Aston Marlowe - Rajah

But Marlowe was continuing for other reasons. His eyes were beadily fixed on the ever-more drugged young American wife near him, greedily watching her as she fell more and more under the hypnotic powers of the potent cigarettes… yes, he wanted to fuck her something fierce… his penis and testicles ached to slip inside the tender, palpitating cunt of the innocent beauty and spew his hot white seed deep, deep inside her proud womb. That, and other, more intensely exciting defilations of her body and soul. And Lena would help him, he knew, just as she always had, for she got tremendous enjoyment out of bringing lovely haughty young wives to their knees and seeing their helpless subjugation, their eventual change into debauched women of the flesh, and her own joining in the fun and games.

All in time. In good time, he realized, for he was, as the harlot wife of his best friend, Rodney Alvaro, had said, a totally practical man. Planning… that was the key, and so he droned on, making sure that Sharon Court was lulled into an unguarded position in which it would be easier to strike her.

He droned on, and all the while he had his hand up the frilly dress of the black-haired wife sitting in his lap. His fingers teased the inside of her creamy thighs, making them quiver, then his fingers tickled around the secretion band of her panties, feeling the outline of her fleshy, palpitating pussy, the wetness of her lubricious, excited state, the curly hairs of her pubic mound as they peeked out of the sides of her panties and grazed his hand.

"In short," he was saying, his mind delving on the fun which he would have in a few more minutes as he would fuck the older of the two women within an inch of her life, conjuring the image of her firm, yielding flesh cemented to his hard, muscled body and the look of glazed enrapturement in her eyes as she cried out her passion. "In short, the healthiest thing would be to cast out the fiction. Let the politicians remain responsible for the broadest policy, and let the permanent officials come out from behind their bushes and be ready to take public accounting for their management of our affairs."

"Ohh… ohh… ohh…" breathed the now trembling black-haired female in his clasp. "Ohh… I want you to fuck me, Mark… take me like some rutting beasts of the fields… give it to me… ohh…" She surged against his wandering fingers, which were now insinuated inside her panties and sliding into the slippery, pink vaginal opening of her cunt. "Uhhhh…"

"But alas, I see no sign of it happening." Mark still had his eyes feasted on Sharon Court, the naive wife who would never return to her old ways after the stay at his mansion, and he saw that the marijuana had now taken its fullest effect. She was sprawled most unlady-like on the sofa, her legs dangling and her dress nearly up to her hips. He could see up her legs, up to the little wisp of flimsy white nylon that separated him from his goal of her tender young pussy. It excited him, and his cock leaped into total erection, hurting to be released from the prison of his pants.

"I think she's ready," he said to Lena.

"Ohhhh… I am… I ammmm… too." Lena Alvaro was panting now, openly spreading her legs to his searching hand.

"Then let's get started. Right here, right in front of her. She's so doped up that she won't be horrified; only excited," Mark chuckled obscenely, pulling his fingers from the older woman's vagina with a slight wet sluicing sound. "Get up, my love. Get up and take your clothes off. I want to fuck you right here, right on the rug, right in front of Little Miss Sweetness. Hah. Let's see just now much of a goody-goody she is after she gets a taste of voyeurism, eh?"

The room was spinning for the beautiful young wife, Sharon Court. She had been drunk before, her surroundings revolving as if she was on a carousel; but it wasn't like that this time. No, it was if the colors and the objects were made of some pliable rubber which would alter and vary shape, size, and texture at will. A kaleidoscope of patterns which were dizzying and satisfying both, and gave new and deep meaning to the everyday items that they were. Sharon didn't understand what had taken over her mind, her body… but she didn't care. Nothing mattered except the song in her ears, the sight before her eyes, and the sweet pungency of the cigarette between her lips.

But what were Mark and Lena doing? Where were they? She tried to concentrate on the two people. They were… were on the rug…! And, and it seemed as though they were naked! Sharon shook her head again, her blonde hair whipping around, unable to believe what she was seeing. No… she clenched her eyes tightly together, then opened them wide. They were still there… and they were… Oh MY GOD! Sharon's heart skipped a beat.

Lena was lying spread-eagle before the fire-place, completely nude. Sharon felt as though she could have reached out and touched her. Lena's head was rolling back and forth, her face contorted with ecstasy. Mark was kneeling between her naked widespread legs, running his tongue moistly up and down her body. Lena writhed beneath his flickering caresses like a woman possessed, her hands tangling tightly in his hair, pulling his lips greedily to her tingling skin.

Sharon gripped the corners of the cushion, leaning forward. Lena… and Mark! She tried to blot out the shocking picture, but she couldn't. She had to look — the obscene spectacle mesmerized her. Her mind rebelled at the sight of a man toying with the naked, squirming body of a woman who was a good friend of the wife of your own husband's boss… she knew she should turn away. But she couldn't. She couldn't move!

Sharon sucked harder, as if hypnotized on the brown cigarette, the conscience-killing smoke sweeping away the revulsion, lightening her head. Then, after a few, deep inhalations, she found herself wickedly enjoying the scene before her; watching with studied detachment the pagan ritual that was as old as time itself.

Lena was beautiful, she thought as she gazed in intoxicated rapture at the enchanting woman spread on the floor. Mark had worked her to a fever pitch and the older woman's mouth hung open in ecstasy. Mark Marlowe's face was just above her softly curling pubic mound, his hands pressed on the smooth flat plane of her stomach and his thumbs lay pressed into the fleshy outer flanges of her cunt lips, pulling outward, exposing the moist red slit of the woman's vagina. The dainty pink bud of her clitoris was clearly visible, throbbing into hardness just above the stretched elastic opening of her vaginal tunnel.

Mark's head dropped and his long wet tongue snaked out to flick at the quivering little nub of raw nerves. Mrs. Alvaro's body jerked as the electric contact was made and her legs clamped tightly around his head, her soft inner thighs imprisoning his ears in a vise-like grip. Her hips began to rotate and soft wails of animal pleasure escaped from her mouth.

The innocent blonde wife on the couch gaped in disbelief as she watched her husband's boss' wife's lustful twistings to the depraved mouthing of her loins. She drew deeper on her marijuana cigarette, feeling her mind opening like a budding flower, uncertain any more whether the two writhing figures on the floor were real or figments of her imagination. Time was dancing in her head, and nothing existed in the world except the couple before her — and somehow she felt mystically connected with them.

Sharon's own torso began an involuntary swaying in time to that of Lena's, and thin folds of her dress and panties grated against her tiny, sensitive anus and vagina, sending spasms of pleasure rippling through her loins and belly, and on up to the rising nipples of her breasts.

And then Mark extricated himself from the now mewling, now mindless black-haired woman on the floor, and he gazed down from his kneeling position at the wife of his friend, his mouth and lips wet from his saliva and her vaginal secretions. He was panting from his own excitement, Sharon could hear his ragged breaths, and he stroked his hard penis which jutted from his thighs.