William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

Samuels picked up the second typed sheet from his lap, and read through it salaciously. It was a description of each of the return pictures, with side comments of a lascivious quality; the comments were numbered, and the venereous government employee saw that a corresponding number had been inked into the upper right hand corner of each photo.

He glanced up, licking his lips, his eyes fixing on the fear-whitened face of Cindy Jamison. "Come over here, Mrs. Jamison," he commanded harshly. "Come over here and sit next to me on the couch and look at these photos. That's part of your lesson Mrs. Jamison. You must look at them and listen while I read these lewd, filthy descriptions to you. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison?"

"No!" she heard herself cry out. "No, I… I won't! Oh, God, I can't!"

"The hell you can't!" Samuels' wizened face turned more ugly. "You'll Goddamned do what I tell you to do! That is, if you want me to go on being kind, Mrs. Jamison. If not, then I'll take these to my superiors, I'll report you, I'll make out like you've been sending these dirty things for months and months now. I'll ruin you, Mrs. Jamison, maybe even have you put in prison for violating our postal laws! I can do that, don't think I can't!"

Cindy stared in abject horror at this… this monster who sat across from her. Could he… could he actually do what he had threatened? Could he have her put in jail? Well, why not? He was in a position of authority, and if he lied and perjured himself, they would still take his word over hers – especially with that letter and these photographs. Oh, God, then she was completely at his mercy! Completely at the mercy of a man who was surely insane!

Quaveringly, the fearful and tormented young housewife stumbled to her feet and groped blindly to the couch, sitting next to Samuels fighting down the dread which rose in her throat at his nearness. His eyes feasted on her flesh, and he repressed a desire to grab her, throw her down, rape her right here and now; slowly, must go slowly, better that way, he told himself, oh, am I going to fuck you tonight, you snooty young bitch, I've thought of nothing else for the past week…

Cindy's hands would not remain still, and she didn't want him to know the extent of her fear. Something to occupy her fingers, yes that wax it. She reached out for the package of her cigarettes on the coffee table.

Samuels put out his hand, claw-like fingers touching the back of her soft wrist and causing her to pull back as if she had come in contact with a snake. The venereous postal clerk smiled. "Won't you have one of mine, Mrs. Jamison? They're very good, a special blend…"

As he spoke, he removed a slender brown, crudely formed cigarette from the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed it to her. She took it automatically, perhaps suspecting in her liquor – and fear – fogged mind that it was more than just a plain cigarette but beyond any rational consideration of the fact at that moment. She placed it between her lips, allowed him to light it for her with a battered Zippo.

She inhaled deeply, tasting harsh, acrid smoke and coughed instantly, even though her lungs were accustomed to unfiltered cigarettes. "Draw slowly on it, Mrs. Jamison," Samuels' voice intoned authoritatively. "Then hold the smoke in your lungs awhile before releasing it… yes, that's it. Now you've got it. Again, Mrs. Jamison. It will relax you," he intoned hypnotically. "Again, again… yes, and again…"

The smoke no longer burned her throat and lungs, and Cindy began to experience a subtle relaxing of her muscles, of the edge of fear and near-hysteria which the vodka she had consumed had only brought into sharper focus. From somewhere in her subconscious a single word fought its way into her drugged conscious: marijuana. And, in that moment, she knew what the brown cigarette was, knew fully and completely. And yet, instead of frightening her, she felt only gathering relaxation, as if it didn't matter that she was smoking pot. It was the liquor combined with the narcotic effects of the marijuana and the mind-numbing fear of the weaselly little civil servant which brought about this state of mind; young Cindy Jamison, as she finished the joint, was in a state of almost hypnotic submittal.

Samuels, realizing this, smiled salaciously. "Here," he commanded as Cindy put the roach butt out in the ashtray. "Here's another." She accepted it, almost gratefully, and he lit it for her; this one would really do the trick, he thought exultantly, she won't have an ounce of resistance left in her when she's smoked this joint down.

He watched with salivating lips as she inhaled the sweetish marijuana smoke and finished the second reefer. Then, his cock ever-hardening in his pants now as the moment of his conquest, his subjugation, of this proud, snooty young bitch drew near, he thrust the set of photographs into the young wife's hand. "Now look at these pictures while I read what it says about them to you, Mrs. Jamison. That's it. Look at the top one now, number one. Good, good…" On and on his voice droned mesmerically.

Perspiration blurred Cindy Jamison's vision as she focused on the first photo. Full color… sharp and clear detail… extreme closeup… Samuels' soporific voice, reading from the typed sheet of paper in his hand: "Here is one of our favorites, my wife and I in action. Note how she's lying on that waist-high table, with her legs raised up and ankles locked around my neck. You can see my cock half-buried in her cunt, the way she likes it. This is a good position, because it allows the camera to see all, even the pussy hairs, and at the same time gives the woman plenty of pleasure."

Cindy gasped at the look of sheer abandoned lust on the face of the young, full-breasted, brown-haired woman in the photo… at the intense, passion-sweating face of the tall, shaggy-haired man fucking into her with his immense penis. Then, at Samuels' direction, she flipped to the second picture. The wizened postal clerk read: "This one shows my wife and I sixty-nining. She's licking my balls, the way she likes to do, while I have my tongue shoved all the way up her cunt. If you look closely, you can see that I have my finger in her asshole…"

Another picture… another lewd, provocative pose… another detailed, salacious description read aloud by the sweating, salivating government employee, Steve Samuels. And as Cindy looked at the photos, heard the words ringing louder and louder in the room around her, she began to experience a rippling of excitement, of passion in her stomach and loins. She tried to will it away, tried to tell herself it was wrong, this wasn't the time, this wasn't the place… but the sight of the photos was too much for her. She had learned, with her husband Howard, the new stimulation of erotic photographs, had been conditioned now to them so that they brought about the same sexual upheaval inside her each time. She was powerless to prevent the flowering of her cuntal passage to secrete forth the juices of her passion; she had been excited earlier in the day, thinking about the previous night with her husband, wishing he were home so that they could make love, and some of that excitement had still remained in her body even with the apprehension at Samuels' call and subsequent arrival. The vodka and the marijuana had only served to heighten it, and the photos had brought it bubbling forth now.

The young wife squirmed restlessly on the couch as she stared at yet another photograph – this one of the handsome couple on a huge armchair, the girl with her legs spread wide over both arms and the man kneeling on the cushion between them, his cock pressed into the wide-splayed pinkness of his voluptuous wife's pussy. Cindy's nipples were hard now, under the housedress, and she began clenching and unclenching her thighs as Samuels' voice intoned hypnotically in her ear, repeating lascivious words over and over until they were the only ones she heard: cock… cunt… fucking… sucking…