Anonumous - The prodigal virgin

Marion, her eyes glazed with passion, bent so close that the odors from this friction assailed her nostrils, filling her with such carnal desire that with a cry of utter abandonment she had fallen upon the couple, tearing at them, screaming in her madness for Stan to withdraw from Mildred and turn his bludgeon toward her own burning nest. The couple, now nearing the climax, paid no attention. Heated to the fullest extent by the mutual contact, they concentrated on realizing the completion of the intercourse, ignoring the desperately voiced cries of the unwilling virgin.

Marion had almost gone mad. Unable to break the embrace of the squirming couple she fell upon Stan’s back, twisting herself so that her legs straddled his neck, and lying flat she bent her head until her face was scarcely an inch from her sister’s well-filled box. As Stan recoiled from each lunge Marion could see an inch or so of its base, glistening with the dew that had been showered upon it as a result of the invasion. His big balls swung formidably to and fro, striking sharply against Mildred’s buttocks at each lunge. At length, driven beyond further ability to be a mere witness to this pleasurable exhibit, and fairly groaning with unsatisfied lust, Marion sank her head between the heaving buttocks of her brother-in-law, and, parting the cheeks with shaking fingers, she applied her lips and tongue to that orifice above the swinging bag. She continued the perverted caressing, growing bolder as the squirming beneath her increased in fervor. Down farther went her excited tongue, licking and darting at the bag, farther still, and, lifting the giant balls in her hands, she pressed her lips against the wriggling pussy of her sister, her face flat against Stan’s inner thigh. This she did not stop until the bodies beneath her had relaxed into exhausted inertness. She was not aware, in fact, for several minutes, that the motion had ceased, so carried away had she been by her emotions. It was not until Stan’s tool, wilting after its terrific bout, had fallen limply from its gaping sheath, to dangle futilely against Mildred’s now relaxed hips, that Marion noticed the cessation of activity.

Raising herself to an erect position she saw the couple lying in a sort of stupor, or so it seemed. Mildred lay lax, her arms lying loosely at her sides, her eyes half-closed, her mouth open, Stan was even worse-he lay like a bag of potatoes, his dead weight full upon Mildred’s supine nakedness. Finally he stirred, and with a half-audible groan he rolled off her, his sex now diminished in size and flopping against his groin.

At this point Marion stopped thinking of what had happened. She felt utterly degraded for an instant. Then, remembering the treat that was yet in store for her, the fulfillment of her desire that Stan had refused her, and, knowing that he would not take the treasure of her virginity, she determined to waste no time in securing for herself a husband.

She thought of Herbert Allison quite naturally, for they had more than once betrayed an interest in each other. Each knew that the other was attracted, and, indeed, both had thought subconsciously of marriage. Thus it was that their separate experiences of that warm night had hastened a climax that otherwise would possibly have been brought about in a more roundabout and formal manner. They encountered each other that afternoon on the beach, and, although Herbert thought that he was bringing suit to Marion, he was actually maneuvered into a proposal by the girl’s suggestion. For, though Marion was a novice at the game of sex, she was gifted with that power that all women are born with use instinctively. Therefore, as the couple sped toward the city, where they had decided to be married quietly, Herbert’s congratulations to himself were not altogether in order. Had he but known it, he had had little more to do with the wedding than offering himself as groom.

The marriage had been performed with all the pragmatic briefness that characterizes the civil ceremony. Although Marion would have preferred the ornate pomp of a church wedding, with its attendant hullabaloo, she had yielded this desire to the more immediate necessity of escaping from her sister and brother-in-law. And, having recognized beforehand that Herbert possessed all of the outward characteristics of a good husband-young, handsome, physically stalwart, as well as the recipient of a substantial income-the necessity for a quick decision after his abrupt proposal had not been confounding. Having decided some hours before that Herbert would be the ideal mate, and having formulated the first steps toward bringing him around to a proposal, his “jumping the gun” had been a welcome surprise. In her desire to have a husband of her own, to gain the supreme pleasure that Stan Cochrane, with all of his libidinous caresses, had denied her, Marion had acceded readily to Herbert’s idea of a hasty ceremony, without even one of their friends as a conspirator.

On the way to the Chicago hotel where they were to wait for the hour when they would board a train for New Orleans, they hurriedly planned a honeymoon itinerary, in the course of which they intended to stay in Havana, Bermuda, and possibly, if they felt a mutual desire when these places had been visited, Europe. As Herbert drove the powerfully motored car at a slow pace through the snarl of traffic, he made no attempt to conceal his impatience. Several times Marion heard him curse audibly, and her first momentary shock at this unseemly language was quickly dispelled by the realization that she was not one whit less impatient than her husband of ten minutes. And although she was less gifted in the art of profanity, having heard her first “cuss word” less than a month before this day, she was thinking unkind things about the trucks and automobiles and policemen that impeded their journey.

At length the car swung from the thick confusion of traffic and came to a halt before the magnificently austere entrance of the ultra-select hotel that Herbert had chosen. It was a hotel of the swankiest type, exclusive to the point of snobbery, and so exacting in its clientele that it was said to have once turned away one of the world’s most famous actresses because to have such a celebrity in the establishment would have resulted in the hotel’s being mentioned in the newspapers. Herbert had not thought of the hotel as a honeymooner’s sanctuary. Had he done so it is likely that he might have rejected it in favor of less snobbish accommodations. He had driven there from force of habit, since it had been patronized by his parents for many years. As he signed the register, he thought, smiling as he did so, that his guiding impulses had served him well. A word to the manager, whom he had known since boyhood, and no word would leak out that Herbert Allison, the millionaire explorer, was in the city with his bride of a hurried courtship. Here he and the lovely Marion would be free from the congratulations of a well-meaning but at the moment unwelcome host of friends.

Marion stood nearby as Herbert talked with the manager. She strove to exhibit an appearance of nonchalance, as though she had been going to hotels with her husband for several years, but it must be admitted that she made a poor imitation of a casual matron. Several passersby looked meaningly at the two small bags, all the luggage that she and Herbert had between them, and raised suggestive eyebrows as if to say: “Ah, a little bride-a lamb going to slaughter.” A woman passing, a plump woman whose appearance suggested a wifehood of at least ten years, looked at her and sighed. How can they know that I am just married, Mildred asked herself. She blushed, glancing furtively around the lobby at the staring people, and then she noted with great relief that Herbert was hurrying toward her, a smirking little bellboy trailing behind.