Blackmailed Navy Wife
(M+/FF, nc, size, anal, blackmail)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.com

The brilliant California morning sun streamed in through the large open window. A slight, cooling breeze was blowing outside, rustling the rose bush that sprouted up over the hill. Its leaves cast small, dancing shadows against the far wall of the room.

Claire Bachman turned on the bed, squinting and shielding her eyes from the brightness that played over her face. Her long, satiny blonde hair cascaded over the pillow, forming a soft cushion for her head that lay heavily back against it. A thin sheet shielded her body from the breeze that blew gently in from the open window. She had the body of a lush young Venus de Milo which an invisible observer hovering over the bed, could have traced in detail through the clinging sheet. It barely hid the high-set, rounded, heavy DD-cup breasts whose rose-tipped nipples clearly showed through the thin fabric. The sheet tapered down over a slender, girlish waist to round, luscious hips, a flat, smooth stomach and long full-swelling thighs; breathtaking curved calves tapered down to thin, well formed ankles. It was a body that would attract admiring attention from the most discriminating men... and envy from women.

The honey-blonde hair on the pillow framed a heart-shaped face that would cause any male to turn his head when she passed. Her hazel eyes were set slightly apart, she had a dainty, almost classical Greek nose, a full ripe mouth with the lower lip protruding slightly in an almost perpetual little-girl pout, a round dimpled chin, and a soft slightly tanned ivory complexion. But her eyes were perceptibly puffed around the lids and tiny lines had begun to thread out from the outer corners reaching toward the temples. The thick, pancake makeup, to cover these tell-tale signs of premature wear, was smeared and had rubbed off on the pillow during the night. Her hazel eyes blinked painfully at the sunlight. She had a bad hangover. A bell was ringing in the distance, reverberating down the hallway from the living room. It had awakened her, but in her heavy stupor, it seemed to be a great distance away and not part of reality at all. Suddenly she realized it was the doorbell and after several moments of waiting and hoping whoever it was would go away, she resignedly arose, threw on a robe carelessly, forgetting to tie the belt, and walked down the hallway to open the door.

"Express telegram for you, Mrs. Bachman," a smiling Western Union boy said, with a slight smirk at her condition.

His eyes blatantly traced the contour of her throat down to the cleavage between her full breasts under the thin negligee.

Claire drew her robe around her tighter, grabbed the envelope, and closed the door abruptly without a word or even tipping the boy. But the bell immediately began to ring again.

Oh, damn, she thought, I forgot to sign for it! She opened the door again and the boy arrogantly pushed his book at her. He held out his pencil and when Claire reached for it, flicked it slightly with his thumb so that it flipped down the front of her robe and lodged between her breasts.

"Get it for ya, Mrs. Bachman," he said with a cockiness to him.

"You get out of her, you little beast!" she scolded, "or I'm going to report you to your company!" She slammed the door shut, not bothering to return the pencil, which had fallen to the floor.

Claire slumped down on the couch and held her head in her hands. My God, she thought, have I gone so far down that a delivery boy doesn't even respect me in my own home? Recently the remarks and looks she got were not just innocent flirtations, they were outright lewd offers to go to bed. She had been almost manhandled in the street several times in the last week. Had she really come to look that easy? Too much was being demanded of her and she had vowed she was going to see Melinda and put a stop to it.

She suddenly remembered the cable she had wadded up in her hand. She opened it and read it slowly.

     "War's over for me darling I'll be home in ten days.
      Can't wait to get at my neglected wife!
                                                     Love, Dave"

Claire's eyes were welling with tears. This was what she had been waiting and praying for, so long. He had been gone over a year now, flying in Vietnam and each day had been a new dread that she would receive notice from the Department of the Navy that he was a casualty. She had not even been able to read the newspapers because there was always news about the number of planes shot down.

"Oh, thank God, he's safe and coming home!" she kept mumbling over and over to herself between sobs, "Thank God!"

This would end all of her problems. She would be free of Melinda and could become her old self again. She knew she could never recover the self-respect she had lost but she would be a good wife to Dave and they could have their children now as they had planned before he left. She would try so hard, she would love him almost to death. He would like that; he wrote about it all the time in his letter what their life would be like when his tour of duty was over and he was out of the Navy. Now it was all coming true, Melinda had promised to return those awful pictures of her as soon as she knew Dave was coming home. This would release her hold on her and she would be free.

She felt like calling Melinda right this minute and telling her but it was only nine o'clock in the morning and she knew Melinda would be angry with her for waking her. Claire hummed all the way through her shower, and stood nude in front of the mirror to admire her voluptuous body. She placed her palms under her full, well rounded breasts and lifted them slightly until they stood out in full bloom. She held the nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, tweaking them gently into erection. It was exciting to know that soon Dave would possess these again and that his love would wash from her the degradations she had been forced to submit to in the last few months. She could enjoy his 8-inch cock, a cock that always made her feel so good. The very thought of Dave's love excited her and her hands moved down from her breasts to her smooth stomach, through the soft golden down at the chevron and across her full, well rounded thighs.

She felt like a kitten, rubbing herself this way and she could notice in the mirror that some color had returned to her cheeks already. She knew it would be good for her to get Dave back. If just the thought of him coming home did this to her, his real arrival should be absolute heaven.

She shuddered from the movements of her hands across her body and forced herself suddenly to stop the warm stroking. I must save all my feelings for Dave now, she thought happily to herself.

She toweled herself dry and went to the closet to choose her dress for the day. After rummaging through several, she chose one of the new orange color. It was the latest mini-thing and she had just bought it only a few days before. It made no pretense of hiding her charms and she almost thought it too daring, but she remembered that Dave had always told her not to be ashamed of the gifts that God had given her.

"Just don't show too much of it to these lechers around here while I'm gone," he had added jokingly, "they'll eat you alive in this Navy town."

She had intended to save it for his first day home but felt so gay today that she convinced herself it needed breaking in. She left off most of the make-up she had been resorting to lately to hide the results of her late evening dissipations with Melinda and her crowd. It seemed that just the news of Dave's coming had taken away the puffiness from her eyes, her facial lines had softened, and her youthful freshness had returned.

Later, on her way to the market, she noticed the looks she was getting. They had changed to reverent admiration. She could always tell when a man felt something was unattainable. The spring in her walk helped, they knew when a woman was confident of herself, and they could tell when she belonged to someone else.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bachman," Pete, the grocer said beaming. "My, don't we look pretty and fresh today."

"Thank you Pete," Claire blushed slightly. It had been a long time since he had complimented her.

"It's a mighty fine day," he said, "and maybe a little tiny bit of special too," he added with a twinkle. "Seems I detect a little rainbow curving over your head."

"Seems you're right, Pete," she answered. "You seem to read me, pardon the old expression, like a book. Are you psychic by any chance?"

"Naw, nuthin' like that, Mrs. Bachman, just been in this Navy town a long time and can spot your disease a mile away. A look like that can only mean two things, either HCH or PFT."

"HCH or PFT! What on earth can those be?" Claire laughed.

"Hubby comin' home, or pregnant first time," Pete quipped philosophically, "and I know yours can't be PFT, Dave's been away too long."

"Why you're marvelous, Pete!" Claire clapped her hands together in surprised amusement. "I just received his cable this morning. He'll be here in ten more days. I just can't believe it," she said excitedly, glad to have someone else share in her happiness.

"I'm glad Mrs. Bachman! He's a mighty fine boy! I don't think I've ever seen two people so happy together as you two were before he left. My wife used to say she had never seen two people so made for each other. She'll be happy to hear he's made it through. I sometimes think she worries as much as the wives do."

"What's all this laughin' I hear out here?" A small, round-faced Irish woman of about fifty-five was coming out of the back of the store.

"Hello, Mrs. Leary," Claire said shyly. She had been trying to avoid Mrs. Leary who could sometimes be too blunt. Claire could sense she knew something was wrong.

"Well, hello, Claire," Mrs. Leary said. "We haven't seen you for awhile. Where have you been, child?"

"Well," Claire stuttered, not knowing really what excuse to use, "I - I haven't been feeling too well."

"Poppycock," the old woman snorted, "you've been drinking too much of that rotten whiskey. That's what's wrong. I've seen it happen a thousand times in this town. Husband goes away to sea and the wife gets to frettin' about his not coming home and the next thing you know, she's on the bottle. Happens to all the women."

"Now, Mary, you just stop that," Pete cut in. "Let the poor girl alone!"

"You don't tell me to shut up, Peter Leary," the old woman snapped at him. "I ain't sayin' anything Claire don't know... she's like a daughter to me they all are here - besides, I heard you say Dave was comin' home; she'll be all right now."

Mrs. Leary came over and put her arm warmly around Claire, who seemed on the verge of tears.

"Don't you take what I'm sayin' to heart, child. It's just the truth and what I mean is, don't feel bad about it now. It happens to all of us - Lord, I know! - Pete was in the Navy for thirty years before we opened this store. He would have stayed in forty if I hadn't made him leave. I was downright alcoholic when he was away but when he came home, everything was fine. It's those that don't snap out of it and feel guilty when their man comes home that I worry about. The way you look today tells me you'll make it. Don't be ashamed of a few drinks you had when he was gone, honey, that's what it takes sometimes to keep a woman whose worryin' about her man from becoming a bloomin' maniac."

"Thank you, Mrs. Leary," was all Claire could say. "I guess you know what I've been through."

"Of course I do, honey!" the old woman said softly. "When your man gets home just act like nothing happened and take up just where you left off."

