William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

"The other two times – up at my cabin, and the other night in the car…"

Up at Ralph Taylor's cabin!

But nothing had happened between her and Ralph there, nothing at all, she had only been with Howie…

"W-What did you mean?" she cried suddenly. "What did you mean?"

Taylor stopped talking, his hands on his hips. "About what, baby?"

"About… about your cabin. You… you said you and I, up at your cabin… what did you mean!"

His laugh was low and ugly. "That's right, you don't know about that, do you? Well, let me tell you then, Cindy. You see, Howie and I planned that whole business… showing you the pictures, getting you excited… Norma talked to you on my orders, putting you in the right frame of mind for your first try at sucking cock… the room was dark after you and Howie had finished fucking that first time and so we just traded places… remember when he got up and went to the bathroom, and then came back? That wasn't him, Cindy, that was me… he went down and Norma sucked him off… it was my cock you sucked that night, baby… my cock was the first one to slide in and out of that sweet, soft little mouth of yours, my cum the first to pour down that graceful virgin throat of yours, mine, Cindy, Ralph Taylor's cock and Ralph Taylor's cum, not Howie's, not your husband's…"

Each of his words were like lashing cuts of a whip to Cindy Jamison. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She flung her hands up to her ears, pressing them hard there and rocking back and forth, back and forth. Miraculously, she did not take that final, fatal plunge across the line into madness, though she came within a hair's breadth of it. Tears welled out of her eyes, rolled down over her ashen cheeks, down over her high, quivering, ruby-capped breasts as she rocked there on the floor under the salacious gazes of the two unfeeling, uncaring men who stood over her.

There had been one more revelation, after all, and it had been the big one. Howie, her beloved Howie, the man she trusted and believed in above all others, had betrayed her, had plotted with Ralph Taylor to swap her for Norma. He had been unfaithful to her, having sex with Ralph's wife and at the same time abandoning her to the manager. He had taken her great gift, her acquiescence to oral love which she had made for him and only him, and flung it back in her face; he had allowed her unknown in her alcoholic state to lavish her attentions on the lust-incited penis of Ralph Taylor instead of on his own.

And what of Norma, the woman who had professed to be a friend and confidante? She, too, had been in on the plot from the beginning. She hadn't told Ralph about Samuels merely as a way of seeking further solace for Cindy; no, she had done it so that Ralph could somehow locate the evil postal clerk and join forces with him for more and greater depravity. Her words to Cindy about the young blonde wife's sexual enjoyment of the perversions at the hands of Steve Samuels, her words about forgetting what had happened and not telling Howie or anyone else, had not been in Cindy's best interests at all – but in Ralph's and hers.

Dear God above, her whole world had collapsed completely and irrevocably about her! The people she loved and trusted had sold her out… there was no one left to whom she could turn, no one who cared, no one who was unselfish. She was alone, completely alone, her helpless body a pawn, a toy, a thing to be used at will…

And suddenly, then, the tears stopped and the horror and fear and shock left her face to be replaced by a wooden expression showing nothing. Cindy Jamison stopped thinking altogether, and the liquor and the marijuana once more claimed full possession of her mind; it was as if her brain, realizing the danger it was in, the danger of snapping like a small twig under the tremendous pressure of all that Cindy had discovered and been subjected to on this day, had simply shut itself off so as to prevent the blowing of the circuits – the way computers are programmed to do. She was a lump of clay now, to be handled and molded at will.

And yet, the stirrings of passion still flowed through her loins…

"Listen, how much longer are we going to fuck around here?" Samuels' husking voice suddenly filled the room. "Young Mrs. Jamison looks like she's gonna pass out or something. Let's get on with it, for Christ's sake."

Ralph Taylor looked at the suddenly blank-eyed wife of Howard Jamison, then shifted his gaze to where Sally Reagan was still sprawled on the sofa, legs splayed, eyes squeezed tightly shut, fingernails digging blood from her thighs as she waited in her own private hell. "All right," he said finally. "Get that damned dog of yours in here. The camera's all ready to go."

Quickly, eagerly, Steve Samuels whistled high and shrill. A moment later, the huge furry form of the postal clerk's great dog, Ringo, bounded into the room, tail wagging. The animal went directly to the couch, sniffing the wide-splayed womanhood of Sally Reagan familiarly. The young black-haired wife gasped, seeming to snap out of her semi-catatonic state, and she turned her hands, palms outward, to the dog, as if to ward off some vicious attack. "No!" she moaned. "Oh, God, no, no, not again! I can't stand that dog again, please, ohhh please…!"

"Shut up, Mrs. Reagan," commanded Samuels. "You'll do what we tell you, or else. Now get down on the rug on your knees like the little bitch you are. Get down on all fours. Hurry it up!"

The black-haired girl obeyed, body trembling. Ralph Taylor instructed, "The same goes for you, Cindy. On all fours, facing Sally. Leave a little room between you."

Mesmerically, the hopeless blonde wife obeyed her husband's lascivious boss. She knelt facing Sally Reagan, both women beyond any help, beyond caring, not looking at one another now. Watching them, Ralph began to tremble with growing excitement. It coursed through his thick body, making his erect penis throb palpitatingly with anticipation. He looked sideways at Samuels. "Take some pictures while I start things off. You know how to work a Polaroid, don't you?"

"Sure, but why can't I get down there, too?" whined Samuels. "The camera has a timer…"

"Never mind the timer yet. Just take some pictures, a half dozen of them. And they'd better be good."

With that, he stepped forward and went to his knees before the crouched figure of Cindy Jamison. He held his hardened cock in his right hand, lifting it up close to her face, moving his knees forward so that the tip of the immense cudgel almost touched the moist red lips of the subjugated young wife. "Open your eyes, Cindy," he commanded. "Look at my cock, look at it, look at what you're going to take in your mouth for the second time!"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw through her fogged retinas the great girth of Ralph Taylor's weapon, saw every ridge and pore of it as he moved it back and forth in front of her head like a swaying cobra's hood. Her tongue came out involuntarily to moisten her lips as she stared at the unseeing eye dripping fluid in the huge hardened head.

"Put your hand on my cock now, Cindy," he told her in a panting voice, his legs widespread before her face, and she obeyed mechanically, wrapping her hand around his masculinity. A shiver passed through her at the touch, unwanted but there nonetheless, and Cindy began to work her hand roughly up and down, watching the foreskin pucker over the engorged head, then wrap itself over the shaft. With increasing rhythm, she stroked Ralph Taylor's cock, staring at it, warmth beginning to seep through her loins again.

The automobile executive could take no more of the excruciating pleasure of her moving fingers. "Put it in your mouth now, baby! Put my cock in your mouth. Suck me, Cindy, oh, Jesus, suck my cock!"

With a groan of sheer animal lust, Taylor moved forward, flexing his hips, pressing his hard rubbery masculinity against her soft, moist lips, feeling the heavy bloated head resting against them. Cindy tasted the familiar bittersweet flavor, and her mouth parted automatically to accept the offering of lust, guiding it inside her warm wet cavern with her still-stroking hand.