rising, impending orgasm was almost there.

      Roger Carmel pumped his cock from behind into his daughter's widely
stretched and open cunt, and he saw with gazed eyes the obscene picture of
Jennifer being buffeted between himself and the gangster in a subservient
kneeling position, and Zeigler's huge, thick rod ramming in and out between her
sucking, fish-like lips, while her long, black hair disheveled and flowed down
over her head and her firm, young white breasts bobbed below her heaving chest.
Her father grinned triumphantly at Zeigler and taunted out at him: "Enjoy this
while you can, you bastard, because you aren't going to have any more of it!
You fucked up solid, Zeigler, and this is your consolation prize!  Hah!  My
daughter your consolation prize!"  He thought that was very funny and he roared
with laughter and surged into Jennifer mercilessly, until his daughter could
only loll limply between the two carnally incited men, allowing herself to be
used as they would, following their increasing tempo by the hungry swir ling of
her tongue around Zeigler's almost exploding cock.

      Beside him, Carmel could see his lovely wife, Lonnie in the salacious
scene of her twisting her head from side to side, screwing her buttocks back
greedily against the German Shepherd like a demon-bitch with distemper, and the
giant dog's tongue hanging from his mouth as he fucked into the wavering
buttocks, saliva dripping down onto the sweat lining Carmel's wife's
sweat-shining back.

      Then:

      "Now, dad... oh now, I'm going to cum now!" Roger heard his writhing
daughter moan from beneath him, and the rhythm of his and Zeigler's lewd
double-fucking increased with her piteous cries of climax, faster and faster
until he tore every last inch of his cock into her cunt.

      "Fuck back!  Oh, Jennifer, fuck your daddy back!" as he felt her buck and
moan and tremble with the raging tornado of her young, inexperienced body's
release and his own impending orgasm swiftly approaching.

      A deep, inhuman cry erupted from the gangster's throat and he locked his
hands hard around the back of Roger's daughter's head, drawing his penis deep
down until all Roger Carmel could see was a small bit of Zeigler's pubic base
protruding wet and glistening from Jennifer's sucking lips. He gazed in
fascinated awe as her throat tightened and untightened in great desperate gulps
as she swallowed the hot, sticky flood that Zeigler spewed into her mouth, her
cheeks bloating as her throat filled and emptied, filled and emptied in the
attempt to rid her mouth of the flooding white sperm pulsating hotly up into
it.  At the same time he felt the deliriously sensual gush of his child's
orgasmic secretions swirl warmly around his own cock in her still-spasming
young vagina, and her juices flowed out from around the edges of his deeply
embedded penis and down the softness of her uptilted cuntal split and his sac
of swaying, sperm-filled testicles.

      Lonnie screamed suddenly and her husband turned to stare in still more
wonderment as his wife's firm rounded buttocks began contracting uncontrollably
with her climactic upheaval.  The dog thrust his canine prick deep up into her
and jack-hammer lunges pounded her flooding cunt, and then Lonnie felt the
animal's stream of hot alien cum squirting in thin streaming jets, ricocheting
against the innersides of her wildly contracting vagina, and its steaming heat
setting her off.  She screamed again and thrust her ass back toward the
animal's expending penis as it continued to empty into her rippling belly with
unbelievable force.  Her stomach quaked and her thighs trembled, and her brain
reeled insanely with the sensual reactions traversing her spine, all reality
nothing but a blank, black shroud around her brain.

      Roger Carmel saw thick, white ooze burst from around the flowering lips
of his beloved wife's lust-clenched cunt as she squeezed and milked the dog's
still ramming cock, forming trails of viscid liquid that ran down in lewd
rivulets, wetting the ivory columns of her soft, inner thighs.  Lonnie
displayed in shameless abandonment all of her semen-soaked pubic hair and pink
vaginal flesh as she pitched forward onto her face, exhausted, and the rapidly
deflating penis of the animal slipped from her willingly ravaged cunt with a
slightly sibilant pop.

      Roger Carmel clenched his teeth shut and felt his testicles erupt like
firebases, and his hot seed shot into his daughter's hungrily milking little
womb, far, far up in her quivering young belly, and her father ground his
pelvis into her churning buttocks and dug his cock-head deeper into the walls
of her dilated pussy as he continued to spew his lewd load of incestual cum
hard against the inner cavern of Jennifer's child-like cunt.  She whimpered,
her own orgasm nearing its end, and Zeigler's limp, expunged cock slipped from
her tender lips, and her father could see thin, sticky strings of the
gangster's hot sperm still connecting the teen-ager's mouth with the bloated,
red tip of his penis.