Claire pondered these thoughts on the way home and decided Mrs. Leary was right. Claire hadn't changed in her love for Dave and she was still the same person but it wasn't as simple as Mr. Leary thought; not just a case of giving up drinking. It was breaking with Melinda and her crowd. She would call as soon as she got home and tell her about Dave's coming home and make her keep her promise to give Claire those pictures to destroy. It had all seemed so simple this morning. Melinda had promised faithfully she would give Claire the pictures if Claire helped her while Dave was gone. But, then, Melinda had promised before, and had always had some excuse to delay it. But this time she simply had to give them back. Claire vowed she would make her live up to her promise this time; she had to... she just had to.

Claire listened dejectedly to the ringing on the other end of the line. It had been ringing for about ten minutes this time. It was the fifth time she had tried to call since arriving home four or five hours ago. It was nearly dark outside and Melinda still didn't answer. The longer she waited, the more worried Claire became. She went to the kitchen cabinet and reluctantly got down a three- quarter full bottle of Scotch. She had promised herself this morning that there would be no more of this, but she was so nervous now from the waiting that she just had to have something to soothe her frayed nerves. She poured half a glass, put the bottle back up in the shelf and returned to the living room.

Though it was now dark outside, she didn't bother to turn on the light. The streetlight in front of the house gave her enough light to move around in without falling over the furniture. Somehow, she didn't feel like facing the brightness just this moment. She had to come to an understanding with Melinda on the phone before she wanted to see anything again. She picked up the phone by the couch and dialed again; she had done this so often, she could do it in the dark without a mistake. She let it ring for what seemed an almost eternity: no answer.

Damn it, she muttered under her breath as she took a long drink from the straight Scotch in her glass and felt the soothing warm liquid hit bottom. She had eaten nothing all day and the impact was immediate.

The warmth crept through her body, causing a slight tingling sensation to ripple across her skin; she raised the glass again and finished it. It felt good; she could see the smoke in the dim light from her cigarette curling slowly up to the ceiling - it was funny to watch - almost seemed to have a purpose - it knew where it was going for a moment - up - and then it seemed to waver and diffuse into funny little wisps in all directions, finally disappearing into nothingness. She giggled from the alcohol. I might just disappear into nothingness, she thought.

She returned to the kitchen and filled her glass again. And after reaching up to put the bottle back she changed her mind, carried it with her back to the living room and placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

She started to call Melinda again but decided against it for awhile. It had only been a few minutes since the last attempt. She drained another glass of Scotch instead and then leaned back on the couch, lighting another cigarette. The alcohol had a soothing effect on her.

It was rather warm and she opened the housecoat she was wearing to expose her body to the slight breeze that came in through the open window. She could see its contours stretching down in front of her. It was beautiful, she had to admit. The rounded peaks of her firm breasts stood up defiantly and she could look through the canyon between them down to the soft golden triangle that proved she was really a natural blonde. She was proud of it - and yet, she mused, it was the reason for all of her troubles now. If she had just been a plain-Jane none of the sordid things that had been forced on her in the last few months would ever have occurred. On the other hand, she probably would never have gotten Dave either; if she hadn't been beautiful she thought as she took another drink of the stinging liquor

She wondered if there couldn't be a middle-ground somewhere, something in between, that must be where real happiness lies.

So many of her almost, but not quite plain, girl friends from school were settled down and happily married with children. They would never be bothered by the curse of being wanted just for their striking beauty, they had to give something else to attract; something that came from within them. How she wished that had been true for her, but it would be now, she vowed. The hazy effect the liquor was producing seemed to simplify things. She pondered the plus points of having a beauty like this.

She had been elected campus queen of her high school when she was eighteen. Of course, she had been chased by all the young cocky males in her class but they had all seemed so immature and had not really appealed to her. Nevertheless, she had gone out with several of them and had engaged in the usual back seat petting with some who appealed to her a little more than the others.

She had even on occasions let them brush their hands over her full ripe breasts, but despite their pleadings she had never let it go farther. It had aroused her somewhat, she admitted to herself, but she had always overcome this by strict concentration on the moral values her mother had drilled into her.

Her mother was extremely religious and had made Claire attend church with her without fail each Sunday when most of her other friends had been running off to the beach on picnics. Her mother also gave persistent warnings on the evils of petting and had instilled into her the idea that a girl should at all costs save herself for her wedding night. Claire had accepted this and deported herself accordingly.

She had met Dave at the Rose Bowl ceremonies in Pasadena. He had been a junior at UCLA and in charge of arranging the float processions for the Rose Parade. As delegate of her school, she was to be assigned to one of them. He had given her one of the best positions on the most beautiful float in the procession. He had called her several weeks later for a date and they had gone to his annual fraternity dance at the University. She had caused quite a stir among his fraternity brothers and more than one had tried to get her off into the corner and get her phone number or a quick kiss. She had detected also the envious looks she had received from the other girls.

Dave had been considered to be one of the best catches on campus. He was tall and handsome and very wealthy. His grandfather had left him a trust estate of several million dollars which he would get on his thirtieth birthday. He had done this, according to the will, in order that his grandson would learn to support himself before being spoiled by the money. He was a wise old man and Dave had admired him very much. Claire had learned all of this long after she had fallen in love with Dave so it had not even been a factor in their relationship.

She had never gone all the way with him during their courtship, but several times it had been close. On more than one occasion, it had been all she could do to hold herself back.

Often, in compromise, she had let him reach under her sweater, unfasten her bra, and massage her exposed breasts while they were petting in the back seat of his car. Once they had gone to one of the fraternity dances and she drank too much. Afterwards, when they were parked at the beach and he had massaged her breasts into maddening hardness with his fingers, he had taken one of the nipples in his mouth. The gentle playing of his tongue around it had driven her to near madness and she had hardly noticed when his hand had slipped under her skirt and begun caressing be tween her creamy white thighs.

"No Dave, No!" she had gasped, sensing that she might not be able to hold him back this time.

But his hands had kept on stroking her, roving the full length of her body, over her flat white stomach and on down to the nylon covered softness of her pubic hair. He stroked her there slowly, insinuating his middle finger under her soft nylon panties into the moist virginal split of her pussy. It started a tingling sensation that she had never known before and she squirmed around on the car seat beneath his hand. Their heavy breathing in the car fogged the windows.

"Dave, not now, darling, not now," she had gasped into his ear.

He had paid no attention to her and she had heard the metallic sound of his zipper opening, and suddenly a blunt fleshy pressure against the top of her thigh. It was his prick! She had never felt one before and the muscles of her body contracted involuntarily at the strange touch.

She had been ready to pull away when suddenly his finger between her legs had probed into her wet pussy. It had sent an electric shock of rippling pleasure up through her that froze her to the seat. She could not move for the moment as the pleasure raced around inside her and he had taken this to mean she had succumbed.

He moved her hand over his cock and with his own fingers wrapped hers around it. She clenched them tight, hearing his answering groan of pleasure through her own gasping breath. She had never expected it would be so enormous. It seemed her fingers could barely go around it. Without thinking, she began to massage the thick outer skin back and forth up and down the hard shaft. Nothing else in the world had ever felt so good or so complete. He was digging his single finger deep into her cunt that was wet from the juices excitedly seeping from its lips. It was stretching the tiny ring of her still intact hymen and she was afraid it would split and end her virginity on the spot but there was nothing she could do about it. The thrills he was giving her were racing too wildly through her to resist and she relaxed her inner thighs to give him greater access to her and at the same time increased the speed of her own stroking. With each gentle push she could feel Dave's prick jerking into greater hardness though a moment ago she would hot have dreamed that possible.

He had suddenly tried to roll over on top of her and, at the last minute she had clamped her thighs tightly together, trapping is rock hard penis between them. Dave had struggled like a madman to lift it up and get the tip into the opening of her wet, throbbing pussy but she knew she must wait even though she wanted it as badly as he did. She struggled with all her strength against him and inadvertently her grip tightened around his straining cock. Just as he had forced the head under the legband of her panties, and the throbbing nose was poised between the splayed open lips of her cunt, she felt it begin to jerk out of control. Dave gasped and she felt a hot, thick stream of liquid spurt from it, until her pubic hair was drenched with the warm, sticky sperm. It covered the insides of her thighs wetly and dripped down between her legs to moisten the car seat beneath her asscheeks.

Dave emitted a final groan and collapsed over her body. He was mumbling abject apologies into her ear for his failure, seemingly unaware that she had resisted. He must have thought he had let her down. She stroked the back of his neck tenderly, consoling him with soft whispers of love while he continued gasping for several long minutes. Finally, he had sat up on the seat, helping her to rise beside him. He had held her hand silently for a few moments and then fixed his clothes, acting sheepish.

She had scolded him afterwards when she was smoothing down her skirt and had made him promise never to do that again; she reminded him that she was just flesh and blood also and that it was just as much his responsibility as hers to not let themselves go too far before they were married. He had apologized and had never made any real attempt on her virginity after that.

Upon graduation from UCLA, he had gone to Pensacola to take his flight training and afterwards, they were married. It had been a wonderful wedding night and she felt a complete woman to be able to give herself freely to him. He had been an accomplished lover and Claire had suspected that he had not come to their marital bed as pure as she, but it didn't really matter as long as he was faithful after they were married. Besides, it was a man's place to teach the woman in the arts of love and how else could he learn? She had heard the boys laughing sometimes together in the fraternity house about their trips over the border to Tijuana on holidays and suspected that this was where they were all gaining their experience.

