The Stepfather Raped Her
(M+/f, inc, ir, size, rape)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.com

Mrs. Heather Krantz was napping on the couch, so she didn't hear the large man enter the house through the kitchen door. He was feeling her up before she realized her privacy had been invaded. When her eyes fluttered open, he was leaning over her. He had a big work-callused hand between her legs and was cupping her crotch.

"About time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty," he slurred, leering down at her with an obscene expression on his beard-stubbled face. His hot breath fairly reeked with whiskey.

"Ohmygod!" Heather gasped.

It was a warm spring day. Housework had made her hot and sweaty so, being alone, she had stripped down to her sheer nylon panties before lying down to rest. Out of modesty and fear, she attempted to cover her huge DD-cup exposed breasts with her hands. Instinctively trying to protect her virtue, the young bride clamped shut her long, shapely legs. This only trapped the man's brazen hand between her creamy thighs and locked it tighter against her scantily clad pubis.

"What are you doing here," the nineteen-year old yelped, "at this ti-time of the day?"

"Feeling your cunt, you sexy little wench," he said, increasing the pressure until she could feel the tips of his lewdly probing fingers stuffing the narrow strip of nylon into her crack.

"You're drunk!" she accused, forgetting her tits as she grabbed his muscular forearm and shoved futilely at it with all her might, which wasn't much because she was recuperating from a miscarriage and was still rather weak.

"Guess I am a little under the influence," he admitted, keeping at her. "Finished that remodeling job ahead of schedule. Me and the boys had a few to celebrate. Want some pussy now. Some of your pussy, Heather baby. Open them legs and let old Frank pet that pretty little muff."

"No, Frank, don't," she whined, trying to reason with him. He was her stepfather-in-law. Her husband's mother was dead. She and Vic had moved in with his stepdad because Vic was attending college on the military's Veteran program and Heather had had to quit her job due to pregnancy. Frank had agreed to give the room and board in return for Heather's housekeeping services. "You mustn't treat me this way, Frank!"

He hooked his powerful fingers under the secretion band of her nylon panties and yanked them down to her knees.

"Frank, no! Please! What's come over you? I'm your daughter-in-law! Your son's wife!"

"My stepson's wife," he corrected, whisking her underpants on down her legs and tugging them off over her flailing feet. "There's no blood relation between Vic and me. Wouldn't bother me none right now even if there was. Hot damn, just look at you. Only nineteen and pretty as they come. You're real tender stuff, Heather baby. Come on now, be good to me. I ain't had no teen-age pussy in years and years."

He flung away her panties, leaving her completely naked. She was still groggy from her nap, sort of dazed and confused. This sordid happening didn't seem real. Even as he pried her legs apart and started fondling her privates flesh to flesh, she still couldn't believe that her husband's stepfather would actually treat her in such a grossly vulgar manner. Oh, she knew he'd been lusting after her, all right, from the way she'd caught him looking at her when he thought no one noticed, but she'd never dreamed he would ever really try anything with her.

"Frank, you'd better stop it," she warned him icily. "I'll tell Vic."

"Think I give a crap?" he hooted, grinning lewdly as he held her down and probed the end of his thick middle finger into the moist warmth of her furry slot. "Tell him. If he don't like it, the two of you can move to hell out."

"Ooooh," she whimpered, as his knobby-knuckled finger embedded itself into her defenseless vagina. "Frank, you... you know we can't move out. We're broke, and we've got all those medical bills to pay!"

She could tell by his lecherous expression that pleading would do no good. Struggling didn't, either. Frank was a big, rough-cut man, six- foot-two, with the strength of a bull. He was a contractor who'd worked with his hands all his life. He could toss sacks of cement around like they weighed nothing. When Heather slapped him in desperation, he slapped her back and then imprisoned both her wrists in one of his hamlike hands. There was nothing she could do but lie there and let him abuse her. Tears of shame and humiliation overflowed her eyes as he held her helpless and stroked his knobby finger in and out of the feminine slit between her legs.

"Oh, please, Frank... nooh... please don't," she begged, blinking piteously up at him. "Leave me alone, damn it!"

"You've paraded that cute little ass in front of me once too often, baby. The teasing's over. It's time to pay up."

"I never teased you!" she wailed, attempting to scoot up and disimpale herself from his passion-provoking finger. She had to get free of it, because his indecent manipulations were getting to her against her will.

"Bullshit, you never teased me," he barked. "How about all the times you've sashayed around in them shortie nightgowns, switching your bottom and rolling them baby-blue eyes my way?"

"I-I..." her voice trailed off. She couldn't deny his accusation. Her only defense was a plaintive whine of, "I just didn't th-think. I never did it to tease you. I didn't, I didn't! Honest, I didn't!"

"The devil you didn't. Maybe you didn't realize how you were affecting me, but I think you did. No matter now. You've got my tongue hanging out, whether you meant to do it or not, you little cock-teaser, and I mean to cut me a piece of you, here and now!"

"But Vic!"

"Piss on Vic!"

In addition to finger-fucking her, he leaned over and orally engulfed one of her tender pink nipples. His lips tightened around the tumescent aureole and he sucked down hard, scrubbing the sensitive nipple itself with the roughened upper surface of his tongue. The wet heat of his hungrily suctioning mouth sent an unwanted thrill arching through her.

"Ooooh... oh, nooh," she pleaded, thrashing about in a desperate attempt to break free.

It was no use. Her strength didn't compare to his. He overpowered her and held her defenseless as he went from one erogenous coral cone to the other, pleasuring them with his mouth while his thick finger jabbed incessantly within her responsively slickening slit. Heather couldn't help responding. She didn't want to be unfaithful to Vic, but his stepfather was working her up against her will. He had her panting for breath. He was making her pussy juicy and slick. When he had her good and hot, he stood up and dropped his pants and shorts.

"Take a look at it, Heather," He skinned back the long foreskin on his huge eleven-inch prick and brandished it at her, swinging it slowly from left to right. "You ever had a prick this size, little girl?"

"No, never," she gasped. She'd been a virgin bride. Her husband's was the only prick she'd had, and Vic's was puny compared to his stepdad's. Frank's was half again as long and nearly twice as big around. Heather couldn't take her shocked eyes off it. "You're hung like a... like a horse!"

"Yeah, heh, heh, and you want it too, don't you? Crammed right up into that hot little belly of yours."

"Oh, no," she whined, shaking her head. "Oh, Jesus, no! No man should be that big. Get that away from me... you'll kill me!"

"Well, that's tough shit, cock-teaser, because you're gonna get it anyway," he growled, stepping out of his pants and shorts and kicking them across the floor.

Heather leaped off the couch, thinking that if she could get to her and Vic's bedroom and lock herself inside, she would be safe. Frank was drunk and horny, half out of his skull, but surely he wouldn't break down a locked door to get at her, Heather reasoned.

Perhaps he wouldn't have, if she had got to her room, only she didn't make it to there. He caught her by the wrist and flung her back down onto the couch.

"OhdearGod!" she yelped, springing back up, her eyes wide with terror.

She tried to dash past him but he caught her again. This time instead of flinging her back onto the couch, he wrestled her down onto it. His lust-twisted visage loomed menacingly above her. She clamped shut her legs but he wedged his knees between hers and pried them apart.

"No! Stop it! Don't, Frank! No, goddamn it, NO!" she wailed, reaching down between her legs, clapping both hands over her pussy in a desperate attempt to protect it.

Frank's eyes were glassy now. He was snorting like a bull. As if she had no strength at all, he grabbed her wrists, jerked up her arms and pinned her hands to the couch cushion beside her shoulders.

"Turn me loose!" she whined piteously, thrashing about in a frantic effort to avoid being penetrated by him. "Don't rape me! Please don't rape me!"

When she felt the feverish cockhead of his massive organ brushing the insides of her thighs, Heather panicked. Her heart skipped a beat and then began pounding wildly against her heaving rib cage. The soles of her bare feet shoved down at the couch. She hurled herself upward, attempting to arch her back and buck him off her. Again and again she tried, but she couldn't budge him. Whereas Heather was only 5'1, 100 pounds of soft and curvaceous femininity, Frank stood over six feet tall and was 220 pounds of solid muscle. When Heather fell back winded and weak, all her frenzied struggling had bought her was another moment of purity.

Adding insult to injury, he laughed at her and told her she was a silly little bitch. Heather burst into tears. She'd never felt so helpless and humiliated in all her life. In a last-ditch effort to free herself, she instinctively lunged at his hairy forearm and sank her teeth into it, trying to bite a hunk out of him. He howled with the pain of it. Her teeth had broken the skin. She could taste his blood. Instead of deterring him, however, this turned him into even more of an animal. He squeezed her wrists so hard that Heather feared he might pinch her hands right off her arms. She could feel the gristly head of his rampant erection poking erratically at her groin, trying to bore its own hole since it couldn't locate the one nature had put there. Then the blind eye of his demanding member found its target. She whimpered. Her teeth lost their grip on his bleeding forearm as she felt the stretching pain of the in-boring knob. He worked about two- thirds of the huge cockhead into her too small gap and then he hunched her brutally, plunging the rest of his oversized phallus into her with one viciously impaling lunge.

"AARGH!" Heather screamed, her mouth flying open and her head falling back. "IT HURTS! OH, DEAR GOD, DEAR GODDD!!"

"Serves you right!" he hissed, fucking into her hard and fast from the very start. "You brought the blood! Goddamn you, I'll teach you to bite me like that!"

He powered the pole to her. His hairy buttocks jerked spastically up and down, as if he meant to pound a hole through the small of her back with the hard peen of his punishing hammer.

"Let up!" she gasped, wincing, cringing, making fists. "Oh, please, please... not so hard! You're ki-killing me!"

There was no mercy in him. A hard prick has no conscience, and besides, he wanted to hurt her to pay her back for biting him. He was drunk and horny enough not to give a damn about the consequences of forcing his lustful attentions on his pretty young stepdaughter-in-law. She had a tight, hot little cunt on her. Now that he was into her, he wouldn't be coming out until he'd emptied that big rusty load from his aching balls into the very depths of her heaving belly.

Heather's head snapped from side to side. She bit her lip. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she made tight fists against the pain and indignity of this vulgar sexual assault upon her innocent body. How could he abuse her this way? Her own husband's stepfather! If he didn't kill her with his penis, she was sure she would die from the shame of it.

And then, much to Heather's dismay, the terrible pain of being penetrated by so formidable a weapon ebbed swiftly away. He was still hurting her, only now it was starting to hurt good!

"Oh, nooh," she wailed, trying to deny the bursts of pleasure that his incessantly stabbing rod sent rippling up her spine.

It was no use. The unwanted pleasure was every bit as real as the pain it was crowding out of her violated loins, and it was mushrooming rapidly. Instead of cringing, as it had at first, her well-rounded bottom began squirming sensually now. She tried to lie still - telling herself she was being raped and there was nothing she could do about it - but lying still soon became a physical impossibility. Her Judas loins began undulating.

"Getting good to you, is it?" he slurred.

Heather gritted her teeth. She squinted shut her eyes and shook her head no. But it was getting good to her. Not only was he taking her against her will, he was making her like it, too! Heather didn't dare let him know it. Admitting it to herself was bad enough, for this betrayal by her body made her feel so cheap and dirty that she wished she could die.

He guffawed and kept right on riding her like a stallion stud-servicing an unwilling broodmare. Her facial expression changed and, a moment later, her eyelids blinked open reluctantly. She gazed up at him through eyes that were turning as glassy as his.

"You know you've got a cock in you... don't you, Heather baby?"

She nodded dumbly. The room seemed to be revolving luridly around her. It was difficult for her to breathe. Her desire was taking her over, wresting control of her feverish body away from her numbed mind. The muscles in her legs were twitching. She wanted to scream. Her hips were lifting toward him and she couldn't stop them.

