Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

"Jesus Christ, Tony," he gasped to his friend, whose face was equally lust-distorted as he watched the lurid red cock of his best friend plunging in and out of the kneeling young wife's frantically gulping throat and whose own turgid cock was throbbing in urgency as it pressed against the wantonly writhing back of the lust-fevered girl. "You were right! Once she gets going, she's the hottest piece of ass I ever got sucked by!"

"Suck, Sandi!" Tony leered behind her, rubbing his naked rod of lust-distended flesh up against the back of her neck in lewd rhythm with the wanton oral fucking going on just inches away from his own throbbing penis. He could see that Ted couldn't hold back his orgasm much longer from the way all the muscles and tendons in his perspiration-slicked body tautened, and he felt hot semen seething in his own aching testicles at the thought of the formerly frigid blonde swallowing his friend's lewd cum down her graceful white throat.

"Suck harder!" he hissed. "Squeeze his balls – make him cum in your mouth!"

The photographer's obscene command sent the blonde model into a spasm of head-flailing, whimpering ecstasy. Bobbing her flushed face up and down on the sleek fleshy pole pumping down into her wildly contracting throat, she reached her slender white hands up to gently cup the stranger's swaying testicles. At the same time she gripped her helplessly quivering thighs together with all the strength in her healthy body to bring on the climax which was building inside her moist, swollen vaginal lips.

He's going to cum in my mouth!!! her lust-frenzied mind cried, and the obscene vision of this unspeakably corrupt act sent her body sweeping closer to the crest of ecstasy.

Suddenly Ted Gladstone's muscular body tensed and Sandi felt the soft sac of his testicles vibrate in her hands. The whole length of his enormous rod lay unmoving for one brief second, and then she felt the cum-swollen vein on the underside quivering. A second later, hot jets of pungent-tasting male sperm were spewing into her mouth and she was gulping and swallowing in a mindless frenzy as she strove to drain him of every last lewd droplet.

"Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!" groaned the photographer behind Sandi, and then the blood-filled head of his rock-hard penis, pressed so obscenely up against her neck was also shooting out cascades of thick, heated sperm. Suddenly the lust-crazed young woman's tight-pressed thighs began to tremble so violently that she had to cling to Gladstone's legs for support, but her mouth remained glued to the slowly deflating penis in her mouth even as her own soul-shattering orgasm swept through her defiled young body.

For what seemed an eternity, the three orgiasts clung to one another's perspiration and cum slickened bodies, writhing together in mutual ecstasy there on the kitchen floor. At last the blonde wife let the limp penis slip from her sperm-stained lips and slumped to the floor, while the tall stranger whose cock she'd just sucked leaned weakly back against the refrigerator, gasping for breath. Tony, the immoral instigator of this sordid scene, sank into a kitchen chair to stare down with lustful satisfaction at the half-unconscious body of the violated young model.

"That was great for starters," he leered. "Now how about me getting her in the cunt? That's just what the little bitch wants, I bet!"

But before anyone else could pull their sated bodies together enough to respond to the lewd suggestion, the sound of gravel crunching beneath car tires in the driveway outside the kitchen window sent the two men leaping into action. Naturally enough, they believe the car to belong to Mr. Smith; just as naturally, they wanted to be out of the house before he arrived. Ted had the presence of mind to switch off the overhead light, while Tony grabbed Sandi's limp body and guided the glassy-eyed blonde into the bathroom, turning on the taps in the tub and leaving her propped up on the toilet seat.

"Lock the door behind me," he hissed. "And don't you dare tell him what happened – but of course, you wouldn't want to do that!"

Then, struggling into their jeans as they ran, the two young rapists fled through the front door and across the front yard to the car they'd left parked out on the street. As they'd hoped, the angle of the house hid them from Mr. Smith, whose car had reached the end of the driveway, and without a backward glance they sped away from Lakeview Estates in the direction of Brunrocke. As far as they were concerned, it had been a perfect evening climaxed by a miraculously smooth escape. If they'd thought to look back, however, they might not have left Sandi Smith's with such haste, for the action was nowhere near over.

Lock the door behind me… Lock the door behind me… and don't tell him what happened…

The photographer's parting words resounded for at least five minutes in Sandi Smith's ears before their meaning penetrated the whirling black cloud blanketing her brain. Even when her mind did begin to clear at last, the instructions made little sense because she'd never heard the automobile pulling into her driveway.

Why did Tony throw me in the bathroom? Have they really gone? The nineteen year old wife's shock-widened eyes flicked in bewilderment around the gleaming pink cubicle, then dropped to regard her bruised, cum-stained body with disgust. And if they've gone, why should I lock the door? And who shouldn't I tell – oh, they meant Verne, I guess – oh Verne, Verne, Verne…

Soul-shattering guilt suddenly returned full force to the anguished blonde who sat slumped over on the toilet seat, her tear-streaked face buried in her hands. An unmistakable acrid odor composed of cock flesh, drying sperm, and perspiration penetrated her nostrils, sending a guttural sob wrenching from her aching throat. As she lurched unsteadily toward the bathtub, all the perverted details of her wanton cock-sucking flashed in vivid Technicolor detail before her tear-reddened eyes.

Since the photographer had turned on the tap as he fled from the house, the large pink tub was now half full of hot water. Sandi sank her bruised and aching body into the foam, and began desperately scrubbing at her curvaceous young figure, determined to remove every trace of the two men's lewd sperm. The thin white cum stains seemed to be everywhere – on her chin and graceful white throat, her painfully tender breasts, her sloping shoulders, even trickling down her back – and down between her still-trembling thighs were the equally appalling stains from her own feminine orgasmic juices. In a way, the young wife was grateful that she still felt slightly intoxicated, for without the dulling effect of alcohol she was certain she would be unable to bear this ultimate degradation. As it was, her hot tears were splashing into the bathtub and wracking sobs were echoing above the sound of splashing water.

At least now I know for sure what sort of a person I really am, she thought bitterly. Only the most despicable slut could do what I've just done… and like doing it! I don't think I have a brain at all – only a vagina!

Then, as Sandi noticed that even her long ash-blonde curls were snarled and matted with Tony Fletcher's dried semen, her heartbroken sobs rose louder than ever. Somehow this lewd detail was the last straw for the overwrought young girl, and she fell into a state of near-hysteria, her sobs so loud and uncontrollable that she never heard the urgent pounding on the back door, nor the door opening and footsteps hurrying through the house.

"That's funny…" Clare Johnson muttered to herself as she brought her Volkswagen to a halt at the end of the Smith's driveway and turned off the lights and ignition. "I was sure I saw a light on in the kitchen, but now it's pitch-black. She must have heard the car – why would she switch off the light?"