They had moved to San Diego to set up house-keeping after Dave had received his orders stationing him there and had joined the social life with all the other officers and wives. The Friday night dances at the officer's club was about the extent of their going out other than bridge games at friends' houses and they settled down into the routine of married life. It had been wonderful and Claire had never been happier any time in her life.

Dave had proven to be the perfect husband in almost everyway. There were rumors about most of the other couples on the base but Claire and Dave had been able to stay aloof from this. It would have been difficult to even fabricate gossip about these two devoted young lovers. Claire remembered Mrs. Leary saying once they certainly typified her vision of what the Adam and Eve relationship must have been. That was before the serpent entered the garden, Claire thought, bitterly, and sipped more of her glass of Scotch.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. How long had she been lying here thinking? She swung her legs over the edge of the couch and reached for the phone on the table next to it. She could feel the Scotch now and almost knocked over the lamp trying to turn on the light. She finally reached it and flooded the room with brightness. She looked at the clock on the mantle as she picked up the phone. It was almost midnight, she had been lying here for over five hours.

"Hello?" she said into the phone.

"Hello, Claire?" a familiar feminine voice answered at the other end, "This is Melinda."

Claire's heart skipped a beat and she said quickly, "Oh, Melinda, I've been trying to reach you all day, I have the most wonderful news..."

"Yes, you sound like you've been celebrating, how much have you had to drink?"

"Not much," Claire answered guilty, "I've just had a few shots while I've been lying here thinking."

"Well, don't think too much," Melinda told her, "I called to remind you about the party out at Max's house tomorrow night."

"That's why I was trying to call you," Claire answered quickly, "I can't go, I got a cable from Dave this morning and he's coming home in ten days." She paused for a moment and then said, almost pleading, "Remember what you promised when he came home?"

There was a long pause at the other end of the line Claire held her breath silently praying. Those pictures could destroy hers and Dave's happiness, for the rest of their lives.

Finally Melinda spoke, "Now, dear, he won't be home for ten days, we can talk about it tomorrow night at the party."

"Oh, please, Melinda, please," Claire pleaded, "I can't go again! Not just before Dave comes home. I just can't!"

"Nonsense, dear, it won't hurt, what does one more time matter? He'll never know. Remember, I've always told you that what they don't know doesn't hurt them."

"I know what you said," Claire replied, "but I just can't do it to him, I've done too much already. Please, please, Melinda. You promised."

"That's enough, Claire," the voice became harsh on the other end of the line. "I told you we would discuss it tomorrow night after the party, you wouldn't want those pictures to be waiting for Dave at the base when he returns, would you? Particularly not the one of you and that fat Mexican. You remember that one, don't you, my dear?" There a mocking tone to Melinda's voice now.

"Melinda, please, please!" Claire was whimpering into the phone and tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I'll do anything you say, just please, please give me those awful pictures before Dave comes home."

"See you tomorrow night, dear, and then we can make some arrangement. Don't you be all messy from crying, either. We have some important people down from Hollywood and Max wants to impress them; he's counting on you and if you're nice to his friends you may get them back."

There was a click at the other end of the line. Melinda had hung up. Claire sobbed softly into the dead line for several minutes before she dropped the phone back into its cradle.

She fell limply back on the couch, reached for the half-full glass of Scotch and drained it straight down. Droplets ran loosely down the edge of her mouth. The burning sensation dulled her senses and she poured herself another... and later another... trying to forget she would have to go tomorrow night for Dave's sake if nothing else.

She couldn't bear for him to know the depths to which she had sunk and the degradation she had been forced to endure while he was gone. It would destroy his love for her.

She poured the last of the Scotch, drained her glass and slumped over on the couch. Her loose robe fell open to expose the lush, ripe beauty that was the cause of all her troubles. Unconsciousness swept over her, blocking out the horrible memories. But, it was not long until the dreams came - dreams she had endured for what seemed an eternity and yet had been only a few short months... even in her sleep she suffered from the curse of beauty.

"Oooohhh, not so deep, Max, not so deep!" the slim, well built woman moaned from the thick rug in the center of the floor.

"You'll become accustomed to its my dear," the fat, insipid-looking man sitting in the chair above her gloated, "I remember a few months back when you could only take half this much."

He leered down at her spread-eagled form with a sadistic light in his eyes. This was the way he liked his women, lying at his feet, completely under his domination. She was doing well, this one, and she enjoyed it almost as he did, though of course the favors he heaped upon her such as a luxury apartment, sports car, and whatever else within reason that she might want, did help to keep her under his control.

He flicked the long pole slightly harder sinking the large rubber phallus on the end of it half an inch deeper into her wide-open cunt, bringing another low moan from her lips. His beady, searching eyes studied the expression, half pleasure, half pain, on her face and traveled down the length of her slim, ripe body to her upturned crotch that was presented to his view so beautifully.

She was holding both legs back with her straining hands, her knees pressed tightly back into her firm, rounded beasts. He could see the moist, red flesh of the lips of her pussy clasping tightly around the huge rubber cudgel he had buried deep up inside her. It was at least two inches in diameter and stretched the hairy slit wide until the tiny, rosy bud of her clit could be seen clearly, glistening and standing out just above where the instrument was skewered into her cunt.

It was a sight he relished, seeing this woman take such a monstrous cock inside her. He had brought her along slowly, stretching it a little each day until now she could take the largest size he had in his collection. Perhaps, he gloated, he should have one made that was just a little larger. He could really subjugate and defile her with that. Ah, but that was for the future, the woman was ready now for the final drive to completion. He could tell by the way she raised her asscheeks up when he withdrew the rod that she was near orgasm. He switched the vibratory button to the "on" position and the small electric motor attached to the handle whirred into life, moving the pole in short, quick jerks into her moist, throbbing orifice. She groaned wildly and thrashed her head from side to side on the rug as he continued the long hard strokes in and out, leaving it sunk all the way inside for a few seconds on the in-stroke so that she might feel the full of effect the pulsating vibrations deep in her quivering belly. Her body bucked beneath the mechanical lover as though it were on fire and he watched with undisguised glee as her firm, fleshy breasts jiggled and shook as they jerked into contact with her up-held knees. Her body quivered and shook as though some demon had entered and taken complete possession of it.

He leaned forward and down in the chair bringing his face close to the artificial cock that he was thrusting into her, watching with lewd delight the tiny ridges of the moist pink flesh of her cunt around the edges of the thick cudgel with each thrust he made.

"Harder, my dear?" he purred above her, playing upon her body as though it were a puppet and he were the master holding the strings.

"Ooohhhh, yes, harder, fuck it harder," she groaned as she twisted and turned wildly on the rug, small rivulets of sweat rolling down from between her bouncing breasts.

"Deeper, do you want me to fuck deeper?" he grinned evilly, his eyes locked greedily on the instrument cleaving into the parted hair of her throbbing pussy.

"Hell, no, you'll split it, you'll split it," she gasped painfully as he shoved forward again in spite of her pleas, leaving it sunk completely to the hilt inside her hot, lubricated passage. He turned the vibrator to full force and could see the full rounded cheeks of her ass quivering tantalizingly from the force of its motion.

She suddenly gave a low piteous moan and brought her hands down to hold the thick, vibrating rubber dildo hard into her belly, screwing her quivering ass up tight against the round hard rubber ring that kept it from going deeper. She opened her mouth wide and let out a low animal- like gasp that signified her approaching orgasm. Max could see the cheeks of her ass begin a strong hard clenching against the invading dildo as though it were trying to nibble it away. Small gushes of her orgiastic fluid seeped out hotly around the edges of the vibrating penis in spite of its tightness and ran in glistening tiny streams down the wide-stretched crevice of her asscheeks. The tiny puckered ass clenched and unclenched below in the moistness of the crack in tempo with the grunts of her spending passion.

Max gloated, as he watched her body jerking to a halt from the final spasms of the orgasm she had just experienced. Her groans subsided slowly as he slowed the vibrator bit by bit to coincide with her completion. Finally he switched it off. She lay spread-eagled and still, the huge rubber cock still embedded deep in her wide-stretched cunt. Max, grinning in satisfaction from the spectacle he had just watched, slowly began working it out from between her legs. He pulled gently, concentrating his vision on the pink moist flesh working its way out around the edges with it, clasping to it as though it didn't want to let go. He gave a quick tug, and with a wet sucking noise it suddenly slipped out all the way. The woman groaned and rolled over on her side, one arm covering her eyes from the light.

"Melinda, my dove, that was beautiful," Max cooed, reaching down to lift the still form from the floor.

"Ohhh, don't move me," Melinda moaned. "One of these days you're going to kill me with one of those machines of yours."

"Ah, but you like them, I can tell." Max grinned lewdly, "Don't tell me you don't."

"Mmmmm," she groaned again, softly this time as she rose to one elbow on the rug. "I haven't seen a man yet that could keep up with them."

"My dear, you are perfect," Max laughed appreciatively. You'll never know how much you have brightened my dull existence this last year. You are by far the best secretary an executive could possibly have."

"I think I earn my money," Melinda laughed with him pulling herself exhaustedly up off the floor to the standing position. "And speaking of that, I think I had better get dressed and get down to see that new young thing you've got on your mind these days. I want to make certain that trip to Mexico we fixed for her benefit doesn't peter out. It should save some of the wear and tear on me for awhile. That is, until you get tired of her."

"Ah, my dear, you know I could never do without you for very long. I like my little diversions but they tire too quickly. You're probably the only woman in the world who is as lusty as I am." He patted her on the ass playfully, pausing to jiggle the soft resilient flesh for a moment. "She is a tender young thing, though, and I don't need to tell you how important it is to me. I want to see her crawl after the way she's ignored me. She must be taught a lesson."