"Your pussy's getting nice and juicy now," he said. "That's it, throw it up to me. Go on. Oh, yeah, yeah! Tell me you don't like it now!"

"You bastard," she hissed, as she gave in to the overwhelming urge and started humping it up to him. "You dirty, no-good heel!"

"Getting to you, am I? Yeah, I can tell I am, so you might as well admit it. Come on, admit it. You don't have to say anything, just grunt like the sexy pig you are.

"Don't talk to me that way," she sobbed, shedding bitter tears of shame and guilt even as she coiled her legs around his and started working with him. "I can't help myself! I can't, I can't! Oh, Lord Jesus, wha- what are you doing to me?!"

"Fucking you, he chortled. "And you like it, too!"

"Yes, yes," she panted, forcing her feet in under his shins so she could use his legs for leverage. "God help me, because I do like it! Ooooh... rape me... rape me harder!"

Heather was responding to Frank as she'd never responded to her own loving husband. Partly this was due to the wicked charge she was now experiencing over being taken forcibly, but mostly it was due to the way Frank was ravishing her. Vic had always been gentle with her because he respected and loved her. When Vic made love to her, he did so sweetly and tenderly. This was an entirely different brand of sex from what Heather was used to with her husband. Frank was a brute. He was treating her like a slut, ramming that huge cock of his roughly in and out of her with callous disregard for her as a person. Whereas Vic always tried to please her and invariably failed, his drunken stepfather was only out to please himself and, ironically, he was turning her on like crazy. His coarse masculinity struck the dormant cord of her submissive female nature. It was as if he'd awakened a hidden part of her personality that she'd never known existed until this moment.

"Oh, God," she moaned, matching him stroke for stroke. "I love it... your big fat dick! Ohhh! Mmmm! Oh, do it, daddy... fuck me good!"

She nuzzled her face into the sweaty crook of his neck, her lips going, Smack, smack, smack! as she kissed his neck passionately. When he released her wrists, instead of trying to hit him or scratch him as she would've only brief moments earlier, she flung her arms around his hairy torso and hugged him to her as if she thought he was the dearest thing in all the world.

"I had your number all along, didn't I, you little tramp?" he rasped, banging away at her.

Heather tried to tell him that he had her all wrong, that she'd been a virgin bride and had remained faithful to Vic until this very afternoon, but he wouldn't believe her. He called her a lying little whore and accused her of all sorts of marital indiscretions. She gave up tying to convince him otherwise. Let him think what he wanted, was her passion-fogged reasoning, because his massive organ felt wonderful plowing into her and that was all she really cared about at the moment.

"Ohh, ohh, ohh," Heather chanted, as the rutting slam continued.

The springs in the couch were squeaking and popping.

"Shake it, Heather baby! Shake that hot ass!"

His vulgar remarks egged her on. This was raw and primitive sex. They were going at it like a couple of wild animals, their perspiration- sheened abdomens clapping together wetly in mid-air. Heather had never been so hot in all her life. If Vic had walked in the door right then, she couldn't have stopped.

"You're a hunk of fuckstuff," Frank hissed. "And that's all you are! Just a cheating, cock-crazy tart!"

"Fuck me, you studhorse bastard," she pleaded, hunching up to him, raking his buttocks with her fingernails. "Just shut up and... ooouuuu... fuck me! Harder! Faster! Oh, Lord, it's good... soo good! Stuff it up me! Oh, you brute... darling man... go, go . . . ram me... rip me... call me dirty names if you must... only don't stop screwing me! Oh, daddy, daddy... hump it tooo me!"

He had her juices flowing, and his thick prick had her hairy hole plugged up too tight for her slippery secretions to dribble out. They built up inside her until they could be heard sloshing around in her vagina. Her steaming pussy started making lascivious squishing and sucking noises around his driving cock. They were both sweating and panting. His big hairy testicles whacked her in the rump repeatedly, making lewd splats as they slapped rapid-fire into her asscrack.

Heather thought she might lose her mind and didn't much give a hoot if she did. She'd never had such a long, rough hosing as this, not to mention the larger size of the hose being socked up her. Vic would've already gone off by now, leaving her hanging as he always did, but Frank was still going strong. Heather could feel an orgasm building within her. She'd read what it was like but had never had one herself, so she wanted it desperately. Even if it was only half as good as it felt like it might be, it would be marvelous! She had to have it, just this once, because she feared she might never get this close to one again.

"Hurry, hurry," she cried, bucking her greedy cunt up to him as she tugged at his butt to help him screw into her all the harder and faster. He couldn't go deeper; the head of his pistoning prick was already banging against the neck of her uterus, making that pear-shaped organ of femininity bob up and down like a cork on a wind-swept lake. "I think I'm... going to cum! God, I want to... how I want to! Push me! Push me over! Oh, God... yes... YES!"

Frank was close, too. His balls had already drawn up against his body. They were quivering with the need to release their burdensome load. He poured on the coals. Heather stayed right with him. Nothing could hold her back now. This was the most exciting moment of her life. She was going to make it this time. For another frantic few seconds, they screwed like mad with the springs of the couch squawking raspingly beneath their wildly bucking bodies.

Then Heather lost the cadence. Her body went rigid and bowed upward. Frank drove her lovely rump back down onto the couch and kept cramming the meat to her. She whimpered mournfully and began shaking all over. This was just the beginning of her climax, the preorgasmic tightenings that pulled deliciously at her blood-congested loins.

"WWWHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" she screamed, throwing back her head and digging her fingernails into his muscular asscheeks when the full force of her first-ever orgasm washed over her like a surging tidal wave of a tropical sea.

She had jerked him into her right up to his tight nuts, and he had no desire to back away. Her snug sheath clamped down around his fully inserted prick, squeezing it like a velvety vise.

"Jesus," he rasped, letting the pleasure of it bathe over him, for her little blond box was not only tight and steaming hot; now that she was cumming it had turned into one of those rarest and most sought-after cunts - a snapping pussy! The involuntary contractions of her sex muscles caused her silky vagina to clutch spasmodically at his cock. It was as if she were milking the sperm up from his quivering balls. "UUNNN," he groaned, and then, gruntingly, "UNG, UNG, UNG!"

With every jangling nerve in her keyed-up body Heather could feel the twitching of his dick and the big sticky hot jets of ejaculate he was spurting up into her belly. It was gushing out of him under terrific pressure, actually splatting against the tender mouth of her womb. Lost in the carnal rapture of the orgasmic moment, Heather dimly recalled without really caring that the doctor hadn't put her on the Pill yet.

"YOU'RE CUMMING, TOO!" she bleated. "I CAN FEEL YOU! OOOHHH! OH, GAWD, GGAAWWDD... CUM, DADDY, CUMMM... SHOOT IT OUT... DEEP AND HOT AND... SWE-SWEEETTT!!!"

He emptied his balls in her, both of them shuddering ecstatically, with Heather sobbing brokenly while he grunted groaningly in the age-old fashion of the male planting his seed.

The orgasm was fantastic but all too brief. Afterward Heather felt dirty and degraded. As the heat of her insane passion ebbed away, she slipped into a state of mild shock that befuddled her mind and turned her body numb.

"Let me up," she said dully.

"It hasn't gone soft yet," he said. "Let me catch my breath... and we'll have another go at it."

"Let me up," she repeated tonelessly.

"Why? What's the rush?"

"I'm afraid you might've knocked me up. You didn't wear a rubber."

"Oh, my God," he groaned. "I thought you were on the Pill!"

"The doctor said he would prescribe it, but he hasn't yet. I go for an examination tomorrow. He said he'd tell me then if it was all right for Vic and me to start having marital relations again."

"You mean... this is the first time... since you got out of the hospital?"

Heather nodded like a robot.

"Why didn't you TELL ME?" he yelled.

"Would it have made any difference if I had? Would you have believed 'A lying little whore?' I believe that's what you called me, isn't it, when I tried to tell you you were ruining a decent wife?"

"You mean... I really am the only other man besides Vic? Oh, good Christ, what have I done?!"

"You've raped me, that's what you've done. Now kindly pull your filthy dick out of me and let me up so I can go take a douche."

Frank couldn't back his wilting penis out of her fast enough. He seemed considerably more sober now, and was getting nervous as he realized the full extent of his criminal act. "Wait a minute now," he said as he helped Heather up. "I'll admit I manhandled you a little bit, maybe more than I should have, but you got half the fun and all the gravy, honey, so get off that rape shit, huh?"

"You... raped... me. Raped me. RAPED ME!"

"All right," he, gulped, sweating blood. "I guess maybe I did, sort of, but I didn't mean it that way, damn it! I'm sorry. Do you hear me? I'm sorry!"

"Not half as sorry as you're going to be, you uncouth sonofabitch," she mumbled, picking up her clothes.

"Huh? What did you say? Hey, listen, you're not really going to tell Vic about this, are you?"

"You're goddamned right I'm going to tell him!" she hissed, dashing for the bathroom.

But Heather didn't tell her husband. She was too ashamed because of the way she'd turned on to being raped. When Vic got home that evening, Heather gave him his supper, and saying she wasn't hungry, sat down to have a cup of coffee with him while he ate. Only she couldn't meet his gaze as they sat across the table from one another, and it was impossible for her to make small talk.

"What's the matter, honey?" Vic Krantz, a handsome, brown-haired young man of twenty-two who was a Vietnam veteran, finally asked his bride.

"Nothing," Heather mumbled, staring at a spot on the table halfway between them as she absently twisted a strand of her naturally curly blond hair which cascaded sexily down over her shoulders.

"You look like you lost your last friend."

"It's nothing," she snapped. "I'm just, ah, not feeling so good, is all. In fact, I think I'll just go to bed now, if you don't mind, dear. I've got this splitting headache," she lied, because she needed an excuse to get out of his sight before she burst into tears again, as she'd been doing on and off all afternoon.

"Sure, honey, go ahead. Don't worry about the dishes, I'll wash them."

"You're so good and kind," Heather muttered, getting up from the table. "I don't deserve a husband like you," she added whiningly as she darted from the room so he wouldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

It was nearly 9p that night when Hubert (Frank) Copeland came staggering bleary-eyed into the house after spending hours in a bar belting down straight shots of whiskey with beer chasers. He weaved his way into the lighted kitchen, where Vic was studying. Bracing himself against the table, Frank leaned over in front of Vic and stuck out his chin.

"Take a poke at me," Frank said, his words running together, barely intelligible because of the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "Kick my worthless ass good, 'cause I got it comin' and I know it."

Vic grinned good-naturedly. "You're drunk, Frank. Go to bed, why don't you, and sleep it off." Vic had joined the service only a couple of months after Frank had married his now deceased mother, so he and his stepfather were pretty much strangers to one another.

"You ain't gonna let me get away with it, are you?" Frank asked incredulously.

"Get away with what?"

"Then I guess she didn't tell you after all, huh?"

"Tell me what? Who, Heather? Frank, what are you talking about?"

"Should'da kept my big mouth shut," Frank mumbled, sinking dejectedly into a chair. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and craddled his rather coarse-featured face in his huge hands. "No, I should'da kept it in my pants, that's what I should'da done... and wish to God I had," he muttered, looking as well as sounding like a man in misery. "I gotta tell you, boy. I done somethin' awful and I gotta tell you 'cause my cons-conscience is givin' me fits."

Sensing that something really was wrong, Vic began to tense up.

"Finished that remodelin' job early," Frank began. "Me and the boys tipped a few to celebrate. When I got home, it was in the middla the afternoon, Heather was takin' a nap. She was layin' on the couch. All she had on was a pair'a panties and, well, I couldn't help gettin' me an eyeful, now could I?"

