Beside Tamera, Eddie pressed a freshly lit brown cigarette to the young virginal girl’s lips, and as she unhesitatingly drew the sweet, acrid smoke down into her lungs, the shock she had first experienced upon seeing Jason and Nancy was swept away. Her head lightened and she pulled on the joint thankfully, beginning at last to hazily enjoy the movie and the lewd seduction of her girlfriend on the couch beside her.
Eddie wormed one finger underneath the secretion band of her panties and softly grazed the moist, demanding flesh of her gently pulsating pussy, and Tamera lightened her inner cunt muscles against further invasion, only making teasing little shocks that much more acute. She held her breath for fear that some tell-tale sound would escape through her lips, while her very being trembled as he wormed his hand up under her flimsy panties… and now she felt more fingers searching in her warm pink vaginal lips and moist pubic hair, but she still couldn’t pull her eyes from the couch, where Jason’s head had dropped and his tongue—like the dog’s tongue—flicked teasingly at the open little cunt before his face. Nancy jerked at the hot fleshy contact and her legs clamped tightly around the boy’s head in a vice-like grip as her hips began to slowly move up and down. Soft mewls of delight rolled from her clenched lips, and she was caught in a mindless, drugged fit of uncontrollable lust, nothing mattering except the nerve-tingling licking on her pussy.
“No… no,” Tamera whimpered abjectly, and she somehow managed to turn her head away, only to again see the screen, the woman, and the dog. The woman was being nuzzled by the German Shepherd, and what it wanted as it ground its snout into her salaciously open vagina was all too clear—it wanted the woman to turn over on her stomach! And the woman, after one wild-eyed shudder of terror, obediently rolled over and knelt up, elevating her firm rounded buttocks before the great beast in humiliated surrender. She cowered helplessly before it, awaiting its lascivious attack…
Tamera’s nerves were shattered, her brain whirled, and her body prickled with sexual heat. She knew deep in her mind that she had to run… run right now if she were ever going to be free of the warping influences on her mind, but she couldn’t resist the insistent hand on her helplessly throbbing cunt and the twin lewdnesses of that movie and what her girlfriend Nancy was allowing that boy to do to her body. It was too much for her innocent mind to bear!
“What… what is she waiting for?” the young girl asked. “She’s… she’s just hunched over like that. What’s the dog going to do?”
“Why?” Eddie chuckled gutturally. “Because the dog’s going to fuck her.”
“Wh-what?” His obscene explanation burned her soul.
“Fuck her, Tamera,” Eddie repeated. “Fuck her just like Jason is going to fuck Nancy and I’m going to fuck you!”
Tamera West almost lost her mind at that moment, and a thin film of drug-inspired passion glazed over her eyes. She nearly fainted.
Something had to give!
CHAPTER THREE
Mortimore McDonald drove his Cadillac through Mariposa, pausing to consider stopping for dinner at Luigi’s, and then decided not to. He’d be home soon, he figured, and could chew on some of the cold chicken Agnes had left in the refrigerator. Cold chicken—what an apt description for his wife, Mort thought with a smirk; Agnes had shriveled up into a puckered resemblance to a plucked chicken, her skin and temperament as crusty and brittle as the drumstick waiting for him a few miles away. But at least she could cook, he sighed, and she was a born housekeeper and society woman, which were assets he needed to get ahead in business, and he tolerated her also because of their son, Eddie, and because he couldn’t afford a breath of scandal which a separation or divorce would bring…
Not that Agnes would ever divorce him, he groaned, stopping for a red light. No, the only way she would part from her secure little feathered nest would be if she caught him with another woman—which had been mighty close a couple of times.
Mort McDonald was sharply dressed in the latest style, a natty robin’s-egg blue suit with an Edwardian cut to it, and a darker blue shirt set off by a wide, gold striped tie. He didn’t look as if he’d spent the better part of the day and evening haggling with the other executives of Tempo Tooling and Die Company, trying to bend some of them around to his way of thinking. As Vice-President in Charge of Sales, he couldn’t let the company manufacture the new gimmick that developing had come up with, seeing no market for a battery-run egg-beater. He’d fully expected to stay there all night, as the others had as well, but the squabble had been unexpectedly broken by Throckington, the owner and president, who tried the gadget and sliced his thumb. The project was shelved immediately.
Mort McDonald was not one to let such a golden opportunity pass. Not with the beady-eyed hawk of a wife always suspicious of where he was going and why. With time on his hands, he’d combed his salt-and-pepper hair and waxed his pencil-thin mustache and with the instincts of a predatory lion, went on the prowl. But oddly, the women he’d been fucking in the past didn’t interest him any more—the fun was in the chase, and he’d downed them so many times before that they’d become stale game—and his latest conquest, Dolores, couldn’t see him because she was meeting some dammed plane which left McDonald no choice but to slum round a bit, and after buying too many drinks and listening to too many sad stories from bartenders about lousy business, he’d decided to go home and call his opportunity a bust.
That’s the luck, he said to himself. When you’re looking for it, none of it is ever around. At least Agnes was at her sister’s again—that sister caught every disease known to mankind, and every one of them was supposedly her terminal one. He sighed, turning up the street leading to his house. Married by necessity, a bachelor by nature, he spent his leisure hours in the pursuit of new flesh, new sensations, new adventures with women, and at that moment he’d taken on just about anything willing to take down her panties, so long as she hadn’t taken them down for him before.
He was surprised to see his son Eddie’s car in the driveway, even more surprised to notice that while it was there, no lights were on in the house. He parked along the curb and got out, scratching his hair in puzzlement. He knew that his son was a chip off the old block and that no telling what Eddie might be up to—but no lights? He was about to unlock the front door and go in, when he reflected what he might be doing if he was a teenager again and his parents were away… A smile of amusement crossed his lips, a look of imperturbable amusement, much like a cat after swallowing a canary and being caught with the feathers sticking out of its mouth.
McDonald walked around the side of the house to the garage entrance, unlocked it, and went in. It was pitch dark, but he knew his way from experience, and soon he was at the other side of the garage, the private door which was part closet, part entranceway to the rumpus room. He glanced around after flipping the light on, saw the projector was not there, and then he heard the whirring of its motor from the other side of the rumpus room door. He’d been right: his son was having at it with some local chick, probably fucking her toes off right at the moment.
McDonald crept to the door, listened intently for a moment more, and then slyly moved a piece of wood away from a special peephole he’d bored into the door, a large, almost face-sized hole which was covered on the other side by a mirror—a two-way glass mirror which had cost a small fortune but had been well worth it. He could see in, and nobody could see him, and he pressed his face to the glass eagerly, anticipating what he’d see…
Great Jesus! It was better than he’d hoped! He couldn’t see the film, the door being on the same wall as the fireplace and thereby hiding the screen from him—but he already knew about the woman and the dog, and wasn’t interested in viewing them again. The light from the projector glowed around the four young kids on the two couches… and McDonald’s eyes bulged at the lewd and perverted scene before him. Jesus, there was Eddie, grabbing handfuls of tit and cunt, a lovely young girl no more than fifteen squirming hotly in his clutches… and there, on the other couch it looked like Eddie’s friend Jason… yes, it was, Jason sucking that other girl’s cunt like it was food for a hungry baby! McDonald felt a slight twinge of jealously as he watched their passion-wrecked bodies, and groaned with desire to be there with them himself. His own cock burgeoned onto hardness and blood-lust as the four kids struggled, and beads of sweat broke out on the father’s face as he watched his son and the others being driven mad by their desires…