"I'd like to see the proud little bitch get screwed good, too. She even thinks she's too good to have a drink with me. I've been trying to set you up a long time but all she does is moon over that Navy husband of hers. That's what comes from too much love."

"Yes," Max agreed, lighting a long black cigar, "You have taken longer than usual with this one. I was beginning to think, my dear, that perhaps you were jealous and wanted to keep me to yourself."

"Oh, I do, I do," Melinda kidded along with him, "but that mink coat you've offered as a reward for that little piece of tail appeals to me more."

"Well, don't fail me this time, my pet," Max urged, "I'm growing a bit inpatient."

"Don't worry, I've set things up in Tijuana so that even the virgin Mary herself couldn't get away. She'll get screwed all right, and screwed good." Melinda, fully clothed now, brushed down her hair and started for the door.

"Good luck, my dear, I envy you getting to watch her breaking in. Don't let them bruise her up too much."

"I promise, my sweet," Melinda blew a kiss back at him as she closed the door behind her and left the fat sweating man. "There'll be plenty left for you to play dilly-dally with."

The powerful Jaguar sports car purred smoothly along the highway, going south out of San Diego. Claire Bachman relaxed back in the passenger seat and let her long golden hair flow out into the cool refreshing slip stream of the car. She felt completely relaxed and at ease for the first time in six months.

She gazed over gratefully at Melinda, the driver. She had been the one who had lifted this veil of self pity she had thrown around herself when Dave had left for fleet duty in Vietnam last January. This trip was going to be wonderful for her and Melinda had convinced her she should forget everything and leave her troubles behind for the weekend.

"Let's pretend we're eighteen again," Melinda had said just before they had left, "and we don't have an attachment in the world."

She had explained to Claire while they had several martinis in her sumptuous apartment overlooking the harbor at San Diego. "We've won this trip from the office for two, all expenses paid for three days to Tijuana and the bull fights, so let's make the most of it."

After the third martini Claire decided it might be fun. She needed some kind of diversion to keep from going mad.

Melinda had warned her that they would have to watch themselves as there were some pretty unsavory characters down there who would like nothing better than to take advantage of a couple of good-looking and fancy-free gringo girls, but if they were careful and watched their step they could have a good clean weekend of fun. Claire had thought it a wonderful idea and had agreed to try and not think about her loneliness. For the first time since Dave left, she was going to enjoy herself.

Claire had met Melinda several months ago when she had taken a job as a secretary in one of the large department stores in San Diego to relieve the boredom while Dave was away. She had written to him about her plans and he had answered that he thought it was a good idea for her to keep herself busy. She had been expressing her depression to him too much lately in her letters and he had good-naturedly admonished her about this - saying he didn't want a worried looking old hag of 22 years old for a wife when he returned.

Melinda was the first real friend she had made since her husband's departure. She was Mr. Schroeder's, the store owner's, private secretary and also had a husband who was away at sea. That gave them something in common right way.

Melinda had invited her out for coffee the second day she was on the job and they had hit it off immediately, even though she was six or seven years older than Claire.

Melinda was a little different in many respects and Claire recognized this, but at least, she was someone she could talk to and unburden her frustrations on. She hadn't seen much of Melinda after office hours but had gone out with her several times in the evening for a quiet drink when she had been overly persistent. Claire had much rather go home and read a good book or compose her nightly letter to Dave which usually took up four or five pages. This alone took two or three hours.

She hoped he had the time to read them, though she sometimes wondered. His answers would ignore some of the most important points, and he hadn't been writing much lately, in fact, his last letter was over a month ago. This was beginning to hurt Claire and she sometimes had difficulty in sleeping at night, wondering if he still cared as much for her. Her concern gradually turned to frustration and then to anger with him for neglecting her this way.

Perhaps, as Melinda had suggested, she had just let him take her too much for granted - perhaps she should go out once in awhile and let off some steam - maybe it would teach him a lesson.

Claire was not quite so certain that Melinda was the devoted wife she made herself appear to be. Her husband was a Commander who was making a good income but this didn't seem to be able to satisfy the expensive tastes that Melinda had. Her apartment alone must have taken his entire salary per month, even without the minks, the sports car, and club memberships. Claire wondered about these things but never really discussed them. Melinda had mentioned once that her husband had inherited some money so this could be the answer. Claire couldn't quite put her finger on it but she knew that Melinda wasn't worrying the way Claire herself did. She also felt that Melinda might be just a little jealous of her. She had caused quite a stir in the store when she had first gone to work and had taken away much of the attention that Melinda was receiving from the male employees herself. She knew this hurt Melinda as she throve on attention and was quite a beautiful girl.

Her figure was almost as perfect as Claire's and her face was a chiseled perfection that would have been the delight of a Greek sculptor. Her hair was a silky jet black and always in the latest hairstyle.

Claire wondered sometimes how she found so much time to have it done when working as the owner's secretary. But somehow she did, and this was perhaps the thing that Claire admired most - her efficiency and self-reliance.

Melinda didn't seem to worry about Bob, her husband, as much as Claire did about Dave - and, seldom mentioned him. She took things as they came to her and she didn't appear to suffer as much as Claire or the other wives did.

Claire suspected that there was something between Melinda and Max Schroeder, her boss. He was notorious for the parties he gave at his palatial estate and Melinda often attended these. But Claire had nothing concrete, no reason to think Melinda was going to bed with her boss.

Melinda tried to get Claire to attend some of these parties, saying it would relieve her boredom and she owed it to herself not to be so tense and worried all the time. She also had tried to get Claire to go to Tijuana for the weekend with her several times but Claire had always managed to find some excuse; in reality, she had no interest in these things and for entertainment would have preferred a quiet movie. She had never really liked to drink, except for one or two daiquiris before dinner when Dave was home.

She had the feeling that Mr. Schroeder was interested in her and that might have been the reason Claire was hired. Many of the other Navy wives had tried to find jobs but said it was impossible. They had almost succeeded in convincing Claire not even to try.

She had gone to the Schroeder store and been interviewed by the woman personnel manager who had informed her that there were no job openings at present and probably would not be in the near future but would keep her application on file. Mr. Schroeder had walked in during the interview and Claire could see him take more than casual notice of her. Nothing was said at that time but several days later she received a call to come to work, and at a very good salary.

Since that time she had caught the boss watching her several times, she could detect in his looks more than just an appreciation of her beauty; it was an outright lewd appraisal. He had made many invitations but Claire had always coldly refused.

She shuddered just thinking about him and could not understand how Melinda could stand to be close to him. He was short, bald, had a huge stomach and was always perspiring, even in the air-conditioned store, he always chewed a large, fat cigar between his heavy lips. He was absolutely repulsive to Claire. It was inconceivable to her that Melinda was receiving money to live the way she did by going to bed with him.

This was one reason Claire had always refused the invitations to go to parties at Schroeder's estate. But Claire still trusted Melinda implicitly and felt it was none of her business what Melinda did.

She was so understanding and nice to talk with, that Claire couldn't help feeling Melinda had a real interest in her welfare, that the invitation were really a good-natured attempt to get her out of the shell of self- pity into which she had withdrawn. For this, Claire was grateful to her and had often explained that she didn't really need gay parties to keep her mind from Dave's absence, that her books and letters from him would keep up her spirits until he returned.

Melinda had seemed to accept this explanation after a while, and did not bother her with further invitations, except for the occasional drinks they had together after work.

This time it was different, there had been a contest at the store for the best slogan to use during the spring sale. Every employee had been required to submit one. She had not thought much of hers, which she had turned in at the last minute, but somehow she and Melinda had tied for first place and had each won a prize of an expense paid weekend to the bullfights in Tijuana.

She hadn't really wanted to go, but under the circumstances, it was difficult to find an excuse not to, besides, she felt she needed it now. Dave had been gone for six months and was flying missions over Hanoi and Claire was almost going out of her mind with worry.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Melinda's voice, "Mexico coming up, border's right ahead."

"Wonderful, I can't wait!" Claire replied. She had been down only once before, with Dave before he left, and the girls had made reservations at the same hotel.

"Pull your skirt down," Melinda suggested laughingly. "If the Mexican border guards see a knee they'll keep us here an hour checking everything in the car just so they can look."

Claire did as she was told and they passed through the customs station with just the usual quick questions, though she did notice the admiring look one of the young border guards cast in their direction. Looks of this kind she didn't mind. In fact, she appreciated them.

The scenery across the border changed immediately It had shocked her the first time she had seen it and it still did. The clean, neat buildings and houses of California changed to the decrepit and decaying buildings of old Mexico. Even those built within the last six months seemed to have a sense of shoddiness about them. They always looked the same way from the time they were built until they collapsed or were torn down.

The same smell was there too, that of burning meat in the streets from the vendors who cooked their hot tacos on the corners. Noise was everywhere, horns were blowing and people were screaming at each other for no apparent reason. Children were selling everything imaginable on the sidewalks, and running up to the car to thrust chewing gum, cashew nuts, and souvenirs right in their faces.

One boy not more than twelve, reached into the car and squeezed Claire's right breast tightly. She jumped in surprise and slapped at him but he ran off into the crowd, laughing.

"Did you see what that little, little, brat did?" she choked disbelievingly to Melinda. "He... he grabbed my breast!"

"Honey, you'll be lucky if that's all that gets grabbed in this town. You've got to watch them every minute and use all four of your hands for protective covering," Melinda said, laughing it off.