Vic began to squirm uneasily. "Aw hell, Frank," he said, trying to make light of it. "I don't guess you seeing her that way hurt anything. She shouldn't have been on the couch, anyway. If she wanted to take a nap, she should've gone to our bedroom and closed the door. I'll talk to her. It won't happen again."

"You don' understand," Frank replied impatiently. "I done more than just look at her, goddamn me. A whole lot more. I ought to be horsewhipped for what I done to that poor sweet innocent little wife of yours! I was drunk. I lost my head. I didn't know what I was doin' till I'd already done it!"

Automatically Vic's hands clenched into fists. His eyes narrowed down and the right corner of his mouth began twitching spastically. "Maybe you'd better tell me just exactly what happened."

Without holding anything back except the way Heather had turned on to being manhandled and taken against her will, Frank told Vic everything, as best he could recall it himself. He kept repeating over and over that it was all his fault, that Vic shouldn't blame Heather in any way for what had happened. He never used the word rape, but he did admit to ripping Heather's underpants off her and holding her down to get his dick into her. To prove that Heather had fought against him, he showed Vic his tooth- wounded forearm.

At first Vic couldn't believe his ears. He sat there in a state of mounting horror, literally shaking with rage. But then, as Frank went on speaking, Vic could almost see it happening in his mind's eye and, to his embarrassment and shame, he began to experience a vicarious thrill. His heart beat faster. His prick sprang up hard as a bone. The most delicious ache held ever known spread through his loins and tugged at the pit of his stomach. Vic was mortified by his perverted emotional response but, God forgive him, he secretly wished he could've seen his big brute of a stepfather cramming that great cock into his pure and innocent bride, the way he'd seen Frank cramming it to his pleasure- sobbing mother when he'd sneakily spied on them in bed after Frank had married his widowed mother - for his father's life insurance money Vic had thought, until he'd observed them making wild passionate love.

"If you want to kick the pure old shit out of me, I won't lift a finger to you while you're stompin' on my worthless ass," Frank offered, after he'd confessed in full. "I'll let you tie my hands behind my back 'fore you start in on me. Honest to God, I deserve it. God knows, I deserve it!"

Vic agreed that his stepfather deserved a thrashing. He was tempted to give it to him, too, to tie Frank's hands and beat the sonofabitch to within an inch of his vulgar life. But he couldn't stand up. Frank would notice that he had a hard-on, and that would never do. Vic couldn't stand the thought of anyone's discovering his unnatural excitement at learning of his wife's rape, and most certainly not the man who'd raped her! Not only would this cause Vic to suffer an unbearable amount of mortification, but it would be virtually giving Frank a license to throw Heather down and stick it to her again when he felt like it!

"You're just like your mother, God rest her soul," Frank sobbed brokenly, shedding real tears of shame and remorse when Vic declined the ass- stomping invitation. "She was a good Christian, too. You and your maw is a whole heap of a lot better people than I can ever hope to be. But I promise you one thing, it won't never happen again. If you take your pretty little wife and move out right now, I wouldn't blame you none, boy. But I wish you wouldn't. I like having you here, the both of you. Gimme another chance, Vic. Please? I won't screw Heather again. I swear you that on a stack of Bibles. And may God strike me dead if I don't live up to my word. I mean it. I ain't never been so sorry or ashamed of myself over anything in my whole rotten life as I am over this."

"It'll be up to Heather. I'll talk to her."

"You do that, Vic, and tell her not to worry none. I'll start datin' again, right away, so's that devil's pressure won't built up in me no more like it did today. Heather'll be safe here from now on, just as safe as if she was sitting in class in Sunday School."

Having overheard part of her stepfather-in-law's and husband's conversation, Heather was wide awake when Vic entered their darkened bedroom. She cowered beneath the covers as he undressed in the dark. How much did Frank tell him? she wondered anxiously. Dear Jesus, I hope he didn't tell him I came! If he did, I'll deny it. I don't want Vic to know that! It's bad enough that he knows I've been raped. Why, oh, why couldn't Frank have kept his stupid mouth shut?!

"Heather? Are you asleep, Heather?" Vic called softly from across the room.

She started not to answer, but this was something that would have to be faced and now was as good a time as any. "I'm awake," she replied nervously.

"Frank told me about, ah, this afternoon," Vic said as he crossed to the bed.

"I wanted to tell you myself," Heather whined. "I meant to as soon as you walked in the door. But I just couldn't, Vic! I was too ashamed!"

Heather couldn't help cringing when her husband crawled into bed with her. She half expected him to hit her right in the mouth, and she wouldn't really have blamed him if he had. But he didn't. He took her in his arms and drew her close, caressing her back and buttocks as he spoke soothingly to her. Keeping his erection from touching Heather, Vic told her everything would be all right. He explained that Frank had admitted it was all his fault, saying he couldn't be sorrier over what he'd done to her.

"Yes I do want to move. I think we'd better move, don't you?" Heather replied, when Vic finally got around to asking her, after parroting everything else Frank had said, word for booze-repentant word.

Vic hemmed and hawed. He brought up the medical bills, saying that maybe they ought to hang fast the way things were until they got them paid off.

"We can move and pay them, too, so much a week," Heather said. "I'm well enough to go back to work now. I can get my old job back. They promised me. I'll call Mister Thackery tomorrow."

"I don't want you going back to work yet," Vic countered, adding that he wasn't too sure he wanted her to go back to work at all. He told her a woman's place was in the home, and that it made him feel like less of a man to have his wife supporting him.

Heather couldn't understand her husband's attitude. If their marital roles had been reversed, they would've been packing right then instead of lying cuddly and cozily in bed and more or less calmly discussing whether they should move into an apartment of their own or continue to live in the house of the man who'd raped her. But their roles weren't reversed. Vic was the husband; she was the wife. Heather wasn't as sure as Vic seemed to be that Frank would keep his word and leave her alone in the future. But if Vic could forgive her molester, then Heather thought that maybe she ought to give Frank another chance, too. It was the Christian thing to do and, after all, Frank had been stoned half out of his head at the time, hadn't he?

Heather gave in to her husband's wishes, but she couldn't escape feeling uneasy about it. Her mind told her, Yes, it'll probably be all right. But her feminine intuition said, Don't be a little fool! You know what a liar Frank is, and he's always getting drunk, isn't he? If you don't move out of his house, you know he'll be forcing his vulgar attentions on you again sooner or later!

Only moments after Heather had drifted off into a troubled slumber, she was awakened by the jiggling of the bed. For an instant she was horrified, the dreaded thought EARTHQUAKE! flashing through her sleep-dulled mind. Then she realized the truth of the matter and would've almost preferred an earthquake. Her husband was JACKING OFF right there in bed beside her! Heather didn't know what to think.

As he'd promised, Frank began dating again. The very next evening he phoned the thirtyish widow who lived down the block. This woman had had her eye on Frank for some months, ever since the death of his wife, and had let him know in various subtle ways that she found him attractive. Her veiled flirting didn't fool Frank in the least, for he knew he wasn't a handsome man and damned few women had ever given him the come-on. She was looking for a husband and figured Frank would be a good provider for her and her three kids. Frank never intended to get married again, but Helen was a decent woman and quite pretty for her age. Frank could well afford to get his sexual tensions relieved at a cathouse, but paid-for sex didn't appeal to him, whereas Helen did. He'd already decided that she might be a good lay. As a widow, she was certainly seduceable, and he decided to play her game. It would be interesting to see how soon he would be able to slip the meat to her. Once he'd scored, Frank intended to amuse himself by stringing her along until Helen woke up to the fact that an affair was all she would ever get out of him. When he called her on the phone and hit her up for a date, she eagerly accepted.

"Do you like to dance?" Frank asked.

"Oh, yes, I love to dance," came Helen's reply in a purring tone over the phone. "And I haven't been in ages."

"How about tonight? Pick you up in an hour?"

"That sounds lovely, but I couldn't possibly get a sitter for the children on such short notice."

Frank glanced across the room at Heather. "How about if I provide a sitter?"

Heather was elected. Frank paid her five dollars and took her along with him when he went to pick Helen up.

It was a hectic evening for Heather. Helen's children wouldn't obey her. The little brats misbehaved badly. They resented Heather and made it painfully clear that they preferred their regular sitter to her. Not being used to kids, Heather didn't know how to handle them. They gave her a hard time. It was after eleven when she finally got them into bed and settled down for the night, and her nerves were very much on edge.

A few minutes later Frank's car pulled into the driveway and Heather heaved a sigh of relief, thinking her ordeal was over. Only Helen didn't come in right away. Heather waited and waited, pacing the floor. This went on for nearly twenty minutes before she went over to the window, parted the drapes a tiny bit and peeked out through a crack wide enough for only one eye.

There was a streetlight on the corner on the opposite side of the street. It set at an angle behind Frank's parked car. She could make out Frank's and Helen's silhouettes. It looked like they were wrestling in the front seat. Helen's arms kept flying about. No sooner would she push away from Frank than he would grab her again. Heather knew Frank was feeling the woman up as well as kissing her and, strangely enough, this excited her. It also made her jealous, and this upset Heather.

Why should I care what that uncouth brute does? Heather wondered perplexedly.

But the fact of the matter was, she did care, crazy as she knew it was to feel the way she did. Frank had raped her and she'd thought she never wanted to see his - if not ugly, then certainly not handsome - face again. Rape or not, though, he'd given her a real screwing and the only orgasm she'd ever had, and Heather resented his trying to put the make on Helen. To her dismay, Heather realized that she didn't want Frank to have intercourse with another woman.

When Helen came into the house, her lipstick was smeared, her hair was disheveled and her dress was rumpled. The young widow's cheeks were very flushed and she seemed more than a little embarrassed over her appearance as she thanked Heather for baby-sitting.

As Heather walked across the lawn toward the car, she felt odd and let down. Logically she shouldn't care one way or the other, but a part of her was secretly hoping that Helen would refuse Frank another date.

The dome light came on when Heather opened the car door. She couldn't help noticing the obscene bulge in Frank's trousers. He was drunk and did nothing to hide his erect condition from her as she slid into the front seat with him and closed the door. Without a word, he started the engine and backed out into the street. Frank's house was located on the corner lot at the other end of the block, so Heather couldn't help being alarmed when, halfway there, he pulled over to the curb, stopped, and switched off the engine and lights.

"What are you stopping here for?" she demanded.

He reached down, flipped the lever and let back the seat. From his hip pocket he tugged out a handkerchief and tossed it into Heather's lap.

"That bitch got me good and hot but she wouldn't let me go all the way on our first date," Frank said as he unzipped his fly and pulled out over eleven inches of rampant erection. "Mike me off, Heather baby. Catch the cum in the handkerchief."

"You can't be serious," Heather whined, as he scooted closer to her. "Frank, no. I don't want to, and besides, you promised you wouldn't try anything with me again."

"I promised not to screw you," he retorted. "But the mood I'm in, I'm liable to go back on my word unless you give me a hand-job. Come on, goddamn it, I need relief. This won't hurt you none, and at my age, I'd feel silly beating my own meat."

"Well, how do you think it'll make me feel?" Heather argued. "Or don't my feelings count for anything at all with you?"

"Not right now, they don't" he barked, grabbing her wrist and forcing her hand into his lap. "Take hold of it! That's the girl, wrap those soft little fingers around it nice and tight. My cock feels good to you, doesn't it? Oh, baby, yeah, that's the way. Work your hand up and down on it. Faster. Go faster!"

Heather wondered if she might be losing her mind, because his fat dick did feel good to her. Despite her humiliation at being treated this way by him - he was forcing her to satisfy in an unnatural way his lust for another woman - holding his huge penis excited her against her will, and a good deal more than she was letting on. It gave her an obscene charge to grip his sturdy, slightly up-curved cock and lewdly stroke it for him. The turgid stalk was so big around that the balls of her thumb and middle finger couldn't touch together.

