Jon Reskind - Caesar_s revenge book II

Jean sensed the huge man's urgent thrusts and eagerly and shamelessly ground her nakedly trembling buttocks back at his raging cock pounding into her, the resounding, rhythmic smack of his cum-filled balls down against her own tiny screaming clitoris causing her eyes to gape unseeingly in the mounting passion of her own wildly rising moment of orgasm! It swept over her as she hungrily licked and sucked at the wailing Lydia's insanely undulating cunt… at the insane thrusting of her own fire-inflamed young ass cheeks back onto Link Morgan's heavily plunging cock!

And then… then, all was culminated deep in her own crazily contracting belly and maddeningly driving loins, a shattering of universes colliding in unimmaginable ecstasy throughout her nakedly jerking body… while, she… like the very central sun, brought them all fulfilling joy, her belly filling and almost bursting with the wetly hosing sperm of the heavily grunting man fucking into her from behind… and then, collapsed as the last of her explosively flowing cunt juices backlashed out the tightly locked lips of her vagina and she fell away from both of them, while the fierce wild animal who had seen it all, walked in raging circles outside beyond the barring window…!

"How is she?" Mark Blakely questioned, barging through his front door-way, only to be stopped by Steve Foster and Doc Emory, both immediately launching from their places on the couch to confront the big, young deputy sheriff.

"Easy, boy, easy…" his red-bearded writer-friend stepped in front of him with engulfing arms.

"She's okay, Mark… resting comfortably right now," Doc Emory added, coming close to put a hand on the younger man's broad shoulder.

"Wh-What the hell happened?" the obviously tired, young law official asked, looking from one face to the other. "I was all the way over in Spencer County at the sheriff's office for Christ's sake… when I should've been here! What the hell happened, anyway…?"

"Easy, man, will you?" Steve pressed. "Cut your voice down; she's trying to sleep…" Warmly, the slender magazine writer clapped his friend on the arm. "It's okay, boy… she's all right… no need to get up-tight… just a little accident…"

"How? What…?" Mark insisted.

"It seems that her car went into the ditch just outside of town, Mark," Doc Emory replied in his always calm voice. "She struck her head against the windshield… suffered a mild concussion with contusions, but nothing to be alarmed about…"

"Outside of town?" Mark confusedly repeated. "What the devil was she doing? Where'd she been…?"

"No one seems to know that yet, Mark," Steve quickly put in. "A ranch-hand on his way to town came across her car in the ditch. She was semi-conscious and mumbling incoherently…"

"The shock," Doc Emory hastened to add, throwing Steve Foster a glaring expression. "Frankly, Mark, the only damage is a badly rumpled fender on your car…"

"To hell with the car! I want to see Jean!" Mark exclaimed, attempting to move around them, but not too successfully.

"Hold it, big man!" Steve barred, edging his friend off. "Carol's in there with her now nursing her away to dreamland. You go barging in and she's apt to go right off the deep end again…!"

"What the hell you talking about, the deep end?" Mark replied, his eyes widening.

"Shut up, will you, Foster!" Doc Emory calmly intervened. "Of course you can see her, Mark. She's been asking for you. It'll help her to get some rest. But wait… understand that she's not quite herself… that blow to her forehead mixed her up a little and she mightn't make sense…"

Mark nodded, a tightness clutching at his gut. Jesus Christ, his Jeannie hurt… and what had he been doing but undermining everything they'd dreamed of…! He ought to have his balls lobbed off…! "I… I'll go easy, Doc… promise…!"

The little man nodded and smiled. "Go ahead… quietly, Mark…"

He did, almost silently opening the door to see his Jeannie beneath the covers in the bed and Carol lying fully clothed on top of them beside her, holding his wife's hand. The latter saw him and smiled, half-raising up to place a shushing finger across her lips, but the blonde-haired girl stirred to the intrusion, opening her glazed, smokey blue-eyes to search emptily about the room.

Something struck Mark at the very core of him in the manner of their wide vacancy. He saw the ugly swolleness on her forehead and tried to tie the two together, but intensive police training couldn't be denied. He moved forward to the bed-side and said: "Hello, baby… it's Mark. How are you, doll? Feel better…?"

"Ooohhh… Mark… darling… you've come!" she managed, looking elsewhere and never seeing him. "Feel better… feel better, doll… yesss, baby feels better… feels fine… everything's fine… fine…!"

The young deputy could only stare down at his young, blonde wife whom Carol was gently trying to console. He gaped at the rolling action of his wife's eye-balls flashing whitely at him as he stood there in knowledgable agony, growing rage beginning to seethe inside him. How often had he seen that sympton in the academy at L.A.!

"She's been drugged!" Mark blurted, re-entering the living room where Doc Emory and Steve Foster sipped bourbon over ice. "Jesus Christ, you ought to be able to see that, Doc…!"

"I can't be as sure of that as you can, Mark," the small-framed physician said, setting his drink on a table and brushing at his widening brow. "But then, I'm only a doctor."

"Shit! I've seen the same symptoms with acid-freaks a dozen times…!" Mark spat, brushing Steve's hand away. "A dozen times, I tell you, Doc…!"

"Like I said, Mark… I'm only a doctor!" the smaller man emphatically implied. "That a concussion could, and often does, produce the same effects, is merely a hypothetical diagnosis. You may well be right… but until I know different, I'll treat her from a medical standpoint according to the best of my ability! Without hospital facilities, and taking into foremost consideration her accident, I must conclude that she's suffering a concussion. Nothing that won't pass with a few days rest, I'm sure… But, if you want to take her to Spencer, we can run the necessary tests to be certain. Again Mark, you may well be right… God, I don't know anything, anymore!"

For a long moment, Mark stood there, staring almost unseeingly at the small, slender physician who had been one of his closest friends in Crescent Valley. He even read the distraught confusion in the noble little man's face. Peripherally, he saw Steve empty his glass and walk to refill it; he suddenly said: "Pour me one, too, buddy… I think I need it." Then, half forcing his smile toward Doc Emory: "I-I guess your word's still good enough for me, Doc. What the hell, didn't you save Birt Small's mule last week after the vet gave it up for glue?"

There was a tense moment before the releasing laughter; then the three men clutched their glasses in toast… yet none felt the warmth of Steve's pledge.

"Happy days!" the red-bearded writer extoled.

Though Jean had been helpless, she had never for a moment been unconscious. Her mind still wandered in unfeasible patches of incoherent happenings and exciting lust, her loins and belly ever churning with an underlying of sensual stimulation that seemed to be gnawingly insatiable. They had taken her, she vaguely remembered, and placed her in her car… Morgan driving it a long ways before he stopped and got out, pressing her over beneath the steering wheel… and then, with a tremendous jolt, it had all happened!

She lay now in the security of her own bed… Mark's bed, with Carol beside her, and the sun showing through her window. Was all of that last night? She thought it was… yes, it had to be, because Doc Emory had come, and later, Mark! Now, Carol undressed beneath the covers with her!