"Well, it wasn't funny. I've never been so insulted in my life," Claire pouted, still unable to believe it had happened. "They had just better not try that again. Don't they have any respect for a woman at all?"

"Only when she's flat on her back on a bed, dear," Melinda replied, "but we're big girls, we can take care of ourselves. Don't worry about it."

Claire was upset and furious all the way to the hotel and was relieved when they arrived. She felt safer now, away from the clanging noises and cries in the streets. It would give her a chance to adjust a little more slowly to this sudden change in tempo.

The hotel was beautiful, and immediately memories of Dave flooded her mind. If only he were here, she thought, everything would be perfect.

It was called the El Cortez and the architecture was typically Spanish, with low curved arches for doors and beautifully colored tiles on the walls and floors. Lush green plants in large ceramic pots in the lobby gave the place a tropical atmosphere.

They checked in and followed the bell-boy up to their suite. It was on the seventh floor, at the top of the hotel, and commanded a view from the terrace of the patio with a lovely Spanish tile swoons pool surrounded by palm trees. Colorful umbrellas were scattered about the edge of the pool, looking like giant mushrooms. Being in such plush surroundings made Claire feel more relaxed than she had in months. "Well, what do you think of the suite?" Melinda asked.

"It's just gorgeous!" Claire answered looking around at the beautiful living room and terrace that had its own table and umbrella, "I can't believe its ours for the weekend!"

"Well it is," Melinda quipped, "Would you have believed that slogan of yours would win you something like this?"

"Certainly not! I wouldn't even have entered one if it hadn't been required by Mr. Schroeder. I've never won anything before in my life."

"We each have a bedroom, too," Melinda said, throwing open one door and showing Claire the interior of one beautiful room with a king-sized bed that looked as though it could hold ten people. "Which do you want?"

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Claire said gleefully, "but you choose, I just can't."

"All right," Melinda said, "you take this one. They're both the same."

They had their bags put in their respective rooms and unpacked their things. Claire had been buying new and exciting lace bikini lingerie for the time when her husband would come home and decided to wear them this one time. She had wanted to make it a lovely weekend and thought these few concessions to her vanity wouldn't matter. No one else would see them, anyway. She stacked them neatly in her drawer, humming contentedly to herself.

She finished her unpacking and freshened up a bit. It wasn't a long drive from San Diego but with the top down it was pretty dusty and she had that traveler's grit feeling about her.

"Ready for some lunch?" Melinda called from the living room.

"Yes, I'm famished," Claire answered, "I'll be right out."

The girls decided to eat on their own terrace and take a short siesta before the bullfight. The Toredo didn't start until five o'clock so this gave them plenty of time. The lunch was delicious and relaxed Claire so much that she dozed off as soon as she hit the bed. The excitement had really taken its toll of her. Her eyes fluttered shut as the sweet cloak of sleep enfolded her.

The stands were completely jammed by the time Claire and Melinda arrived at the bull ring. Fortunately they already had their tickets so didn't have to stand in the long lines outside the ticket booths.

The crush of the people in the long corridors was maddening. Claire held tightly to Melinda's hand as they were jostled along the passageway.

Suddenly they emerged from the darkness into the stands and Claire gasped in surprise. She hadn't expected the colorful spectacle that suddenly burst upon them. Two Mexican bands were playing on each side of the arena and they were surrounded by the most colorful costumes she had ever seen.

This was a special Fiesta and all of Tijuana had turned out in typical old Spanish dress. The women wore lovely white and black lace mantillas draped over their shoulders. The crowd overflowed the stands with their multi-colored gaiety. The men wore the black, tight-fitting gaucho pants, short jackets, flat-brimmed Vaquero hats with small tassels dangling down from brims.

"Why, it's like another world!" Claire exclaimed to Melinda. "I didn't imagine it would be quite so beautiful."

"This is one heritage the Spanish left the Mexicans that I'm really thankful for," Melinda said. "Wait until the fight begins, then you'll really see something."

Their seats were on the shady side of the ring and in the first row below the Presidente's box.

"We can get a good look at the matadors here," Melinda explained while they were getting settled. "They all have to come to the Presidente and request permission to kill the bull. They'll be right in front of us."

Claire didn't tell Melinda, but she had read Hemingway's "Death in the Afternoon" last week when she had found they had won the contest. It was about the bullfights in Spain and had stimulated her interest in seeing one. She was just a bit nervous about how she would react to seeing an animal killed in cold blood but Hemingway had explained it in such poetic terms that she had succeeded in justifying it to herself. It certainly would not be more cruel than the methods used in the slaughter houses. From his descriptions she gathered that if they were really good bulls, the matador was in almost as much danger as the bull.

Claire was snapped back to the present by the sudden blast of trumpets. The noise from the crowd slowly subsided. The trumpet's piercing notes reverberating across the arena sent chills of anticipation running through Claire.

The gates on the other side of the ring swung open, and the opening procession began. The three matadors, dressed in their magnificent "Suits of Light," led the parade. They were followed by their assistants, who later would be stationed around the ring to draw the bull away in case the principal matador happened to be in trouble. The picadors followed behind. They rode horses that were padded on the side and in front and carried long spear-like poles that had short sharp points on the ends. These pics would later be stuck into the bull's shoulders to weaken him for the kill.

The bull fighter proceeded directly across the ring and stopped immediately in front of where Melinda and Claire were sitting. From this position, the girls could get a good look at the beautiful suits the matadors were wearing.

The matadors bowed gracefully to the presidential box which was high up behind the girls on the top row of the stand.

Melinda pointed out a slender, graceful-looking boy on the right side, saying he was Paco Camino, one of Spain's greatest fighters. He was dressed in a white silk costume with brilliant gold designs embroidered beautifully onto the material. Claire remembered reading that these suits cost at least five hundred dollars each. She could understand why, after getting a close look at them.

The matador in the center, Melinda told her, was Curro Giron from Columbia. He was short and moved with a proud walk like a cocky bantam rooster. His suit was blue and had the same type of gold designs set into it as Paco Camino's. He looked older, though not by much.

The third fighter, Jose Rascon, according to the program, was one of the most handsome men Claire had ever seen. He was tall and moved with the grace of a ballet dancer. He was not as dark as some Mexicans but had a light bronze skin that made him appear like a well tanned and healthy Norteamericano. He had jet black hair smoothed back from a narrow forehead and a straight classical nose, that reminded her of old silent films she had seen of Rudolph Valentino. He was built in the classic style of bullfighters, with strong, broad shoulders that tapered down to thin graceful hips. It seemed to Claire that he hardly touched the sand of the bullring when he walked. He carried himself with a fatalistic pride, knowing he might die today but resigned to it if he must.

Claire caught an admiring glance from him as he bowed to the presidential box above. Their eyes had locked for just a moment, but she felt something stir in her that she hadn't felt since the first time Dave had kissed her. It was a delightful yet frightening feeling and she was ashamed that it could happen. She shook her head slightly and regained her composure.

How stupid, she thought of course I'm going to have feelings like that, every woman does, particularly when her husband has been away for six months and she has been accustomed to having him in bed with her every night. Some men just bring the feeling on, she mused, but decided she had better watch herself, temptation can be a difficult thing to fight sometimes. The opening ceremonies being over, the fight began.

Paco Camino had drawn the first bull and made some beautiful passes with his cape. The crowd was enthusiastic over seeing one of Spain's great matadors in action and shouted "Ole!" each time the bull made a pass.

Claire was glued to her seat with anxiety; she couldn't remember when anything had affected her so much emotionally. When he had taken several passes at the bull with his red cape, he turned and faced the Presidente and requested permission to pass the bull over to the new matador for the kill. This is when the alternativa ceremony is performed. Melinda explained to her. An old established bullfighter takes his turn with the bull and then donates it to the new matador for the kill. The new matador then dedicates the bull to someone in the crowd.

Jose Rascon chose to dedicate his first bull he killed as a matador to Claire. He walked up to the barrero behind which she was sitting and bowed, then turned his back and threw his hat over his shoulder to her. She caught it. This is supposed to be good luck for him and, as it turned out, it was. He gave one of the best performances of the afternoon. The crowd shouted and applauded after the kill until the Presidente had awarded him two ears and a tail. This was the greatest honor that could be bestowed on a matador. Claire was proud. She could feel the whole crowd staring at her as Rascon was being carried around the ring on the shoulders of some enthusiastic fans who had jumped into the ring after he had made the most beautiful kill they had seen in years.

"You've made a hit, dear," Melinda kidded Claire. "Just watch yourself and don't get caught outside the ring with one of these bull fighters, he might get your tail, too!"

"Oh, Melinda!" Claire laughed, "I'm an old married woman, and a faithful one too, he wouldn't even look twice at me if he knew that."

"You don't know men, my dear girl," Melinda replied. "With a body like yours he wouldn't care if you had six husbands!"

"Oh! Be quiet! You've got plenty to offer too, Mrs. Taylor, so you had better watch yourself and stop worrying about me."

Claire was warming up to Melinda now and felt she could talk frankly. Melinda seemed so worldly wise. Claire was sorry now that she hadn't been more friendly with Melinda before, perhaps she wouldn't have been so lonely and Dave's not writing wouldn't have upset her so much.

"Mmmmm," Claire smiled, "This Martini is heavenly. I'm glad you talked me into having one."

The two girls were sitting at the Patio Lounge out by the pool. The cool breeze blowing through the garden was refreshing after the hot, dusty afternoon in the Plaza de Toros. Claire felt absolutely in heaven. It had been a perfect day. She was ravenously hungry, which was a good indication of the elation she felt.