"Get the handkerchief over the head," he rasped. "Hurry up! I don't want to soil my suit!"

With her left hand she shook out his handkerchief, crumpled it into a ball and pressed it over the bulbous cockhead of his massive member, while her right hand flew up and down the hard, hot, pulsating shaft without missing a stroke. She could feel her heart beating faster and faster as she brought him closer to orgasm. Her breath was becoming labored, too, but not to the extent that his was. Frank had his head laid back. His eyes were closed. He was huffing and snorting, hunching her hand, so she knew she didn't have to worry about his noticing how this vulgar act was affecting her.

"The handkerchief! Hold it... tight! Uunnn... ooooh... UUNNGGG!"

His prick danced spastically in her hand and she knew his ejaculate was racing up through it even before the viscous substance soaked through the handkerchief, feeling hot and slippery-wet to the palm and fingers of her left hand.

"Thanks, Heather. I needed that. Now be a good girl and wipe it clean, huh?"

He turned on the car's interior lights so Heather could see what she was doing. His penis felt spongy now. The handkerchief had caught most but not all of his semen. Some of the gooey spunk had run down the shaft and over her fingers. By the time she'd wiped his prick, the handkerchief was pretty well soaked. She wiped her fingers with it but couldn't get all the cum off them.

"Throw it out the window," he said, when she tried to hand his handkerchief back to him.

"Throw it out? And let some innocent child pick the nasty thing up? Oh, no. Besides, it's brand new. I'll run it through with the wash."

"Suit yourself."

He tucked his limp rod away and zipped up, cut off the interior lights, repositioned the seat, started the engine, turned on the headlights and drove home.

"I wish you hadn't made me do that," Heather said, still holding the sperm- drenched handkerchief in her hand as they went up onto the porch. The house was completely dark, so she knew Vic had gone to bed. "I feel so cheap and dirty."

"Horseshit," he said. He was about to open the door but suddenly he grabbed her, shoved her against the wall and French-kissed her.

Heather tried not to respond but she was still aroused from masturbating him and couldn't help herself. He had her by the cheeks of her rounded rump and was grinding his loins against her belly and rubbing his chest against her tender-nippled breasts. After a moment of futilely pounding his shoulders with her small, ineffective fists, something inside her melted. Emitting a whimperlike sob, she flung her arms around him and sucked down on his suggestively thrusting tongue.

"Do you want me to tell Vic about this, too?"

"You bastard," she whined, shaking her head no.

Laughing derisively, Frank went on into the house and left Heather standing there, confused, bothered and bewildered, on the front porch by herself.

The next day was Friday. When Frank got home from work, Vic was studying in the living room and Heather was setting the table for the evening meal.

"Hi, Frank. How'd it go today?" Vic greeted cheerily.

"You two go wash your hands," Heather called from the dining room. "Supper's almost ready."

Ignoring Heather, Frank walked over to Vic. He took out his wallet and handed Vic a twenty-dollar bill.

"What's this for?"

"I want you to take Heather out tonight. Go to a movie, and make it a double feature."

Frank was all smiles as he told Vic of the date he'd made with Helen over the phone earlier in the day. Instead of going out again, Helen had suggested it would be nice to spend a quiet evening alone, just the two of them. She wanted to cook supper for him and then afterward there was a movie on TV that she would very much like to see. She would put the kids to bed early, Helen had said, and they could have a few drinks and get better acquainted. Helen's idea was to entertain Frank at her home in order to give him a false preview of how relaxed and pleasant this life as her husband would be, Frank suspected. Only Frank didn't want any kids getting in his way, so he'd turned the invitation around. It didn't take much persuasion to get Helen to come to his house for the same date, especially when, after Helen fixed Heather and Vic as baby- sitters, Frank offered to pay for Helen's regular sitter, saying it would only be fair since Helen was providing the steaks. And so it was all arranged, and Frank wanted Vic and Heather out of the way so he would have a clear field with Helen.

Heather didn't enjoy the movie. She kept squirming and shifting around in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, pumping her crossed foot nervously to and fro. Her palms actually became moist with perspiration. She was jealous. It was crazy, didn't make a lick of sense, but Heather couldn't help the way she was feeling. She didn't love Frank. Actually she'd never even liked him very much, and now, since he'd raped her, she all but hated the big ugly brute. And yet, the thought of what might be going on between Frank and Helen while she sat there staring at the movie without really seeing it, made Heather's blue eyes take on a tint of green and caused her to keep absently catching her lower lip between her teeth and biting down on it until pain made her aware of the unconscious act.

Mental images of Frank and Helen having heated sexual intercourse flashed through Heather's mind, and she couldn't stand it. She became so keyed up that she felt like pulling her hair and screaming at the top of her lungs.

As they left the theater, Vic looked at his watch and suggested they go somewhere for a bite to eat.

"I don't want anything to eat," Heather snapped.

"But it's too early to go home, honey," Vic replied placatingly. "Frank said -"

"Frank said! Frank said!" Heather all but shrieked, ungraciously interrupting her husband. "I don't give a fat rat's behind what Frank said! Who gave that big slob permission to run our lives? I didn't! Did you?"

"Honey, keep your voice down," Vic pleaded, glancing around embarrassedly at the other people leaving the theater. "People are staring at us."

"So let them stare! Who the hell are they anyway?"

Vic took his anguished bride's arm and drew her over into a corner of the crowded theater lobby. "What's wrong with you tonight, Heather? Why are you so upset? Is it because of what Frank did?"

"Yes!" she yelled, and then, forcing herself to calm down, she added, "No, I guess it isn't. I don't know. I just don't know, Vic. I've never felt this way before, for no reason. Cripes, what is wrong with me?"

"Is Frank keeping his word? I mean, he didn't do anything else to you, did he?"

"No," Heather lied. She hadn't told her husband about jacking Frank off and she never would. "It isn't that. He was a perfect gentleman last night when he drove me back from that... that woman's house."

"There, you see? I told you it would be all right, didn't I?"

If you only knew! Heather screamed silently as she forced a wifely smile and nodded her pretty blond head.

"Tell you what," Vic chirped. "Since you're not hungry, what do you say we go have a drink? Maybe two drinks. That'll make you feel better."

"I don't want a drink," she said tiredly.

"But you need something to settle your nerves, and we can't go home yet. Frank said...."

"Piss on Frank, goddamnit!" Heather hissed through gritted teeth, raking the fingers of her left hand down through her silky blond tresses as she stamped her foot and gripped her purse so tight the knuckles of her right hand turned white. "Take me home. Will you take me home? Will you just take me home right this goddamned minute?!"

The tension of their strained silence was oppressively heavy during the drive home. She jumped out of the car as soon as Vic braked to a stop at the curb in front of the house. Her highheels clicked rapidly and loudly up the walkway. Then, with her door key in hand, she all but tiptoed up the steps and across the porch. Quickly she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The sight which greeted Heather was not unlike her lurid imaginings. Helen was tipsy. She was lying on the couch with one nylon-stockinged leg hanging off. Frank lay atop her, between her legs. He had her dress bunched up around her waist. He'd just drawn Helen's sopping-wet panty crotchband to the side with his fingers and was, at that very moment, sinking his huge erection into her hairy crack.

"What the goddamn hell!" Frank growled, instinctively backing his dick out of Helen when he spotted Heather standing in the doorway.

"Don't stop now, darling," Helen murmured. "You've made me want you and it feels so nice. Take me!" Then Helen's glassy eyes followed Frank's enraged glare and she saw Heather. Vic's head suddenly popped into view above Heather's shoulder. "OH, NOOH! YOU SAID THEY WOULDN'T BE BACK FOR ANOTHER HOUR, FRANK!" she screeched. "LET ME UP! LET ME UP! OH, DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN, I'VE NEVER BEEN SO EMBARRASSED IN ALL MY LIFE!"

"We'll go for a drive and come back later," Vic mumbled. "Frank, I'm sorry about this. Come on, Heather!"

Vic tugged at Heather's arm but she shook his hand off and just stood there dumbly, staring almost expressionlessly at her disgusted stepfather-in-law and his mortified date, who was frantically attempting to arrange her disheveled clothing as she struggled up scarlet-cheeked off the couch.

"Helen, wait!" Frank called, as the flustered widow dashed past Heather and Vic and ran, sobbing with shock and shame, out the front door.

"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Frank bellowed. He charged toward Vic and Heather with his big prick, the front half of it glistening with female sex oils, protruding unapologetically from the gaping fly of his trousers. He drew back his fist as if he were going to strike them both, but then he snorted, "AHH, SHIT!" and he slammed shut the door.

"We're sorry," Heather said. "It's my fault, Frank. My nerves were on edge... and I've got a headache."

"I've got a headache!" Frank mimicked derisively, grasping his hard horn and shaking it at Heather. "Well, I've got a hard-on and now, thanks to you two, I've got no place to put it! Damn your hides anyway, why in the hell couldn't you have stayed gone for a few more minutes?! You know what I ought to do?" he snarled menacingly, glowering at the young husband and wife both before he fixed his gaze on Heather. "I ought to throw your stupid little blond ass right down here on the floor and cram this bone up your cunt!"

"Now wait a minute, Frank," Vic said. "That's my wife you're talking to."

"I know who I'm talking to!" Frank huffed. "All right, I won't do it. She is your wife, and I gave you my word that I wouldn't screw her again. But I've gotta do something, the condition I'm in! And, by God, the both of you can just stand right where you are while I do!"

With that, Frank began running his hand vulgarly up and down his rampant rod. He whipped it fast and hard until, in a matter of seconds, heaving a half-grunt, half-groan, he sprayed cum on one of Heather's shins, over the toes of both her high-heeled shoes, with the less-pressurized part of his massive load falling silently onto the carpet between them.

"Clean up that mess!" he barked at Heather as he spun on his heel and stomped angrily off toward his bedroom.

"Why, the nerve of that sonofabitch," Vic muttered. "Expecting you to -"

"Give me your handkerchief, dear," Heather said matter-of-factly, holding out her hand as she interrupted her husband in mid-sentence.

Too dumfounded to refuse, Vic pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. He watched, with a mixture of shame and perverted arousal, as his wife wiped his stepfather's semen off her leg and her shoes and then got down on her knees to mop the bulk of the slimy stuff off the carpet with his handkerchief!

"I can't get over that," Vic said in a tense voice, as he and Heather were getting undressed for bed. "The unmitigated gall of the man, treating you that way! Do you still want to move into an apartment of our own? Let's pack up and clear out of here right now!"

"We can't afford it, dear," Heather replied, sounding strangely calm and serene. "You know that."

"Yeah, but... after that, I thought...."

Heather smiled enigmatically. "I guess he had every right to be angry. But he kept his word. He didn't even touch me."

"But he masturbated right in front of us, and he made you get down and clean up his semen!"

"It wasn't all that bad," Heather scoffed. "Honest, it wasn't. I didn't really mind, darling. It seems to have upset you more than it did me."

Vic grimaced at his wife's remark. The indecent incident had upset him, but it had also aroused him and Heather must never know that, so he dropped the subject.

When they turned out the lights and got into bed, Vic gathered his bride in his arms. They were both naked because, although neither of them had mentioned it, they knew they were going to have sex. The doctor had told Heather it was all right for her to start having marital relations again. They would've done so the night before if Frank hadn't volunteered Heather as a baby-sitter and then brought her home so late that Vic had already fallen asleep.

Heather noticed that her husband's penis felt extra hard and hot when she took it in her hand and began fondling it. She also noticed that he kept rubbing his foot against her shin, the one that Frank's cum had spurted onto. She'd wiped the seminal fluid off but hadn't thought to wash her leg.

What Vic noticed about Heather was that her nipples were already peaked as if with desire when he touched them the first time. He wondered about that but didn't say anything. Instead he put his hand down between her legs. He found her hairy hole wet and ready. This only added to his excitement, because usually he had to rub her up for at least a couple of minutes before she became moist enough for him to insert even his finger.

