Gregory Mason - The helpless captive

While Robert's finger moved in and out of her tight little cunt, finger fucking her, Lydia was on her knees before the unresisting Art, unzipping his pants and inserting her hand inside them, feeling under his shorts, and finally finding his soft, flaccid cock. She began to stroke it gently at first, then more vigorously, nursing it to life, until strength flowed mystically into it and it jerked upright.

Lydia drew it out then, holding Art's cock in her hand and then began to tease it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her finger along the tender underside of it. Kathy saw her husband's prick swell to enormous proportions – was that her straitlaced Art? she asked herself in amazement – then saw him begin to respond to Lydia's ministrations, moving back and forth as she clasped him tight, just as Jim had done when Kathy had held his prick in her own hand. And now Lydia was bending her head, taking Art's cock into her wide-open mouth, closing her lips around its tender flesh, sucking on it, her cheeks working madly as Art's shaft became rock hard, and began to fuck in and out of Lydia's widely ovaled mouth, shooting forward almost to her throat, retreating, entering again. The fear and anger combination he had felt such a short time before seemed to fade away, and Art began to feel nothing but ecstatic joy that Lydia brought to him. He shook his head, trying to sort things out for himself. For a moment everything seemed clear; he, Art McGuire was indulging in forbidden, perverted pleasures. And then it seemed that it was no longer forbidden, although no one could deny the pleasure of it, and Art relaxed and his pulsing cock moved in and out of the young girl's warm buttery mouth and he felt the churning in his loins, the dull, throbbing ache, and knew that this was the most important, the most exciting, the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

He looked over at his wife, and saw that she was doing just what Lydia was doing, sucking the desire swollen cock of some boy – Art had never seen him before. At the same time, Art saw that the boy was named Mark was between Kathy's legs now, his thick, hard cock moving against her pussy, parting her softly curling pubic hairs, then that Mark had taken his full hardened length in his hand and was guiding it forward, using the rubbery head to open wide the full fleshy lips of her cunt. Now the tip slipped through the tight, elastic opening, sliding along the smooth, moist cuntal hole, sinking in farther and farther, while Kathy opened her legs as wide as she could and pulled her thighs back to take this marvelous virile hardness deep up inside her hungrily waiting belly.

Art plunged forward into Lydia's mouth, withdrew, plunged in again, while shivers of ecstasy rippled through his whole body, and a strange, uninhibited wave of joy washed over him that he had never believed possible.

He glanced at Kathy again, and saw that still a third man, Jim was kneeling beside her; Jim had inserted his finger deep into Kathy's nakedly twitching anus, and she was swiveling around it, her hips rotated. She groaned as he thrust a second finger into the soft, warm depths, and then, as she became accustomed to the intrusion, fucked his hardened cock into her rectum as she began to moan and mewl with insane sounding pleasure.

The crowd loved it! The next band was setting up their equipment, ready to start; a hiss emanated from the crowd. They didn't want to hear music, they wanted to hear more of this strange story that was unfolded about their ears.

Art quickened his thrust into Lydia's all encompassing mouth, fucking into it hard and deep, his cock boring in to touch her throat, so that the girl choked and fought back, yet Art plunged on and on, aware that never in his life had he felt such thrills, such excitement. And Kathy was as dazzled and delighted as he, moving against the three men who invaded her in such diverse ways, screwing back against her fingers, their cocks, their tongues. He saw her begin to sway and rock in a wild erotic abandon, saw that the others moved with her, and realized that he, too, was caught in the grip of the same mad passion, moving with the others, swaying to their rhythm in some formalized, classic dance.

The ache in his loins became unbearable, the throbbing length of his rigid staff maddening beyond belief, and then, he heard Kathy's wild groans of passion, her repeated shout, "I'm cumming… Oh God, I'm cuuummming!" heard the ecstatic moans of the three boys, heard their panted, exhausted breathing as together they sent their hot, sticky semen spurting into all the openings of her hungrily accepting young body. As they did, Art could no longer hold back, no longer control himself. He, too, uttered a raucous, passion-filled cry, then sent his boiling white sperm spewing into Lydia's hungrily sucking fourteen year old mouth.

It seemed that everyone went limp then, lying back, while the whole world whirred around them. Art was the first to rouse himself from the torpor, to look at the others, to evaluate the situation. It was difficult for him to define; he only knew that everything had changed. He stared at the boys, his eyes roving over their slumped, inert bodies. They were still a bunch of stupid punks, he told himself, still a lot of dope-smoking dupes. Yet they had taught him something that they had known for a long time. They had taught him that he need not be ashamed of his passion, need feel no guilt – that it was a marvelous thing to experience what he had just felt.

Art sensed that he owed these kids something. They had, he knew already, changed the whole course of his life. They had shown him what life was all about, what happiness was, how he? Art McGuire, "uptight" and "strung out" as they would call it, could attain happiness with his wife.

Slowly, as Kathy slept she returned to full cognizance. The rock and roll music was blaring up from the people-crowded valley below, vibrating the beams of the rustic cabin, filling every corner with inescapable sound. Robert, Mark, Lydia, and even Jim had left now, anxious to get down into the crowd and mill around with their friends. And hopefully, to find out what happened with Chuck. Had the U-Haul truck made it to its destination?

Kathy groaned on the mattress. Her hair was disheveled and she wore no make-up. Yet she looked more beautiful than ever, Art told himself. She had picked up the remnants of her clothing and hung it on her body, in an attempt at modesty.

Hesitantly, she raised her head, her eyes meeting Art's. Frightened of Art, sure of what he would think of her, she looked but did not speak. He had seen her debauched, degraded, subjected to the most vile outrages by a gang of fourteen year old children. Certainly, he would want nothing to do with her. Kathy brushed a tear from her eyes, then lowered them, afraid to look at her husband. He was so good, so fine, so decent; so far above passion. And even though he had succumbed to Lydia's temptations, that had been only once – and surely a man was entitled to that. Whereas a woman never was, and certainly not to the extent that Kathy had, indulging in every perversion, every excess known. Kathy caught a sob in her throat, then edged towards the edge of the mattress.

He spoke to her quietly, "Kathy."

She glanced at him, under half closed eye lids. Why was he acting like this? Surely he must hate her. How could he help it, after what she had done? In anguish, she buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

"Kathy?" Art's voice was gentle as the winds.

"Yes?"

He crossed the room and took her hands in his. "Everything's all right, Kathy. Everything's different."

Kathy could no longer suppress her sobs. "Yes," she said, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "Everything's different… I'm sorry, Art. I still love you, Art. But I don't blame you if you don't want me now."