"Roberto mixes the best Martini this side of the border," Melinda said.

"They're a bit stronger than Daiquiris, I must say," Claire said, grimacing in jest after a sip. "I think I might get to like them, they make my toes tingle," she giggled.

"Well, don't let them tingle too much just yet," Melinda said suddenly, looking over behind Claire's shoulder. "I think we may have a heavy date for the evening."

Claire looked around at the two men who had just entered the lounge. They appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties and not too bad- looking.

"Melinda, you don't mean you're going to pick them up?" Claire said, shocked at the thought.

"Don't be silly, Claire," Melinda chided. "I know one of them. We can get them to take us out to dinner and dancing. You know we don't dare go anywhere in this town alone at night."

"But we're both married women. We can't do that!" she protested, "what if we see someone we know?"

"Oh for heavens sakes, Claire, no one we know is down here," Melinda admonished. "Pete's a nice guy I've known for years and the best protection we can have. Remember, we're here to see the sights and we can't sitting in this dead hotel."

Before Claire could protest further, Melinda waved the two men over to the table.

"Well, hello Doll, what are you doing here?" the ruddy-faced man of about forty bubbled to Melinda.

"Same as you, Pete, trying to relax for a weekend," Melinda answered, smiling and extending her hand. "Sit down and join us."

"Sure thing, we'd love to," Pete said elated. "I'd like you to meet my friend Carlos. He handles my business here in Tijuana."

"How do you do, Carlos," Melinda said and introduced Claire to them.

From a distance both had looked rather nice, but up closer, Claire had her doubts. The one Melinda called Pete, appeared a type likely to be in some illegal business. Carlos was too good looking, in fact, almost perfectly so. He wore heavy cologne that didn't seem quite masculine to Claire. Something about him was not trustworthy though Claire couldn't spot it. She supposed if Melinda knew them, it was all right. Claire thought she'd probably been seeing too many old gangster movies on television lately.

Carlos sat by Claire and his heavy cologne surrounded her, obviously he spoke little English which made her uneasy.

"Hey there buddy," Pete said, thickly, "I think you've hit the jackpot tonight. Where'd you come from honey?"

"Don't mind Pete," Melinda broke in, "he's always popping off. You be easy on Claire, Pete, she's a lonely navy wife too, and it's hands off."

"I was just being friendly," Pete feigned mock indignation. "I wouldn't want to scare the little girl."

"Don't worry," Claire said bravely, not wanting to embarrass Melinda with her innocence, "I've been around a bit."

Pete's remark irked her. She was tired of being treated as a babe in arms. She knew Melinda was older and a great deal more experienced but this didn't justify what she was doing. She could take care of herself.

"Well, Carlos and I have been invited to a party tonight that is a party and no kids allowed. Are you chicks game?"

"Well, I'm for good, clean fun, but Claire likes to go to bed early," Melinda chided.

Claire was infuriated at this. The third martini had gone to her head a bit. Melinda was treating her like a three year old and she was sick of it.

"Why, I'd love to go," she said decisively. "We're here for a good time aren't we?"

Underneath, she felt perhaps she shouldn't have spoken so soon, but it was too late now. She had committed herself and couldn't back down.

"Okay, let's move it then, I'm hungry," Pete said. "We're late already."

They had a delicious dinner at a lovely Spanish restaurant outside Tijuana that served the most wonderful lobster Claire had ever tasted. More Martinis had preceded dinner, and then two bottles of Chablis with the meal that was delightful.

By the time the after-dinner coffee arrived with black Russians, Claire was feeling absolutely in heaven. It gave her a wicked and worldly feeling to be out with another man, even though it wasn't really a date. They were friends of Melinda. Maybe she would even write Dave about it, she mused, it might make him jealous and write more often.

Pete turned out to be all right. He was funny and kept them laughing at his off-color jokes. Claire found herself blushing at some of them. She'd never heard such language in mixed company before, but laughed as hard as any to be a good sport.

Carlos was nice also. He danced divinely, though he held her a little tight and several times the slight pressure of his hand was where it shouldn't be, but this just added to the wickedness. She knew it couldn't go farther if she didn't let him get her into a compromising position.

If Dave didn't think enough of her to return her daily reminders of her love, then perhaps she deserved an innocent diversion like this. Melinda had said the boys had always had a good time when they were fighting a war and not to think that Dave was lying around, moping on the carrier when they went into Hong Kong or Manila.

"Why, he's probably balling everything he can, like all the others do," Melinda had teased.

Claire had scoffed at first, until the time began to grow between his writing, and she happened to remember his trips across the border before they were married. If he could be unfaithful while they were engaged, why not while they were married?

The suspicion had begun during the last several weeks. Well, she would have herself a time this weekend and worry about it again Monday morning back in San Diego.

"You girls are really going to get a treat tonight," Pete was saying as she returned to the conversation, "we're taking you out to the circus."

"To the circus!" Claire blurted in surprise. "Don't tell me they keep them open this late?"

The men burst into laughter and she blushed as she realized she had committed some kind of "faux pas" but didn't have an idea what it was. Melinda looked amused but didn't laugh with them. "You boys leave Claire alone, I told you she was innocent and I don't think it's fair for you to make fun of her."

"Haven't you ever seen a strip show, honey?" Pete asked, laughing under his breath.

"Why, of course I have," Claire answered defensively. She remembered seeing one with Dave in Los Angeles before they were married but had thought them disgusting. "I enjoy a good one," she lied to make up for her prior error.

"Good girl," Pete said. "We wouldn't want to sit through one of those things without some good female company. Would we Carlos?"

Carlos nodded in agreement, and after the men paid the bill, they left and headed back to the city.

Pete, despite the drink, maneuvered his long black Cadillac skillfully through the streets of Tijuana and out on the other side of the city. They had left the pavement and were following a dirt road to a large Spanish style hacienda. It showed up clearly, in the moonlight that flooded Baja California, even though it was still over a half a mile away.

The Martinis, wine, and black Russians left a comfortable glow on Claire. The black Russians in particular were delicious after dinner. It was a new drink that Pete had picked up somewhere and consisted of half vodka and half Kahlua.

Claire was at peace with the world. She hadn't minded when Carlos, had put his arm over the back of the seat and gradually let it down to rest across her shoulders.

On one bump he let his hand slip down cupping her left breast, but she had quickly moved to keep it away, not certain if it had been an accident or not. It did bother her, and the uncomfortable feeling she experienced at the bullfight returned again.

Strange, she though, what one contact with her first man in six months did to her. She could feel the nipple of her breast leap erect when he touched it and she was sure he felt the reaction as he nestled her just a little closer and more confidently immediately afterwards.

His leg pressed tightly against her thigh was also disquieting, and she tried to squirm away but he had followed her with each move she made. She didn't like the feeling this close contact with a man aroused and had started to push him away but had seen Melinda slide next to Pete in the front seat and rest her head on his shoulder. His arm was around her and his hand was obviously somewhere in front. It hung over Melinda's shoulder and Melinda was enjoying it. Her head moved against him, kissing his ears and neck teasingly. Claire had been watching this little love- play too intently to completely ward off Carlos' innocent little advances. When the car finally pulled up to a large iron gate, Pete blinked his lights and the guard opened it.

"Buenos Noches, Senor Robinson," the guard smiled, waving them through.

"Buenos Noches," Pete responded; wheeled the car into the court-yard.

Claire was surprised; there must have been twenty cars parked inside and not a light anywhere. When they got out she could hear music coming from inside, the only indication, other than the gate guard, that anyone else was present.

Pete guided them to a large oaken door which was opened to them by a short, fat, obscene-looking Mexican in a tuxedo. Pete handed him two crisp one hundred dollar bills. Claire blinked in astonishment; she had never heard of a night club costing a hundred dollars a couple. Her misgivings arose again but she squelched them as they entered the large salon and bar. She was determined to show Melinda that she wasn't a child and could be a good sport as well as Melinda could.

It was the most lavishly decorated room Claire had seen; done in red velvet and gold embroidery from ceiling to floor. Long low couches were arranged in a broad semi-circle that faced a stage.

Most of the men present were middle-aged and obviously wealthy. Most of the women were quite beautiful and much younger than their escorts. They were exquisitely dressed. Claire was certain they couldn't be the wives of these men.

She also noticed several middle-aged women with handsome young Mexicans. She doubted these were their husbands. Whatever their reasons for being here, it was certainly a pretty exclusive and elite group.

"Put us close to the back tonight, will you Ramon!" Pete asked the short Mexican who had ushered them in. "We've got a new girl with us and I don't want her crawling up on the stage and interrupting the performance." He winked at Claire and for the first time she detected a certain lewdness not apparent before. She hoped she hadn't gotten in over her head, but thought nothing can happen to me here, not with all these people around.

If it got too rough she could always demand they call a taxi and send her back to the hotel. The logic soothed her and she followed Melinda as Ramon led them to one of the large couches in the rear.

Two silver buckets of iced champagne were ready. Ramon popped the corks and poured them each a bubbling glass.

"Well, here's to a good evening, kiddos," Pete toasted, raising his glass to them. "Let's hope we get our money's worth tonight."

Claire tipped her glass up with the others and the cool bubbly liquid felt wonderful going down. She loved champagne but on Dave's navy pay they had never been able to afford it except on very special occasions.

Claire noticed she was getting the most covetous glances from the men. She felt Melinda didn't like this and caught her jealous glances when the men looked at Claire rather than her. Claire didn't want to offend Melinda but her vanity was pleased with this attention. She was glad to have some small triumph over Melinda because Melinda made her feel so immature in other ways.