"You're already warm and slick," he said. "How come so soon?"

"Because I'm anxious, too, silly," she cooed. "It's been a long time since my wonderful husband has made sweet love to me."

"Too long," he sighed, relaxing, accepting her explanation without further question. He swung atop her, between her welcomingly legs, and, taking his prick in hand, began wedging the head into her furry slot. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not a bit," she replied.

Her hot, slippery snatch gobbled him whole in one hungry gulp. He was into her right up to his balls, and never had penetration been so easy.

"It feels bigger," he complained. "Looser."

"What?"

"Your pussy."

"Oh."

"Is it bigger?"

"Well, I suppose it might be, at that," she admitted. "After all, darling, I did have a miscarriage."

"Yeah," he said, sounding somewhat relieved by her statement, never stopping to think how tiny the embryo of the baby she'd lost so early would've been. He began screwing into her ever so gently. "I'm not... hurting you, am I, honey? I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," Heather assured him, wishing he would just shut up and do it to her as he generally did, without talking, so she could concentrate on her pleasure and maybe have an honest-to-goodness orgasm with him this time instead of having to fake it, as she always did in order to protect his delicate male ego.

"Mine's not as big as Frank's, is it?"

"Well, some men are just bigger, and let's just say that some are extremely large but you have to understand that it really doesn't matter to a woman how big it is, it's who the cock is attached to," Heather lied. She drew down his hand and kissed him wetly, starting to work with him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth. The kiss had barely began and Heather was starting to enjoy their lovemaking, when Vic paused with his erected penis full into her and lifted his head slightly.

"Can you tell mine's not as big?"

"No, darling, I can't," she lied. "Yours fits me just perfectly. It's the sweetest one in the world... because I love you."

"Then it feels all right?"

"Oh, yes," she sighed, as he began humping her again. "More than all right. It's lovely, darling. It feels simply marvelous."

"What a load off my mind that is. I was afraid..." his voice trailed off. Heather was throwing it up to him like she never had before and this excited him tremendously. He shifted gears and started fucking his wife harder and faster than he ever had.

"Oooh," Heather sighed, "Oh, yes, darling, yesss! You're a regular tiger tonight! I like it! What, precious? What were you afraid of?"

"Nothing," he panted, giving it to her harder and faster yet. "Forget it."

"Mmmm... wha-whatever you say, dear... oouuu!"

For about a half minute, Vic pounded her lovely butt down into the mattress. Heather could actually hear the bedsprings squeaking beneath them for the first time. This wasn't like Vic at all, but she couldn't have been more delighted. The rough way he was screwing her unleashed Heather's passion in the same way that being raped by Frank had. Not to the same extent, but enough. If he would only keep cramming it to her like this for another moment or so, Heather knew she wouldn't have to fake it tonight!

"Did you cum?" Vic rasped, banging away at her.

"Not yet... but I... can feel it building"

"With him, I mean!"

"Hush, honey! Forget him!"

"Did you?"

"Don't ask... oooh... just do it to me! Oh, it's good!"

"You did, didn't you? That's why you won't answer me. Frank made you cum! Admit it!"

"Yes, yes, if you must know, he did make me cum! Now will you please shut up about it and... aaah... screw me?!"

Vic shut up about it all right, but their act of lovemaking was fast arriving at the finish for him. His wife's admission of having been brought to orgasm by the huge cock of his stepfather twanged the cord of his secret perversion. After another dozen or so almost vicious thrusts into the slippery hot entrance to Heather's writhing, bucking body, he heaved a gasping groan and hunched into her to the very hilt. His small prick kept slipping out of her stretched pussy, but he managed to slip right back in quickly.

"Not Yet! Oh, God, MORE! JUST A LITTLE MORE!" she begged, gyrating her rump, bearing down on his prick and hunching him desperately, even as she felt the sticky-hot spurts of his emission jetting forth from the ballooning head of his twitching organ.

"Did you cum?" he asked sheepishly, after he'd pulled his deflating cock out of her and rolled over onto his back.

"Don't I always?" she replied evasively.

"Why don't you ever answer that question yes or no?"

"All right then, yes, I did cum," she said, the lie tasting more bitter than usual because she'd come so close and could've gone off with him this time if only he'd lasted a few more seconds.

"I was afraid you didn't."

"I was afraid I wasn't going to make it this time, but I did, when I felt you cumming into me," she told him and, anticipating his next question, she added, "It was the best orgasm I've ever had, too. By far the best. That little old dinky climax I didn't even want anyway, with Frank, it was nothing compared to the one you just gave me, tiger. Oh, I love you so much!"

"I love you, too, honey."

Vic fell asleep with a contented smile on his face, whereas Heather lay beside him for more than an hour, wide awake, staring blankly up at the darkened ceiling as she suffered the tortures of the carnal damned due to the blood-congested condition of her aroused but unsatisfied loins.

She felt miserable and wanted to scream out in anguish at the unfairness of life. If she could have such a spine-tingling orgasm with that no-good bastard snoring so vulgarly in the next room, then, why, goddamn it, why couldn't she find sexual fulfillment with her own beloved husband?!

The next morning Vic woke up feeling miserable. It was Saturday, so he didn't have to go to school. He spent the morning on the couch, making frequent trips to the john, each of which left him a little paler and weaker. He said he thought he was coming down with the flu.

Heather fussed over him. She went to the store and bought a carton of Sprite. "It's much easier on an upset stomach than water," she said as she gave him a glass of it. "No, Vic, don't gulp it down. I know you're thirsty, darling, but just sip it, a little at a time. It's better for you that way. Are you hungry?"

He made a face and shook his head.

"Well, tell me when you want something to eat. I bought a can of chicken soup for you."

By that afternoon Vic was running a fever of a hundred and two degrees. He was sweating and shivering. Heather phoned the doctor but of course his office was closed over the weekend. She told the answering service it was an emergency, and the woman said she would try to locate the doctor and give him the message.

It was nearly an hour before the doctor returned Heather's call. He said it sounded like the flu, all right, that there was a lot of it going around. The doctor told her to put Vic to bed, give him plenty of fluids and a couple of aspirin every four hours to keep his fever down, adding that if Vic wasn't better by Monday he would see him at his office.

Following the doctor's instructions, Heather put Vic to bed, gave him aspirin and fussed over him all the more. This was Vic's first illness since their marriage. Heather couldn't do enough for him. She nursed him to the point of babying him. Vic ate it up. He felt luxuriously pampered. If he hadn't felt so rotten, he would've enjoyed being sick.

Frank worked that day. He often did on Saturday, he and a couple of his oldest and most trusted employees. They did cash jobs for home owners. The money from these jobs bypassed the business books and went directly into their pockets, half for Frank, the other half being divided equally between his two workers.

On this particular Saturday, they were pouring a concrete patio for a comely young divorcee in her late twenties. She'd given Frank a mild come-on when he'd been at her house estimating the job, and now, as the work on the patio progressed, she began openly flirting with him. Being the type of man he was, Frank found this not in the least displeasing. The divorcee was a trifle plump but still very attractive since her generous curves were all in the right places. She had no kids to get in the way. Frank decided that an affair with her might be very pleasant indeed.

"What do you want me to fix for supper?" Heather asked, when Frank got home.

"Nothing for me, Heather baby," he said airily as he breezed through the living room. "I'm going out for dinner. Got a date with a sexy divorcee that's hot to trot."

Soon as he'd showered and shaved and gotten dressed up in his best suit, Frank was off again. Once more that inexplicable jealously crept over Heather. She didn't want Frank, but she didn't want any other woman to have him, either. It didn't make a lick of sense but it was real nevertheless. Real enough that Heather spent a wretched evening alone, staring blankly at the TV as she tortured herself with mental pictures of Frank and this other woman making wild passionate love.

It was lucky for Heather that she was in bed asleep when Frank got home at 2a, half drunk and with the worst case of the stone-ache he'd had since he was a teenager. The divorcee had been far from a pushover. After wining and dining her, he'd taken her dancing and then to her place, where he'd spent two solid hours working her up only to learn that she was in the middle of her period. Before he went to bed, Frank stood for long moments at the washbasin in the john, disgustedly splashing cold water over his bloated, aching testicles.

"Frank, do you have to have that TV blaring like that?" Heather protested the following afternoon, shortly after Frank had switched on the baseball game and settled down on the couch with his shoes off and a can of beer in his hand. "Vic's sick. He's trying to sleep, he needs his rest."

"Then shut the goddamned bedroom door," Frank snorted. "Whose house is this, anyway?"

Heather stamped to the bedroom and shut the door, remaining inside with her husband. The TV was still too loud. Vic was sleeping, but fitfully so. For about ten minutes Heather paced the floor, her shoes off so as not to disturb Vic. She was fuming, clenching and unclenching her fists, gritting her teeth.

How can any one man be so callous and selfish?! she railed silently. God, what an animal he is! I hate him!

Her stepfather-in-law's lack of consideration for Vic's condition infuriated Heather. This was too much. It was time for a showdown. She made up her mind that she wasn't going to let Frank get away with this for another minute.

Without bothering to put her shoes back on, she let herself out of the bedroom and, after quietly shutting the door behind her, she made a beeline for the TV and defiantly turned down the volume to about half as loud as Frank had set it. Her temples were pounding and her palms felt moist as she glared across at him, ready to lash out at him if he so much as said a word about her turning down the sound.

"You can still hear it, can't you?" she asked demandingly.

"Just fine," he replied, flashing her a lopsided grin. He held out his beer can. "This one's empty. Since you're here, throw it in the trash and bring me another one."

"Where do you get your nerve?" Heather muttered as she snatched the can out of his hand.

"The same place you get your sassiness," he said, chuckling amusedly as she went off in a huff toward the kitchen.

When Heather grudgingly served Frank his beer, he made a crack about her being a cute little barefooted waitress. She tried to slap his smirking face, but he caught her wrist and twisted her arm until, wincing with pain, she sank to the floor on her knees.

"Don't you ever draw back your hand to me again," he warned, still more amused then angry. "The next time I'll spank your sassy ass, and that's a promise."

"I'm not your waitress, or your slave, either," Heather whined, rubbing her arm as she got to her feet. "Next time you want something, get it yourself!"

As she spun on her heel and ran back to the kitchen, Frank's mocking laughter rang humiliatingly in her ears. Heather felt like crying but she wouldn't give the brute the satisfaction of knowing he'd brought her to tears. Instead she busied herself washing the dirty dishes she'd been neglecting in order to care for her sick husband.

She was letting the dishwater drain from the sink when Frank called: "Hey, barefoot waitress, this last can you brought me must've had a hole in it. It's empty."

"Frank, please, not so loud! Vic is trying to sleep."

"All you've gotta do to shut me up is bring me another beer."

Heather gritted her teeth, clenched shut her eyes and, making fists, threw back her head to stifle the scream which was rising in her throat.

"Well?"

"All right, all right, I'm coming!"

Her nostrils were enlarged with rage and her eyes were glaring with hatred when she gave him a full can of beer and took his empty.

"You're even more beautiful when you're angry, Heather baby," he taunted.

"Drop dead," she hissed.

"What have you been doing out there?"

"Tidying up the kitchen," she replied tersely.

"Well, you're making too much noise. Stop it or I'll have to turn the TV back up."

"I've got to do something."

"Why, for crissake? It's Sunday afternoon."

"You've got my nerves on edge."

"Then open yourself a beer. Join me. It's a good game. You'll enjoy it."

"Thanks but no thanks. I'll go sit with Vic. I'm sure you've managed to wake him up by now," Heather told him icily as she turned away and padded barefoot toward the bedroom, the empty beer can in her hand.