      Jennifer Carmel groaned and relaxed, and only her father's hands at the
juncture of her waist held her upright as he strained to empty the last of his
cum inside her.  Then he released his child and she slithered forward, his own
shrinking penis sliding from her wet, flooded hole of her vagina, and she lay
half-comatose across the loins and chest of Sam Zeigler, her own slim, nubile
legs still wide apart, a last tempting view of her young pussy glistering in
the overhead lights.

      "Jesus, Lonnie, I love you," he murmured to his satiated, smiling wife,
falling on his side and kissing her fondly on one sweat-slick breast.

      "Thanks, Roger," she whispered in return, "thanks for saving me, your
daughter... us. You, you seem so different tonight somehow.  So much more a
human and involved person.  I don't understand, I'm just glad this nightmare is
over and we're together again."

      "Someday I'll tell you what happened," Roger grinned at her.  "For now,
let's just say that I saved myself as well.  Or, more correctly, I found
myself, all of me.  And," he added, looking with loving eyes over at his sweet,
cherubic daughter, curled up and almost asleep, "and, yes, I found my family."

      Zeigler groaned and rolled over and glared balefully at Carmel.  "I may
have been screwed out of my invention," he gasped, "but at least I got the
fucking of my life.  That's more than I can say for Martin Oliss at this
point."

      "He's never going to get that fucking, either," Lonnie Carmel promised.
"Consider yourself one of the lucky few."

      "Correction," her husband said with a lewd smile.  "One of the lucky
many. You don't think we're ever going to end all this do you?"


                              BlkMthr.zip -- 16/16

                             The Blackmailed Mother
                                   Chapter 16

      The idea to move to New York City had been Roger's, based on the offer by
a large, international electronics company interested in the Carmel
developments.  Ampex and General Electric, and even one of the Japanese
corporations, had all bid heavily for Roger after he terminated his employment
with Skopos, but all things considered, he thought a move across the nation and
the large amount of money plus generous stock options swayed him for the one
he'd chosen.

      And so far, after two months in the swank Manhattan apartment house,
Lonnie Carmel had really reveled in the luxury of having a maid to clean up and
no yard to mow and weed.  She stretched out on the chaise lounge, relaxing with
a cool drink beside her.  The sun lamps hanging from the ceiling were giving
her a lasting, all-year tan, and since she was naked, the golden bronze was a
full covering over her body, only broken up by the twin projections of her
darker colored nipples and the rich blackness of her soft, curly pubic
triangle.  However, relaxing was one thing; her mind was another.  Zeigler and
the Olisses were past history for her, Roger, and their daughter, Jennifer, but
the erotic fires they had ignited in the three of them would never die... and
last night when mother, father and daughter had all romped together in wild
sexual abandon on the large, round, king-sized bed in the master bedroom was
proof of that.  So fulfilling, the love of a family seeking pleasure and
satisfaction as a unit. And the trio readily agreed unanimously that while they
were happy together, they would never decline the benefits of variety, their
now seemingly insatiable sexual appetites needing a lack of constricture.

      Lonnie's prurient thoughts were interrupted as she looked up and saw
Roger peeking in through the door.  "Oh!" she said, startled.  "I didn't hear
you."

      "You weren't supposed to," her husband replied smoothly.  He was smiling
lewdly and she could read the lustful thoughts on his mind. "Come on and put on
your robe and meet our new neighbors, Betty and Don Marlowe.  They were moving
in across the hall and I invited them over for a drink."

      "How marvelous," Lonnie exclaimed, and wrapping her robe around her she
came out of the sun room to be introduced to a pert, well-endowed little honey
blonde girl and a handsome man whose masculinity was so strong she felt a
ripple run through her just in shaking his hand.

      "We never dreamed that we would meet anyone this fast," Betty Marlowe
chattered amiably. "We thought New York was the city where everybody were
strangers in the same building."

      "Not in this building," Roger said expansively. "Lonnie, darling, how
about a drink?"

      "I have some champagne just waiting for a special occasion like this,"
she said in friendliness. "Don?  Do you think you could help me take down the
glasses?  They're awfully high up in the kitchen cupboard for me to reach." She
waited for the eager man to rise from his chair, and then she paused to pat the
head of the large German Shepherd which had followed her out of the sun room.
"You stay here and get acquainted with Betty, Fang," she said lovingly to the
dog, "I don't need any help this time from you.  But maybe later, alright
lover?"

                                    The End

.