Claire had begun to recover from the drinks at dinner during the ride but the first two glasses of champagne again relaxed her inhibitions. She found herself laughing again at Pete's and Carlos' jokes. Claire wished that she spoke Spanish and could communicate better with Carlos. He seemed such an interesting person now that she knew him better.

She still didn't know what business they were in but assumed it must involve trade between California and Mexico. Pete had mentioned he handled the Los Angeles operation, and Carlos handled Mexico but had never really specified what it was. It was none of her business, she decided; she would never see them again so what difference did it make? She did gather that Melinda had met Pete on one of her Tijuana trips and they had been out with mutual friends from L.A. It all seemed innocent enough. Claire didn't feel it was her place to question it. The champagne continued to flow and Ramon replaced the two empty bottles with new ones. Claire liked the sound of the cork popping and found herself giggling from the bubbles tickling her nose. She was having fun trying to carry on a conversation with Carlos, half talk and half sign language. She had never met anyone who couldn't speak English fluently and being in another country in such an exclusive private club was exciting.

Claire was thoroughly enjoying herself, but beginning to wonder when they were going to see this great strip-tease show they had been talking about. She had to admit to herself she was anticipating it and it shouldn't be like that shoddy thing she and Dave had seen. Not with this kind of crowd. She would bet it would be beautifully staged like shows she had heard about in Las Vegas. It had to be for the price. As if reading her thoughts, Ramon suddenly appeared on the stage holding his hands up for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he repeated several times until the conversation stilled among the forty or so people present. "We have a special treat for you tonight," Ramon continued as people began to return to their assigned couches from the bar and conversational groups. "We have just received our first summer shipment of hashish from the Middle-East. The boys have spent all afternoon preparing it and there is ample for everyone. Please be seated while we pass it among you. The show will begin in fifteen minutes."

There was a murmur of delight and within minutes all had returned to their seats. The waiters, in white uniforms, were putting small trays of thin brown cigarettes on the tables.

Pete picked one out of the tray and smelled it from end to end, critically.

"Boy," he said admiringly, "this is the real stuff."

"What on earth is it?" Claire whispered to Melinda next to her. She didn't want to show her ignorance after the mistake at dinner.

"Oh, nothing but a strong cigarette," Melinda reassured her. "Just take the first few puffs slowly so you won't choke."

"Is it safe, I - I mean, it doesn't make you not know what you're doing, does it?"

"No, of course not," Melinda answered impatiently. "Just try a few drags and if you don't like it, stop."

"All right," Claire answered hesitantly. She had heard about marijuana at wild parties but didn't know what hashish was. Not wanting to appear a prude, she bravely took the lit cigarette Carlos offered her.

"Slowly, slowly," Carlos instructed in his broken English as he took a drag from one. Claire watched him and inhaled very gently. It had a strange but not unpleasant taste. She inhaled deeper on the next puff and held it down a few seconds at Carlos' instructions before exhaling.

After three or four inhalations, Claire could hardly feel it going down, it was so smooth. She watched Melinda holding her breath as long as she could and then took a deep drag herself holding it deep until she just had to exhale.

"I don't feel a thing," she said in a voice that didn't seem to be hers. She looked at Carlos and Melinda on either side of her and they suddenly looked miles away. "Do you feel anything?"

"Yes, darling, I feel the world," Melinda answered. It seemed a logical answer and suddenly Claire did too. She had never felt the world before, how strange. She liked the taste it was leaving with her... it was a slight bite at first, that gradually changed into an unimaginable softness. The longer the smoke was held down the softer she felt. Claire noticed the lights dimming around them until the great room was in complete darkness.

She could feel the pressure of Carlos' leg against he thigh but the thin, brown cigarette had dulled her fears of anything. It felt good and she returned the pressure slightly to let him know she didn't mind and that she was his friend... she didn't mind anything now with the delicious warmth of the cigarette in her... she could feel it tingling deep inside... deeper than she had ever felt anything in her life.

The pungent sweetness of the hashish smoke hung heavy in the room. Claire could see the burning tips of the cigarettes in the darkness. The room was perfectly quiet now except for the occasional sound of deep inhalation or exhalation. A cough could be heard now and then from a smoker who pulled too deeply on the conscience killing weed.

Dim lights appeared behind the thin curtains that covered the small stage. A large bed was visible in the center of a set dressed as a bedroom with a small dressing table to one side with a large mirror near it. Quiet music began from a stereo in the room. It was a beautiful setting, Claire thought.

Another glass of champagne was put into her hand, she had lost all sense of proportion and wasn't certain whether it was from Melinda or Carlos. It didn't matter; the hashish had made her thirsty and she poured the cool liquid down her parched throat gratefully.

It was filled again, and she could see this time that Carlos was pouring it for her.

It's nice to have someone look after me again and take care of me, she mused through the happy, relaxed feeling, and smiled her appreciation in the dim light.

Carlos smiled back, squeezed her shoulder lightly and nodded toward the stage. The curtains were opening slowly and a young innocent-looking Mexican girl appeared by the bed. She could not have been over seventeen and was the most lovely thing Claire had ever seen. She had a melancholy look on her face that reflected deed loneliness. It touched Claire to the depths, as she felt much the same way with Dave gone. She identified with the girl at that moment and concentrated completely on what she was doing. Her emotions seemed inextricably bound to those of the lonely creature and she felt tears of sympathy begin as they did often when watching an exceptionally sad scene in a television movie.

The girl picked up a picture from the dressing table, looked longingly at it for a moment, and then pressed it tenderly to her full breasts, outlined clearly beneath the tight, black dress she wore. She placed the photo graph gently on her pillow and began to undress.

She slipped the long gown slowly upwards, exposing the high-set calves- -then the full, well-rounded thighs. The black of her long silk stockings, held in place by a dainty, lace-trimmed garter belt, contrasted sharply with the creamy ivory of her exposed flesh.

Claire could hear sounds of delight from the males as the dress snaked its way over the girl's head and her beautifully-rounded torso emerged. Her bra fell to the floor with a flick of her fingers and the full beauty of her firm, ripe breasts swung into freedom. They stood high and proud in the stage light and their quivering, turgid nipples, stood out on the luscious half-spheres; peaked higher as the girl raised her arms high over her head, pulling the long, black hair up, then releasing it to cascade softly over her alluring shoulders.

She was almost naked, now, in just high heels, long, black hose, the garter belt, and the thin wisp of sheer panties. She turned and bent over slowly, her back to the audience; drew the silk panties tantalizingly down over her curved hips and asscheeks, brushing them sensuously against her smooth thighs and calves, and discarded them at her feet by the dress. She stretched languidly and teasingly turned to the front. All her delicious nudity was exposed now - from her high rounded breasts - to the soft dark triangle of her womanhood.

Claire shifted nervously next to Carlos. She had never expected anything like this. In the show she and Dave had seen, the girl had left on a "G" string, ineffectual as it was, but this exposed all the girl had to offer; she was making no attempt to hide it either.

The girl lay back on the bed now, the picture of her absent lover in her hands, looking at it with a deep longing that could mean only one thing. She was aroused and needed release!

Claire almost gasped aloud as the girl's free hand massaged her own breasts in tiny teasing circles, tweaking the soft nipples into sudden throbbing hardness. Her legs scissored open and closed slowly, exposing the thin slit of her pussy, nestled teasingly in the soft dark hair between her thighs. Her feet were pointing directly at the heavily- breathing audience watching the girl slowly work herself into a burning passion. Her asscheeks twisted against the mattress as though she were trying to bury herself in it. Sheer, wanton desire reflected in her eyes. It seemed so real, Claire couldn't understand how the girl could act such a part unless she really felt it. She remembered lying in her own bed recently and thinking about Dave and how she had almost gone insane until she had relieved herself with her own fingers. She blushed slightly at the guilt flicking through her conscience. She squirmed her own asscheeks nervously, feeling the edge of the cushion brush electrically against the soft swelling of her vulva. She jumped at the unexpected contact and the more unexpected shock it had brought. Her breath quickened.

Carlos, in his concentration on the girl, had forgotten the champagne and Claire reached forward and hurriedly poured herself one, her eyes on the stage. She downed the refreshing liquid quickly, attempting to cool some of the warmth the girl's passion had transmitted to her own body.

While she was pouring, Carlos lit two more thin, brown cigarettes and passed her one. Without thinking, Claire pressed it to her lips and pulled deeply, perhaps hoping it would still the unfamiliar ache beginning deep within her belly.

With each drag, Claire could feel herself mentally unwind. This one heightened the feeling from the first cigarette. She didn't feel she was the same person she had been a moment ago. She was someone else and it frightened her a bit but she couldn't think about it now. The heat and excitement of the room was beginning to stimulate her hotly against her will. She squirmed down against the couch again, feeling the round edge of the cushion push dress and panties into her crevice; she rubbed herself gently against it, working the corner of the cushion between the moist lips of her vulva. Her body rocked on it in almost indiscernible rhythm, in concert with the writhing girl on the stage. She could feel the wetness spread between her thighs and she spread them slightly to gain greater contact with the cushion. The roughness brushed soothingly against her tiny, rising clit through the sheer panties.

She looked guilty out of the corner of her eye at Melinda and Pete next to her to make sure they hadn't noticed; but they were so engrossed that they had paid no attention. Melinda lay back against Pete, dragging heavily on another hashish cigarette, and Pete had his hands inside her bodice. Claire could see it move tantalizingly under the thin material covering her breasts. Her dress had slipped up so that the white thighs were visible above the stocking tops; her legs were slightly spread. In the dim light, Claire could see the white band of her panties between them. Melinda seemed unaware of the exposure. Her mouth was open in intoxicated rapture as both watched the stage intently in expectation.