But Vic wasn't awake. Despite the TV and Frank's resonantly masculine voice calling for more beer, Vic was sleeping peacefully and soundly. She backed from the room and closed the door again. She walked to the kitchen and disposed of the empty beer can. Almost robotlike she opened the refrigerator, got out a can of beer for herself, opened it and went back into the living room.

"I thought you were going to sit with Vic," Frank said, when Heather sat down at the other end of the couch and took a sip of beer.

"He's asleep."

"Change your mind about watching the game?"

Heather nodded. She took another sip of her beer.

"Why?"

She shrugged, unable to answer because she didn't know why herself.

Frank reached across, took hold of her arm and dragged her over beside him. Heather gave him a disgusted look but didn't protest his ungallant action. For a couple of moments they sat there side by side, in stony silence, both of them watching the baseball game on TV. Then Frank put his hand on Heather's knee. She pushed it off. He put it back. She knocked it away. He slapped it back down and gripped her knee.

Heather sucked in her breath. He was hurting her. She whimpered and left his hand alone this time. He relaxed his painful grip and patted her dimpled knee soothingly. Heather gulped audibly. She tilted the beer can to her lips and took three large swallows. Despising Frank the way she did, it was beyond Heather's comprehension how she could sit there beside him letting him play with her knee while she watched, of all things, a dumb baseball game! Yet that's exactly what she did until he sent her to the kitchen to get him another beer. When she returned, he drew her down beside him and scooted even closer to her than before. She could feel his hip and thigh touching hers. His hand returned to her knee, patting and caressing, then wedging in between her knees. Heather knew she should object, but she didn't. She clamped shut her legs but this didn't prevent him from stroking the insides of her thighs.

"Frank, don't," she murmured half-heartedly, when he pushed her legs apart so he could stroke higher up the inner slopes of her soft and shapely legs.

The baseball game held nine-tenths of Frank's attention. He was drinking beer with his left hand and watching the game with great interest. Not so much as glancing Heather's way, he effectively silenced her belated protest by squeezing down rather harshly on a handful of her tender thighflesh until Heather gasped and spread her legs for him.

"Good girl," he muttered, still not looking at her, and he patted her leg where he had just abused it.

This didn't seem real. It was just too ridiculously matter-of-fact and screamingly vulgar to be happening to her. The announcer's voice droned monotonously in her ears. She was looking in the direction of the TV set but not really seeing the action on the color screen. Heather's brain reeled luridly as she sat there with her legs open, sipping beer, letting Frank's possessive hand roam indecently higher and higher. Her dress was being hiked up slowly but surely as his hand caressed closer and closer to the Y where her parted legs joined her body.

His work-callused palm chafed her tender flesh. His kneading fingers felt like tongues of fire lapping at her bared thighs, especially to the moist, creamy skin at the very tops of her tremulous legs. The crotchband of her nylon panties was already becoming damp with the secretions of her unsummoned arousal when the heel of his hand began rubbing against her clefted mound. He cupped her cunt and held it lightly, nothing more. Heather began squirming in sensual discomfort, pressing her hot and sticky pussy tighter against his hand. She couldn't seem to help herself.

The inning ended and the station went to a commercial. Frank patted Heather's pussy and sent her for more beer. She got him one and opened another for herself, too. When she sat back down beside him, he put his right arm around her, drew her close and French kissed her. Heather wondered if she were losing her mind as she licked back at his beery tongue and then sucked down hungrily on the vulgar, suggestively thrusting thing. She had a can of beer in each hand and couldn't very well defend herself when he snaked his left hand up under her dress, tugged the slimy secretion band of her underpants to the side and sank his thick, knobby-knuckled middle finger into the silky softness of her moist and lubricated split. He'd just gotten his finger all the way into her when the game came back on. Abruptly he backed it out, breaking the kiss and turning away from her as he snatched his can of beer from her shaking hand. He lifted the can to his mouth and took a deep pull on it. Then, looking at the TV not her, he said, "Scoot down some and spread your legs, Heather baby, so's I can pet that pretty little pussy while I watch the game."

Everything decent and good demanded the Heather get up off the couch and start acting like Vic's wife again. Only she didn't feel particularly decent at the moment and seemed to have very little will of her own. Obediently she slouched down as Frank had told her to do, sliding her loins forward so he could reach over and abuse her with no discomfort on his part. He pulled up her dress and she spread her legs for him.

A mood unlike any Heather had previously experienced was settling over her now. It was shameful of her to be sitting there in such an unladylike position, letting Frank touch her where no man but her husband had a right to, but she had no real desire to stop him. Heather felt much the same as she had when he'd made her masturbate him in the car, only now he was handling her private parts and the wrongness of it was every bit as exciting as the tactile sensations of his lewdly caressing hand were sensually pleasurable to her. She felt cheap and dirty, but it was simply delicious. So illicit. So daring, what with her husband sleeping in the very next room.

Heather closed her eyes and sipped at her beer. She couldn't hate Frank now, not while he was petting her most personal of all spots. He was still a brute, coarse and uncouth. Somehow he was managing to drag her down to his own vulgar level and, for the moment at least, Heather all but loved him for it.

Only the narrow strip of soggy nylon separated her private portal from the palm and fingers of his big work-callused hand. Up and down he rubbed, absently so because he was paying more attention to the baseball game than to her, and this told Heather how important she was to him. She was a sex toy to him, nothing more. This was all right with Heather. It made her feel all the cheaper but she didn't care because she didn't even like the big slob. It did feel good, though, the way he kept rubbing up and down between her legs. Very good. She began smiling sinfully between sips of beer, squirming her ass around, pressing her tingling, burning pussy tighter against his passion-provoking hand. He was molding her slimy panties to her clefted mound and luridly stuffing them into the crack of her butt. His fingers dragged back and forth over her anus and even this obscene touching felt delightful to her.

Little sighs and moans began issuing from between Heather's tremulous lips as she gripped her empty beer can tightly and started hunching his hand involuntarily. She wished he would slip his hand inside her underpants and stick his finger inside her again. If he wanted to put his big penis in her now, right here on the couch, she was more than willing to let him do that, too. The right and wrong of what they were doing no longer mattered to Heather, for she was melting from the heat of her unbidden lust.

"Come on, you can do it. Strike him out," Frank said to the pitcher on the TV screen as he continued to absently play with Heather's feverish pussy and itchy ass through the sheer material of her nylon briefs. "Watch that bastard on third. Don't let him steal home!"

The batter connected with the ball, belting out a grounder which the shortstop scooped up and hurled to home plate just in the nick of time. The catcher tagged the runner from third out as he was sliding for home, and this ended the first half of the sixth inning.

Frank sighed with relief. He patted Heather's pussy and then lifted his hand from between her legs. Nonchalantly he unzipped his fly and wrestled out his semi-erect penis.

"Your turn," he said. "Get rid of that beer can and take hold of this."

Not being used to drinking, the two beers had made Heather slightly tipsy. She was plenty hot and bothered, too, from having her cunt handled, so she gave him no argument. Heather leaned forward, set the beer can on the coffee table, then settled back into his embracing arm and accepted another of his passionate wet French kisses as she reached into his lap and took hold of his indecently displayed, half-hard pecker. Soon as the second half of the inning started, Frank backed his tongue from Heather's suctioning mouth, broke the kiss and, ignoring her, gave his attention once more to the televised baseball game. What an uncouth slob he really is, Heather thought to herself, only his casual, don't-give-a-damn treatment of her turned her on not off. He was worse than rude. Nothing could be more insulting to a woman than to have a man pay more attention to a silly baseball game than he was paying to her, yet Heather didn't complain. She sat there docilely beside him, fondling his manly organ. What a wicked charge it gave her to be playing with her stepfather-in-law's big fat dick while her ill husband slept unsuspectingly on in the room right next to them!

This was dreadfully wrong and Heather knew it full well. She just didn't seem to have any control over herself this afternoon. It was as if she were two women. The decent Heather Krantz who wanted to remain a good and faithful wife stood by looking on in horror as the other part of her, the immoral hussy that was emerging from the dark and secret depths of her psyche, willfully caressed the prick of a man who was not her lawfully wedded spouse. A man she didn't even like. But she liked his hunk of stiffening meat! What woman wouldn't like it? Heather wondered hazily as she ran her hand back and forth along the lifting, swelling, lengthening pole of prickflesh. Jesus, it's... so big! Why couldn't Vic have a cock like this instead of that dinky little seven-inch prick of his? She admired Frank's girth, as her hand could barely wrap halfway around his immense shaft.

Wanting to examine Frank's phallus up close, Heather leaned over and rested the side of her head against his chest in order to get a better look. He patted her naked thigh and pushed her head a bit lower, as if she might've been partially blocking his view of the TV. The manipulations of her small, soft feminine hand brought his member the rest of the way up in a matter of seconds. He had a throbbing erection now. It protruded boldly from his unzipped fly, all eleven glorious inches of it, the shaft curving at an upward angle so the hooded head of it pointed right at her face.

Heather had never seen such a blatantly obscene yet masculinely beautiful sight in all her life. The eye of the cockhead peeked out past the lip of the peeled-back foreskin and seemed to wink lewdly up at her through a teardrop of clear precoital fluid. The undersurface of the shaft had a large puffy vein running all the way down it and into the coarse wild hairs that grew for a half-inch up the flared base. This was the largest visible vein but there were others, many of them, bluish and bulging, which crisscrossed like lines on a road map. The entire shaft was festooned with these smaller bluish veins.

Try as she did, Heather couldn't encircle the giant rod completely and just did with both hands wrapped around his girth. Her slender fingers strained to encompass the turgid column at its midpoint, but it was too big around, three times as thick as her husband's. There was nearly a quarter of an inch of space left between the tips of her thumb and forefinger when she gave up the impossible task in pleasured defeat.

Ruttishly she pulled down on him, peeling back the thick, rubbery foreskin and tugging the hood down with it. His naked cockhead popped into view, looking all swollen and reddish purple. The mushrooming dome shone oilily. It gave off a distinctive male sex odor that wafted up to Heather, stinging her feminine nostrils. When she got a good whiff of his sweaty, smelly prick, it affected her like a powerful aphrodisiac. Emitting a thin whine of womanly submissiveness, she wrapped her fingers all the tighter around Frank's huge prick and started running her hand almost worshipfully up and down it. Her blue eyes took on a glassy sheen as she stared in total enthrallment at the vulgar act which her sinful hand was so shamelessly engaged in. Her gaze remained riveted to the plumlike crown as she covered it and uncovered it again and again. At first she stroked him slowly and sensually. Then, as the excitement of the forbidden act doubled and redoubled, she began pumping his prick faster and faster. Her breath became labored and her heart raced out of control. Heather was in a lustful daze now. Although she knew how immorally she was behaving, she didn't want to stop, not until she made the slimy semen spurt up out of his big fat dick.

She could tell he was near to cumming and she could hardly wait to see the sticky white stuff jetting out of him. But Frank had ideas of his own, ideas that Heather as yet knew nothing about.

Suddenly his hamlike hand swallowed hers - the one she was using to masturbate him with - and stopped her hand from moving. For a moment he held her hand entrapped at about the center of his fleshy club, then he pushed it all the way down to the bottom until she could feel with her fingers the coarse wild hairs growing from the lower two inches or so of it. This stretched the thick outer skin of his penis and laid completely bare its blood-filled cockhead.

Setting his beer on the lamp table, he cupped the back of Heather's head and exerted a gentle but insistent downward pressure. Heather felt weak and trembly. She couldn't think straight. Not as yet comprehending what he wanted of her, she resisted only slightly as he pushed her head slowly but surely down toward his lap. The bulging head of his turgid organ loomed obscenely up at her, smelling stronger and stronger the closer it came to her fascinated visage.

