"I mean I'll understand," Sylvia went on in the same lusty voice. "I'll understand as long as you understand."
"As long as I understand what?"
"I'm not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs through all this. I can get restless too. And the husband's a good-looking young man. Strong looking."
Cathy couldn't have been more stunned if she'd been bit over the head with a hammer. They were actually making a deal, a bargain of the flesh. And she and Bob were the barter. My God, they must have felt like spiders watching jumbo grasshoppers wading into their webs when she and Bob had turned up on their land, and she knew that if she had any last remnant of decency and rationality in her own being she would turn around right now, go back to the bedroom and wake Bob up and let him hear for himself what their foul-minded host and hostess wanted to plan for them. Then he would understand why she hadn't wanted to come here, or stay here, and maybe he would be motivated to take some steps to get their car out of the ditch and get them away from this terrible place.
But Bob of course was passed out, drunk, and she'd already decided that he wasn't going to be awakened any time soon. And Cathy hadn't even slowed down. In fact, she'd hastened her silent pace, tiptoeing now swiftly along the wall toward the bend in the corridor, from where she would not only be able to overhear what was going on in the den, but actually look in and observe the expressions on the older couple's faces as they continued their shocking and outrageous discussion.
"But it's not going to be tonight," Sylvia Bailey went on in her same purring, mocking voice. "You were in there too long. If you could have made it you already would have. Tonight you're stuck with me."
There was a moment's silence, another low, feminine moan, then Jack Bailey's voice saying: "Cut it out, Sylvia."
There was another silence. Sylvia's laughter, lusty, mocking. She said: "Come on, sleepy head. Wake up."
My God, Cathy thought in horror. Was that man so crass he could be sleeping through this?
Then she was slapped mockingly in the face with her own sheer naivetй as she rounded the corner of the corridor, gazed lavish, sunken lounge, and found herself staring straight ahead at the real object of Sylvia's last puzzling remark.
She hadn't been talking to Jack Bailey. She'd been talking to his cock!
The innocent young blonde almost collapsed to her knees as she took in the lurid scene that greeted her. The lights in the den had been turned down very low, so she could see them clearly enough without worrying about them seeing her. The table had been partially cleared off; new drinks had been made and served. Jack Bailey sat on the fold-back leather easy chair, his legs propped luxuriously up. Sylvia, naked to the waist so that her amber-hued breasts shined as if slickened with oil in the dim light of the room, was kneeling slave-like on the floor beside him, her face bent over his loins so her long dark hair spilled in cascades down over his groin. But through the long black locks Cathy could see that his trousers had been undone and unzipped, the same way she'd done Bob's a little earlier. Jack's cock, also soft, was cupped tightly in Sylvia's hand. She, like Cathy a few minutes before, was moving her hand in a teasing up-and-down stroking motion along the limber shaft of flesh. Where Bob had been out unconscious, but restlessly stirring, Jack Bailey was sitting rigid in his chair, glaring down with a look of violence and contempt that almost made Cathy shudder to think of it. And there was one other even greater difference between this little scene and the one in which she had participated with her unconscious husband a few moments ago in their room.
She'd always thought of Bob's cock as being huge, but Jack Bailey's was gigantic! It was like a baseball bat, or a policeman's Billy club, or like some pagan phallic statue, blood filled, red-purple tipped, a thick dark cudgel looming from a bush of curling black pubic hair that stood up like a jungle between his hairy thighs, a full seven or eight inches in length now and, though Cathy could hardly believe her eyes, growing by the second.
Then the stunned young blonde received an even greater jolt to her innocence as Sylvia Bailey flicked her tongue from her mouth to moisten her voluptuous lips in what appeared to be a gesture of genuine relish. And as Cathy gawked in unbelieving astonishment, the excited brunette dropped her face lower, her tongue darting snake-like downward to flick right across the slickly glistening head of Jack Bailey's cock, darting right into the little slitted eye-like hole at the tip.
And as though in programmed response, the still limber length of cock flesh stiffened and distended another fraction of an inch, the head taking on an even darker hue as the blood rushed to fill it. A low moan of approval rose from Sylvia's throat, and she twirled her tongue teasingly around the end of her husband's gradually swelling cock, lashing it gently and expertly toward an erection the trembling blonde in the doorway didn't even know if she wanted to see for herself.
"Cut it out," Bailey grunted. "I told you I'm not in the mood."
"But I'm going to get you in the mood," Sylvia purred, ducking her head suddenly downward, ovalling her lips to slip them right over the swelling cocktip and caused the shaft to distend and thicken even more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cathy stood mesmerized, unable to turn away from the compelling exhibition in spite of all of her shame and fear and moral indignation at witnessing such a perverted exhibition. She'd heard of women who used their mouths to perform the function for which another more specialized part of their body had been created. She'd accepted what she'd heard as fact, but some defense mechanism in her mind had prevented her from actually confronting the finer details of the act. Now here she was face to face with it, not in her imagination but in real life, and she almost recoiled from the very shock of it all. She could only console herself with the knowledge that apparently Jack Bailey was just as much against what Sylvia wanted to do as Cathy was herself, and she thought that at least on that level she might have misjudged him. But in spite of all her abhorrence, she couldn't force herself to turn away. She was trapped, as a spectator, seemingly as irrefutably as Bailey himself was trapped as a participant. And in spite of all her revulsion – or perhaps as a perverse outgrowth of the very revulsion itself – Cathy, like Bailey, was becoming more and more excited by what she saw.
In the dim light of the den, Sylvia's lust strained face again bobbed up away from the now upright cock that pointed so eagerly toward her mouth, and as she lifted her succulently rounded lips up off the now saliva-glistening head, the shaft of her husband's penis lengthened even further, almost as though in pursuit of the contact it had been so suddenly denied. Teasingly she again swept her tongue over the tip. A low animal groan rose from Bailey's throat. His face flushed and contorted with wrathful animal lust, and as Cathy gaped in trembling incredulity., the frightening instrument lunged suddenly to fully pulsing erection. Then, before she could even sort out in her mind the immense physical proportions of the freakish phallus exhibited there before her, one of Bailey's hands dropped down to the back of Sylvia's neck, suddenly forcing her head downward even as he lunged his own buttocks up from the fold-out easy chair. And with a swift driving lust he buried almost the full length of the enormous shaft of his cock straight up into his wife's mouth and throat.
"Aaaggghhhh! Ugggghhhhh!" Sylvia gagged, obviously choking on the huge cock that had been thrust so forcibly into her mouth. This was obviously even more than she had bargained for, and in spite of all her previous disapproval of the other woman's lascivious and unbecoming action, Cathy couldn't quell the sympathy for the other woman that welled strongly in her breast. My God, that must be killing her. Bailey's cockhead must be embedded all the way to her tonsils, and still he appeared to be pushing downward on the back of her neck as though demanding she take it even deeper. It was unheard of for a man to subject a woman to such torture and degradation, and though she'd never been an activist in the movement for liberation of her sex, Cathy now felt almost compelled to try to do something to help out her fellow female. And short of that, she told herself half-deliriously, she could at least make a vow that she would enact any vengeance possible on behalf of her own downtrodden female sex where this oppressive and over-endowed male was concerned.