Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book I

But it was to no avail. The heat of the room, the lulling, sensual effects of the liquor and marijuana, the lecherous scenes of lust before her naive and innocent eyes were all too much to be swept away. Necking while watching a distracting motion picture, or outside her house with the threat of being caught by her parents was one matter. This pagan and completely uninhibited fulfillment of lusts was another, and it was working its debauching influence on the virgin teenager.

She couldn't resist the ever-building fire which swelled in her breasts, her loins, her vagina. No matter how hard she squeezed her thighs together, the flames of her flowering young pussy seethed and lashed with constant pressure. She moaned and squirmed, terrified that she wouldn't be able to control herself much longer.

Just as Stan knew she wouldn't.

Just as Tamera and Vic knew she wouldn't.

Just as everybody in the cabin knew she wouldn't – and they all waited impatiently for the trap to spring shut with a finality which would rip Jennifer Carmel from all her final moral moorings. They waited, beasts of carnivorous appetite, secretly gloating over what they were dead certain would soon be the hapless virgin's uncontrolled plunge into their own carnal world of hedonistic delight…

"I could use another drink, Lonnie," Cylvia Oliss said. She glanced at the young wife, smiling cat-like to herself. I don't need one – and by the way she's having trouble keeping steady, she doesn't need another, either – but she's going to!

"No… no I better not," Lonnie said. Her head was spinning from the unaccustomed heavy dosage of alcohol which had been fed to her. Fed by her own hand and the alternate turns at mixing by her best friend. On an empty stomach, the liquor went straight to work, and she realized belatedly that she was on the verge of being drunk, not just euphorically high. She couldn't even remember whether the empty glass on the coffee table was the symbol of her fifth or sixth drink; worse, she really didn't care. She just knew that she had to slow down…

"What about going out for dinner now?" she asked.

Cylvia Oliss stood up, smoothing her short dress. She shrugged as the picked up her glass – and Lonnie's as well. "I'm not hungry yet, I'm afraid. I ready feel like having another short one – I'll make a weak one for your." She walked into the kitchen and again poured both vodka and scotch into Lonnie's glass, then a good dollop of ginger ale; the sparkling mix only made the liquor be absorbed faster. She looked at the scotch bottle and smirked. It had been a fresh bottle when the evening had started. Here it was nearly ten o'clock and there was less than an inch left in the bottom. She was feeling good, not tipsy or anything even close to drunk because she'd made sure that Lonnie Carmel had gotten the bulk of the bottle.

"I certainly hate it when Martin's away," she sighed, sitting down beside Lonnie. She was so close that her thigh rubbed against her friend's leg… the move was not accidental.

"I know what you mean," Lonnie moaned.

"Without… without Roger I feel positively barren."

"No sex?" the Oliss woman said lewdly, slyly grinning.

"No…!" The sudden question, with its salacious overtones, surprised Lonnie. How bold! What did her friend think she did, anyway? Fool around while her husband was away? "Why, why Cylvia!" she gasped, "I'm faithful to Roger!"

Cylvia chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that, though God knows you could have all the men you wanted." She appraised the young housewife with calculating eyes, openly admiring her lush figure. "Your breasts are much larger than mine, and your hips… well, I don't mind telling you I'm envious of you."

"Thank… you," Lonnie said, shaken by the overt praise, and a little unsure how to accept it. It must be the liquor talking in Cylvia, she thought. We've both had quite a lot. She blinked as she found herself frankly studying her friend, not as a friend or even as a person, but as a woman – a sexual object which could attract and please. She wondered what Cylvia would look like in the nude, what it would be like to be a man and kiss her, caress her breasts (which were as sensual a pair as she'd seen, and certainly a match in their own right for her fuller ones) until the nipples stood out hard, to make love to her…

In shock, she smiled embarrassingly as Cylvia caught her gaze, and drank nervously from her full drink. Cylvia leaned over her to get a cigarette from the cannister on the table, and her breast swung heavily against Lonnie's arm. The heady musk of her perfume filled her nostrils, and with deliberate provocation Cylvia straightened and searched for a match in her purse with a sensuous motion of the hips and legs. Her skirt rose a little higher…

"No, I think that you could find lots of males, and nicely endowed ones, too; with lots of money, good looks and long hard cocks."

"Cylvia-!" came a horrified choke at her sudden use of the lewd word.

"Don't be shy. It's just hen-talk between us girls." Cylvia winked at Lonnie. "Haven't you ever wanted to say a few dirty words? Let your hair don and use them the way a man does?"

Lonnie hesitated, embarrassed but at the same time fuddled by the vodka and scotch enough so that it all seemed sort of innocently daring. A private game between the two of them which couldn't hurt.

"Say a dirty word," Cylvia wheedled. "Say something like cock."

"C-cock," Lonnie found herself repeating. She blushed madly.

"Something else. Go on."

"Screw…" Lonnie shivered at the use of the vulgarisms. It was exciting and perverted, and tinged with excitement. She felt a small surge of pleasure in her abdomen, and a little lower in her vagina. She giggled slightly, and averted her eyes. "Screw," she said louder.

"Screw," Cylvia said disparagingly. "What kind of dirty word is that? Screw! What does Roger do when he wants to empty his cock and balls into your cunt, Lonnie? Tell me the real word for what he does to you."

"He… fucks me," she stammered.

"Where?" The question came out with a gasp, as if the words were exciting the Oliss wife… which they were, but her reaction only helped feed the rising thrill in Lonnie Carmel's loins. Cylvia licked her lips, her pink tongue circling them and leaving them glistening. "Where does Roger fuck you?"

"In… in…" she wasn't sure if she could say it! But then she felt like such an innocent, such a prude in front of her friend. Cylvia was enjoying it, and in honesty, she had to admit she was as well… and she trusted her friend, trusted her as only one true confident can trust another. It wasn't as if she was on stage, addressing an audience. She could be free with Cylvia… and more important, with Martin and Roger gone and only the two of them together now, she wanted to be free with her. She was drawn closer to her friend by the circumstances, and the bond tightened another notch as she said haltingly: "Roger… fucks me… in the… cunt! In my cunt!"

"Sure he does," Cylvia said. "Just like Martin fucks me in my cunt." She leaned back in her seat and stretched out her legs and to Lonnie's amazement, began to rub her thighs and belly with the palms of her hands. She stroked all around her genital area, moaning slightly as if in heat. "Ohhhhh, Lonnie, sometimes when Martin's not around, I nearly go out of my mind wanting a cock in me. My cunt gets so hot, that I think it'll burn a hole in my panties." She grinned lewdly at the lovely wife. "Sometimes," she whispered as if it was a guilty secret, "I even walk around without my panties. Without anything, just so the cool air will calm the fire in my pussy down."

"You… do?" Lonnie gulped her drink, the brazen confessions forging new and evil images on her brain. Cylvia… pantyless, going about the house naked between her legs… but why not?