Finally the message of his puzzling action penetrated the layer of foglike passion surrounding Heather's benumbed brain. Feebly she struggled to free her head and lift it back up. "No, Frank. Oh, nooh," she whined. "Surely you d-don't... expect me to?"

"Kiss it," he husked, finishing the sentence for her. "Yeah, Heather baby, that's exactly what I expect you to do."

"Oh, God," she wailed piteously, shaking her head, trying with all her strength to keep him from pushing it on down. "I can't. Frank, no, no! It's too nasty! You mustn't make me do such a... such a filthy, awful thing! I've never done that! Not even for my own husband!"

He wouldn't be denied. Heather thought she would faint when she felt the bluntly rounded tip of his feverish, secretion-slick cockhead pressing demandingly against her pure and untainted lips. His powerful fingers squeezed the back of her skull until she feared he would crush it. There was nothing to do except obey him, so she pursed her lips and, closing her eyes in dread, kissed the head of his stinking pecker, hoping that would satisfy him.

It didn't. He made her kiss the horrid thing again and again. The awful part of it was, she wasn't nearly as disgusted by the vile and perverted act being forced upon her as she knew she should be. Heather wished she could get sick to her stomach and throw up all over his lap but, much to her dismay, kissing his smelly dick didn't make her stomach feel the least bit queasy.

Heather's head spun luridly when she discovered that his hand had lifted, but that she was still planting passionate wet kisses all over the sleek crown even though he was no longer forcing her to do it.

Once Heather realized she was holding his exposed penis and kissing the head of it of her own volition, something inside her snapped. Her wifely will to remain proper and true drained from her. She guessed what was coming next. She didn't want to let it happen, yet her strength of resistance had been sapped from her and she felt powerless to prevent the unspeakably demented act.

Frank pinched the nape of her neck, making her open her mouth to gasp in pain and, when she did, he pushed her head down and force-fed her the head of his fat dick.

"Noom!" Heather moaned muffledly around her mouthful of sweaty, salty- tasting manmeat. But he'd broken down her moral defenses. There was no fight in her. He was treating her worse than a whore. This was something no respectable married woman should have forced upon her, especially by her husband's stepfather. It was sordid and depraved, and that's exactly why it gave her such a tremendous illicit thrill to wrap her previously pure lips around the top of his dick-shaft and suck down on its musky, juice-dribbling knob.

"Mmm," she pulled, examining the flavor of him as she testingly licked at the slitted tip and got a drop of heady male precoital liquid on her tongue.

"That's it, Heather baby, suck it, lick it. You like it, don't you, you little cocksucker?"

His words rang degradingly in her ears, and the horrible part of it was, he was right. She did like it! God help her, but she did. Nothing had ever excited her the way this did. Her senses reeled. Her heart hammered wildly against her rib cage.

Cocksucker! Cocksucker! came the strident scream from her outraged conscience, echoing the filthy name he'd called her, and the carnal creature coming alive within her yelled back, Yes, yes it's true! That's what I am now!

Not only did Heather accept the debasing name tag, she actually embraced it in the heat of this insanely lustful moment of truth. Heather had wanted none of this, not consciously, at least. Frank was forcing her into it. She felt horribly humiliated and put-upon, yet she couldn't help responding with feminine submissiveness to the dominating male brute who was so callously mistreating her.

She ran her tongue exploringly over the smooth convexity of the feverish bulb of musky manmeat. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but there was no denying it - she liked the tangy taste of his stinking pecker! Having a fat dick in her mouth made Heather feel wicked and wanton.

Could anything in the entire world be more nasty and perverted than this? the confused young wife wondered dimly as she sucked down harder on her stepfather-in-law's cockhead and simultaneously began curling her sinful tongue over, under and around the flavorful knob. How can I do such a terrible thing as this, and with my own dear husband in the very next room?!

Instinctively Heather started bobbing her head. This was the first time she'd ever performed fellatio. She went at it awkwardly but eagerly. Eating his prick made her feel cheap and dirty, but deliciously so because Frank had awakened a part of her that Heather's conscious mind had never known existed. It was as if he'd set free some evil demon that's been imprisoned within her until this terrible/wonderful afternoon. Now that demon was taking her over and Heather's wifely will was powerless against it.

In a matter of seconds Heather's head was rising and falling with smooth rapidity. Her puffy pink lips clung salaciously to the tubular turgidity, skimming flutteringly up and down the top three inches or so of the thick stalk. With each downward motion of her head, her oral petals folded in against her teeth, only to spring out in obscene distention around the saliva-glistening rod once more when she raised her head back up.

She didn't have to think about what she was doing. Having given herself over to the sordid act of oral perversion, carnal nature provided the necessary knowledge and her fit of mind-blanking passion spurred her on. The blatantly exposed male sex organ was the only thing in the world that mattered to her at the moment. She was oblivious to everything else. Sucking that hotly throbbing cock was her very reason for existence.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm," she chanted moaningly, her soft blond curls fanning the sex-scented air as her head pumped furiously at his loins.

The moist heat of Heather's hungry hot mouth was more than Frank could long endure. He had no doubt this was her first time going down on a man, and the knowledge that he was taking her oral cherry only added to his lewd pleasure. He'd given Heather her first taste of cock and now he was ready to give her her first taste of something else - the big rusty load of cum he'd carried home with him from last night's date. She had him primed. His horn was ready to blow.

Frank's prick gave an urgent jerk that caused the top of its swollen cockhead to slap against the inside of Heather's suction-indented cheek. This was all the warning she got. Before she realized what was happening, he had his hand on the back of her head and was shooting off in her virginal mouth.

Frantically she tried to raise her head and back her mouth off the obscenely spurting thing. But his strength was greater than hers. She couldn't sit up. He was holding her head down in his lap with the twitching head of his cock still remaining inside her shocked oral chamber.

The stuff was gushing out of him, slimy and slick, thick and ropy. It gave her a rich blast of bitter-almond flavor as it splashed luridly over her stunned tongue. This was potent semen from the huge hairy testicles of a healthy middle-aged man, and it stung her tender taste buds like Mexican hot sauce.

Oh, dear God, no, no, nooh! Heather wailed in mental anguish. He expects me to swallow his filthy scum! I won't do it! I'd rather die!

Heather had little choice in the matter, however, since her piteous whimpering and struggling effected not one iota of concern for Frank for the terrible dilemma he was causing her to suffer.

The man was a virtual reservoir of sperm. His sticky hot spend floated her tongue and bulged her cheeks. Heather had to abandon her plan to hold the dreadful substance in her mouth and then run to the john and spit it out. He simply had too much of it. Her mouth was full to capacity and still his ballooning cockhead was pumping it to her. It was either swallow or drown, so, feeling horribly misused, Heather swallowed - and swallowed and swallowed and swallowed - with the sharp acridity of his sticky hot cum imparting a burning sensation to the sensitive lining of her throat as it skidded down in big slippery oysterlike globs that seemed to thud splattingly into her churningly nauseated stomach.

"You bastard," she hissed a moment later as she sat up, choking and gagging and mopping cum off her lips and chin with her weak and shaking hands. "You filthy animal!"

"Heather? Heather, where are you? Heather?"

It was Vic. He was calling for her. Numbly Heather got up and, feeling defiled and degraded in a way that no decent woman should ever be, she went to her husband. He was shivering.

"I think my temperature is ba-back up, honey," he said, as Heather approached the bed.

She leaned over him and, forgetting to wipe her hand, felt his feverish forehead with her sperm-moistened palm. "It is. Poor baby. I'll get you some more aspirin."

Heather had to pass through the living room to get to the kitchen. Frank was sitting there on the couch, watching the baseball game, as if nothing at all had happened.

"Com'ere, Heather," he called, holding out his empty beer can without looking away from the TV. "Take this and bring me another one."

Heather wanted to scream. Loathing herself for being so meek and completely submissive to a brute like Frank, she took his empty and brought him another can of beer. Then she went back to the kitchen to get aspirin and a glass of water for her suffering husband.

Frank didn't touch Heather for the next few weeks. In fact, he was hardly ever home. It was no secret where he was spending his nights. When he brought his laundry for Heather to do, he would stay a few minutes and talk to Vic, bragging about what a "hot piece" his divorcee girlfriend was. Heather couldn't help overhearing the vulgar conversations. She tried not to show it, but she felt resentful and angry at having to wash his dirty clothes when he was obviously shacking up with another woman.

"Why can't she wash his damned clothes for him?!" Heather yelled at Vic one evening, after Frank had gone. "I suppose she's too good, the whore!"

Vic was a bit taken aback by Heather's unexpected outburst. He didn't know what to think. All outward signs indicated that she despised Frank and was glad to have him out of the house, so he had no way of knowing that his lovely young bride was actually jealous of Frank's girlfriend, and hating herself for it.

When college let out for the summer, Vic got a job as salesman for a correspondence school. After a few days of training, they sent him out of town to work. His first sales trip would keep him away from home for a week to ten days. Heather was left alone in the house. This made her feel uneasy, and with good reason, for about ten-thirty on the first night of her husband's absence, Frank moved back in. Heather had already gone to bed. She was reading when she heard him come in.

"Heather," he called from the front room. "Oh, Heather Baby."

Just the sound of his voice made her tense up. The slight slurring of her name told Heather that her stepfather-in-law had been drinking, and the way he sing-songed it out left no doubt in her mind of his intentions. He was in a sexy mood.

Hoping he would go away, or at least leave her alone, she ignored him. But he was not to be put off that easily. Her heart quickened as she heard him walking through the living room, coming nearer. Being alone in the house, she hadn't bothered to close her door. Suddenly he appeared in the doorway, a half-smile half-frown plastered on his coarse-featured face.

"So there you are," he muttered, pausing just inside her bedroom, his eyes dancing devilishly as he drank in the youthful beauty of the nineteen-year-old blond lying in bed clad only in a pale blue nightgown. The covers hid her from the waist down but the pointed pink nipples of her lovely breasts were clearly visible through their covering of wispy blue nylon. "Didn't you hear me calling you?" he demanded.

Heather nodded nervously.

"Then why the hell didn't you answer?"

"Because I didn't feel like it!" she snapped. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I live here, remember? It's my house."

"But why now? You know Vic is out of town," she whined.

"That's why," he chuckled. "Don't want you to get lonesome, Heather Baby." As he spoke, he moved slowly toward her, unbuttoning his shirt.

The magazine in Heather's hand began trembling.

"Stay away from me," she warned timorously. "I don't want anything more to do with you."

"Need some pussy," he said with a grin.

"Then get it from your divorcee girlfriend!" Heather shrilled. "I heard you bragging to Vic what a 'hot piece' she is. Get out of my bedroom. Go back to your slut!"

He laughed mockingly as he tossed away his shirt, baring to Heather's reluctant gaze his hairy, superbly muscled upper torso. "Why, Heather Baby, you sound downright jealous."

"Jealous!" she shrieked. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less what you do, or who you do it with, just so long as you leave me alone!"

Again he laughed. As he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, he told Heather it was all over between him and the divorcee, that he'd broken it off because all she could think about lately was getting married. "Now with you, I don't have to worry about that, do I? Being as you're already married. Nice of Vic to take that job, wasn't it? Gives us a clear field while he's on the road. And from what he was telling me, he'll be out of town most of the time. Ha. Ha, ha."

"Maybe he will," Heather admitted. "But it won't do you any good."

"That's horseshit and you know it."

"It is not!" Heather whined, hurling the magazine at him and then jerking the covers up to her chin. "If you so much as touch me, I'll scream."

"Will you, Heather? You're all shook up, aren't you, baby? Why are you shivering? Cold? Scared? Excited maybe?"

Frank had merely ignored the magazine as it sailed harmlessly past him and hit the floor. All his attention was riveted upon Heather. He was pleased by the fearful yet fascinated expression on her pretty face as he tugged down his shorts and allowed them to slide down his powerful legs.

An involuntary gasp escaped Heather's tremulous lips. She didn't want to view his exposed sexual organs but couldn't seem to look away. His huge prick was in a state of semi-erection, yawning lazily to one side and drooping slightly. Below it dangled the wrinkled, hair-covered skin bag containing his walnut-sized testicles. Absently the tip of her tongue touched her upper lips at its midpoint.

"Looks good to you, does it?" he chortled.

"No, damn you!" she spat. "Next to you, it's the ugliest thing I ever saw!" But she was lying and they both knew it. God help me, she thought, it does look good to me!

Heather would've rather died than admit this to Frank, however there was no denying it to herself. The sight of his rising, thickening penis brought back the memory of how wildly she'd responded to this brute of a man when he'd so callously raped her. She felt defenseless and vulnerable as, against her will, a sense of unbidden excitement welled up in her at the prospect of her husband's stepfather once again overpowering her and taking her by force.

"G-Get out of here," she whined, when Frank, completely naked, climbed into bed with her.

He grasped her wrist and drew her hand to his loins, forcing her slender, feminine fingers around the hard, hot shaft of his massive member.

"No!" she protested, even as her fingers encircled him with an eagerness that surprised them both. "Oh, nooh," she whimpered when, unable to control herself, she began stroking his blood-engorged prick for him.

"Feels good to you, huh?" Frank asked.

"Yes, yes... oh, damn you, it does!"

"Sure it does," he laughed derisively. "And we both know why, don't we? Because you're nothing but a slut. Isn't that right, Heather baby?"

It was too much, having him laugh at her and call her a despicable name just when she was about ready to give him anything he wanted. Tears of shame and humiliation filled her baby-blue eyes.

"I'm not a slut," she wailed, jerking her hand away. "All I want in the world is to live a normal, decent life and to be a good wife to Vic. Now get out of here. Leave me alone. Please, Frank, please!"

"Huh-uh. Can't do that," he replied. "Don't know what it is, but there's something about you that brings out the beast in me. Spread 'em, Heather Baby, you're going to get screwed."

But Heather meant what she said. When he grabbed her and tried to roll atop her, she fought him frantically. This amused Frank. His bursts of raucous laughter filled the room while, for moments that seemed like hours to Heather, he wrestled her around in the bed, attempting to wear her down and overcome her resistance. He succeeded in ripping her nightgown off her and, during the struggle, the covers got kicked clear down to the foot of the bed.

"No, Frank!" she panted breathlessly, her heart hammering like that of a captured wild fawn, when at last Frank managed to get on top of her and pry her legs apart. "You mustn't do this awful thing to me! Not again! Oh, damn you... don't rape me! Please, please don't rape me!"

Frank was also out of breath, and his narrowed eyes had that glassy look of lust about them. Determinedly he reached down and took his aching rod in hand, skinned it back and, squirming into a better position, guided the forefront of his bulbous cockhead into the hair-fringed opening of Heather's unwilling vagina.

"Oh, God," she moaned, because for a second there, when she felt the heated knob pressing for entrance, she had the crazy urge to throw her legs wide apart and let him ram that big lovely thing up into her as deep as it would go. This unwifely emotion shocked her, however, and regaining her senses, she slapped his face as hard as she could, hissing, "Bastard! Bastard! You no-good bastard! Don't you dare put that nasty thing in me!"

"That was a big mistake," Frank growled. "Shouldn't have slapped me! You asked for it, and now you're gonna get it. I warned you the last time you drew your hand back to me; now I'm going to spank that sassy ass of yours, but good!"

In her weakened condition, Heather's desperate but feeble efforts to defend herself proved futile. It was as if she were caught up in a whirlwind, the way he grabbed her and, sitting up on the side of the bed, flung her across his knees.

Never in her life had she received such a sound spanking as the one Frank gave her. Showing no mercy at all to her piteous pleas and outcries of pain, he laid it onto her nude backside with the bare palm of his hamlike, workman's hand.

Splat, splat, splat! came the rapid-fire report of the man's punishing hand as it rose and fell, raining well-aimed blows upon the creamy- white buns of the young blondes voluptuous buttocks.

"Stop it! Stop it! Let me up!" Heather screeched, squirming in pain as she kicked her bare feet wildly about and beat ineffectively at her tormentor's hairy legs with her small fists.

"Do you know who's boss around here yet? Are you ready to mind me now?" Frank demanded, pausing with his hand held high in the air, at the ready if more swats were needed to bring this spirited little filly into line.

"Boss? Mind you?" Heather gasped. She glared up at his ugly, grinning face. The glint of evil sexual dominance in his narrowed eyes scared her, but still she spat venomously, "You're crazy! You know that? It'll be a cold day in hell before I'll mind an old man like you! Go to hell, Old Man! Go to hell!"

As she spoke, Heather was trying desperately to get up off his lap, but her struggle to break free proved useless. He was simply too strong, and he was really angry now, because of what she'd said to him.

"Old man! Crazy!" he bellowed. "Why, you little..." Frank's voice trailed off. He gritted his teeth. His eyes pulled down to mere slits which seemed to glow. The muscles of his jaws pumped in and out. And then he swung into action. Down came his hand.

"WHACK!"

"AAIIEEE!!!" Heather shrieked, as the smarting pain nearly made her pass out.

He'd smacked her so hard it stung his work-hardened hand. There was a crimson imprint of his huge hand on the soft white skin of her shocked and cringing asscheek. It was good enough for her, the smart-mouthed little shit, Frank decided, going right on with it. If he had to beat that pretty young butt half off her, he meant to do it, in order to master her. All the fooling around was over. No more Mister Nice Guy would he be. Before he was finished with her, she would be glad to obey him.

"Let up! Let up! You're killing me! Please let up... oh, please, please," Heather begged, as he continued to spank her for long moments that seemed like hours. It felt to her as if he were literally setting her behind on fire. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Apologize!" he barked, pausing again, panting from the effort he'd expended.

"Yes, yes," she gasped. "I'm sorry... for what I said. You're not crazy. I never thought you were. You're the boss. I know that now... and I'll mind you. I swear I will, if you'll only stop spanking me. It hurts. Lord but it hurts!"

Both of her buns were burning, their color having been changed from pale white to an almost neon red. Frank stared down with gloating approval at the reddened rump of the squirming, whimpering, sobbing teen-aged girl. She sounded like a chastised child, whereas only a few moments earlier she had enraged him with her outburst of haughty defiance. This new attitude of hers was more to Frank's liking. Just for good measure, he slapped her rosy-red rear end a couple more times, then he ordered, "Lay down!"

Heather slid off his lap and hurried to obey.

"Not over there, damn it," he scolded and, patting the very center of the mattress, he added, "Put it right here."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Obediently she scooted to the middle of the bed and positioned her feverish fanny on the spot her bullying stepfather-in-law had indicated.

"That's better. Now spread 'em, Heather Baby."

"His voice sounded amused but his expression told her he meant business and would tolerate no more resistance from her. She spread her long, shapely legs, revealing to him the most intimate of her private parts.

"You're good and juicy now," he commented.

Heather said nothing. She knew her pussy was moist and swollen with unbidden desire. It embarrassed her to lie there with her legs apart, letting this brute of a man lean over her nude body to examine her groin at close range. He moved his face so near that she could feel his hot breath bathing the top of her trembling thigh. For a moment she thought he intended to kiss her right between the legs, and she shivered with a surge of perverted expectancy. But his lips only brushed the sparse blond hair of her mons veneris before he pecked a single quick kiss on her indented belly button then sat back up beside her.

"You're nothing but a hot-assed little cunt," he hissed, as he reached out and began running his hand possessively over her abdomen and breasts, all the while leering down at her as if to say, I'm your lord and master now, girl.

A mixture of shame and humiliation welled up in Heather. Her cheeks flushed and she turned her head to the side, closing her tear-misted eyes to shut out the sight of the man who was abusing her against her wifely will.

"Look at me," he ordered.

She shook her head. "I can't. I'm too ashamed."

Calmly he captured the coral cone at the tip of her nearest breast between her thumb and forefinger and slowly began pinching down on the tender tit-flesh.

"Nnnn!" she whimpered.

"Look at me."

 The mounting pain in her nipple forced her to blink open her eyes, turn her head back toward him and gaze fearfully up at him. "Please stop. You're hurting me."

"Sure, hot cunt," he chuckled, and immediately he released her nipple. "Are you ready for me to hose you now?"

"What an uncouth slob you are," she muttered, the words escaping her lips before she could think.

A wicked smile spread over his face. Suddenly he grasped both her tumescent pink nipples, pinching them harshly and twisting them cruelly at the same time.

"NNAAAHHH!" Heather cried, squirming and cringing, her pretty face drawing up in pain.

"Are you ready for me to hose you now?" he repeated.

"Yes! Oh, God, yes!"

And she was ready. The spanking had turned her on and now the sharp pain he was so sadistically inflicting upon her lovely breasts snapped something deep down inside of the very core of her being. It made no sense at all, but suddenly she was wild to have him manhandle her and take her violently.

"Your cock!" she gasped. "Give me your cock!"

He let go her titties and, grinning triumphantly, swung astride her tremulous torso on his knees. Leaning forward with his hands on his hips, he rested his hairy nutsack on her upper chest and wagged his massive member in her face, offering it to her but saying nothing. How it boosted his male ego when the pretty young wife of his absent stepson whined softly, as if she were fighting some sort of moral battle, and then, turning glassy-eyed, she gave up and grabbed his hard horn with both of her small, girlish hands.

"It's beautiful... simply beautiful," she breathed, skinning it back with tender loving care. When she'd bared the glistening knob of his organ, a choked sob escaped her and she began planting wet, almost worshipful kisses upon the oily, somewhat smelly surface of the purplish dome.

"Cocksucker," he slurred, deliberately defiling her by the way he pronounced the insulting obscenity.

Instead of deterring her, the belitting name-tag only spurred Heather on. Purring like a hungry cat who was finally being fed, she stuck out her dainty pink tongue and started lapping up the clear cockcream as it oozed from the pouting eye of the man's enlarged cockhead penis. And she didn't stop there, either. Longingly she laved the entire bulb of his musky-tasting masculinity, literally scrubbing the exciting flavor off it with the roughened upper surface of her shameless taste organ.

Entwining his fingers in the silky strands of her naturally curly blond hair, he jerked her head back from his loins. Tauntingly he flexed his sex muscles again and again, making his prick dance in her hands as the head expanded and contracted repeatedly right in front of Heather's face.

"Please don't tease me like this! I don't know what you've done to me, but you've made me want your thing so bad! Give it to me! Don't hold me away!" She pulled, tugging at his rod and attempting to capture the turgid crown of it with her puffy pink lips. "I want to give you some head... blow you... go down on you! Please, please, please... let me suck your nasty dick!"

He laughed at her, degrading her all the more as he continued to taunt her by keeping the object of her oral affection just out of her mouth's range. This went on for two or three minutes before Frank grew tired of it, but he still refused to give the lust-lost young wife the oral satisfaction for which she was begging. Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed it himself, for he most definitely would have. However, in his mean mood of the moment he wasn't about to give Heather anything that she wanted so desperately.

"You filthy little pig," he husked, and he slapped her.

The smarting pain and sudden shock of being slapped so humiliatingly in the face brought Mrs. Heather Krantz part way back to her senses. She shook her head as if coming out of a trance.

"Why, you, you," she sputtered, "you mean, awful man! I hate you, hate you, hate you!"

"Sure you do," he chuckled, swinging his legs down between hers, working himself into position above her. "But you love my pecker, right?"

"No, damn you, I loathe you and it, too!" she spat, lying beneath him, defeated but disdainful. "I don't know what came over me there for a moment, but whatever it was it's done with now.