Claire leaned against the back of the couch, careful not to break contact with the edge of the cushion pressed into the crevice between her fevered thighs and found Carlos's arm behind her waiting. Without thought, she relaxed against it and made no protest when his hand came to rest heavily on her left breast.

His arm feels good, she thought to herself, and it doesn't hurt anything. She pulled again at the cigarette in her lips. The musky odor of Carlos' cologne filled her nostrils, stimulating her more. It had a rich, suggestive odor that caused her to snuggle closer as the excitement of forbidden naughtiness rippled through her.

It seemed an eternity since she had last looked at the stage but it was only moments. The sweet, pungent hashish had warped her time sense. The girl on the bed writhed more lasciviously now as though being attacked by some unseen lover. She had placed the picture on the bedside table and both her hands were running over her body as though out of control, her fingertips dancing over the flat, ivory belly and coming to rest, together, at the chevron of her soft, down-covered crotch. She groaned on the stage at the sudden contact of her hands with the moist slit between her thighs and pulled her knees up, her toes on the mattress. Then, she straightened the legs like two beautifully carved ivory columns above the bed; with a deeper groan, she let them fall wide apart exposing to the excited onlookers the moist, glistening furrow between. Her fingers crawled to the soft hair covered lips and spread them slowly apart until the wet pinkness was fully visible and the mouth-like orifice opened hungrily. The half-moons of her rounded asscheeks shone in the stage light, divided by the hot, avid crevice between them. Her tiny ass nestled mysterious and inviting below the swollen and agitated lips.

Claire gasped in disbelief as the girl slowly inserted a middle finger into the glistening pink, stroking the tiny bud-like clit. Carlos's hand squeezed her breast tighter as she heard and felt his breathing becoming heavier. She was afraid to look at him; was hypnotized into immobility as the sensuous movements of the girl on the bed increased and her probing fingers worked themselves inside the pink edges of her contracting cunt, slowly widening the lips. She slipped her index finger in and out smoothly between the lubricated lips. Her legs jack- knifed back, knees against her breasts and the soft rounded asscheeks rose and fell in response to the inquiring finger. The girl's facial muscles tightened as she joined two fingers with the first and, clenching her teeth, pushed all three into the hungry, pink folds. They disappeared with a soft, sucking noise and a soft moan of pleasure purred from the girl's lips.

Claire tensed in momentary shock at this indignity and only Carlos' firm grip on her now-throbbing breasts kept her from running from the room. She sensed that she had better go, before it was too late and her own excitement ran away with her.

This desire lasted only a moment before the effect of the cigarette lulled her again. She waited in anticipation and nervous fear of her own emotions to see what would happen next. Claire felt too closely identified with the girl writhing in desire before her and knew there was a danger point from which there was no turning back. She took another sip of champagne and another pull at the hashish. The warm, relaxing smoke curled deliciously down into her lungs relaxing and easing her mind of fear at the passion raging through her own body. She snuggled back again against Carlos, foggily determined, somehow, to keep her guard up.

The girl on the bed had become possessed. Her eyes and teeth were clenched as she writhed beneath her own driving fingers in uncontrollable passion. The rapid rhythm drove grunts of pleasure from deep in her throat as the fingers sunk into the tight, pink openings, making moist, sucking sounds as she withdrew them to push them in again. Her face was red, straining for climax. She groaned in frustration as her own fingers thrust harder and deeper. They were not enough. Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow, her long dark hair flying in frustration at the inability to bring herself to climax. Still she tried, her hand beating a wild staccato against the spread, straining asscheeks, the grunts faster and louder with each passing second.

Suddenly, a giant St. Bernard dog ran onto the stage and jumped up on the bed. The girls eyes widened in terror and she jerked the back of a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. She moved to lower her legs and roll from the bed but the dog stood and growled viciously in warning. The young girl froze in the position of masturbation, thighs spread and with her knees drawn up to her chest. She didn't dare move as the huge dog growled menacingly over her, his great panting head just above her defenseless, upturned crotch.

Claire jumped when the giant animal bounded onto the bed. She grabbed Carlos' arm tightly; her nerves were on edge before; the sudden rush almost frightened her out of her wits.

"My God!" she whispered, voice quivering. "What's he going to do to the poor girl?"

"You will see," Carlos answered with a grin through the dim light. "But do not frighten, the girl is never in show before. Ramon did not tell of the dog. He is trained well and the more young, the more better he likes."

Claire knew she should leave now to keep from going to pieces herself. But somehow, the helplessness of the girl lying, shaking with fear beneath the snarling dog sadistically fascinated her. She couldn't look away. The lewd thought of this monstrous dog raping the naked and defenseless girl quaking on the bed, sent shivers of revulsive curiosity tingling through her, and goose-pimples erupted on her sensitive skin, as for a moment she felt strangely cold. She took the champagne Carlos pressed into her hand eagerly and downed it with one nervous gulp. The chill passed and she relaxed again in Carlos' arm, eyes glued on the stage. She could not resist as his hand moved beneath her bra to cup the softness of her large, firm breast, trapping the tiny nipple gently between thumb and forefinger. She knew Melinda was there and that he couldn't go any farther without forcing her, besides, it felt good as the nipple stiffened and swelled under his massaging hand and tweaking fingers. She squirmed tighter into the seat feeling the cushion beneath her asscheeks pressing deeper into her wet crevice. Her panties were soaked and she squeezed her thighs together to hold down the tingling sensation beginning to grow there. She was on dangerous ground and knew it but could not bring herself to leave. The evil fascination of the impending ravishment held her glued to the couch. She squirmed downward again, the cushion edge forcing the set band of her panties deeper into the split of her crotch. Its smoothness excited the sensitive, pink lips of the pussy. She felt tiny throbs pulsing in the tiny bud of her clit and she bit her lower lip tightly to hold back the forbidden sensations that were throbbing between her legs.

Her thoughts jerked back to the stage. The giant St. Bernard lowered his head to the helpless girl's soft hairy crotch and was sniffing it. His tail wagged and trembled as though he had found a bitch in heat. The girl moaned in terror as the cold nose suddenly made contact with her tiny, puckered ass. She tensed as his tongue snaked out and licked wetly up and down the crevice around it, the tip burrowing slightly into the outer fleshy anal ring.

For a moment, she tried to squirm away but the dog raised his head and growled again and began greedily lapping the narrow pink slit between her thighs. He ran his tongue wetly the full length of it, from the tight-closed little pucker, up over the fluted, pink edges of her cunt and over the tiny sensation-bud atop her public mound. His great tongue spread through the soft, hairy swelling like a knife through soft butter. It flicked relentlessly between the girls widespread legs, stopping sporadically to curl its way deep into her. She jerked spasmodically as she squirmed under the St. Bernard, lapping and sniffling at her loins.

Claire shuddered and chilled from the sexual stimulation that indulging in something forbidden gives, even against one's will. She gasped at the change coming over the writhing young girl on the bed. The frightened moans that had come from the girls terror-contorted face changed to soft mews of involuntary pleasure, pleasure that she did not want and had set her mind against but that slithering, thick tongue, licking at her had forced her to enjoy. She raised her hands, holding them in indecision for a moment above her squirming body, then dropped them to grasp the dog's ears.

With a deep animal sound she kicked her legs back over her head and pulled his nose forward, into her well-lubricated vulva. His giant tongue thrust up the moist passageway like an attacking lizard, ravishing her up thrust crotch without mercy. Wild incoherent shrieks streamed from her lips; pleading and encouraging dumb animal salivating between the writhing, upturned asscheeks. He worked like the savage beast he was, the rutting lust of the wild driving him...

Claire heard a groan next to her, and in surprise, tore her eyes from the obscene spectacle on the stage. The shock was even greater. Melinda had both legs spread wide, her dress over her hips. Pete's hand was inside her white panties, cupping her mound. Claire shuddered as the outline of his fingers moved under the sheer material. He was stroking in rhythm, sinking them deep into her pussy. Melinda, unaware of anyone, was grinding her pelvis, asscheeks off the cushions, in rhythm to the fingers screwing into her. Both she and Pete had their eyes locked on the lascivious exhibition.

Claire looked around, other couples were in lewd embraces, indistinct but showing by their writhing motion the obscene exhibition was affecting them, they were losing control over their passions. A warning bell sounded again in Claire's subconscious. She knew she should run, now, before her own body succumbed to the lewd urges pulsing through it. But then, a groan from the stage pulled her drugged mind from logical thought. The dog lifted his head from the pleading girl's crotch to nose her over on her stomach in servile surrender; her resistance gone under the maddening tongue which had so mercilessly lapped her pussy. She was enslaved by the huge beast panting over her; her quivering body spread-eagled, face down on the bed. The huge head lowered again, the thick tongue slithering in the exposed crevice between the moaning girl's asscheeks.

She twisted them back toward him lasciviously, reaching to spread the ivory globes and give full access to the tiny, brown ass. The tongue lashed her for another long, avid moment as Claire felt the aching hunger inside her spread from her abdomen up to her passion-swollen breasts. She labored, gasping, for breath and squirmed harder against the cushion, pushing the wet, swollen lips of her organ against it to try to put out the fire burning there. Carlos' hands palpating her swollen breasts, thrilled her and frightened her. She tried with all her might to pull his hand away, but her own hand moved only as far as Carlos', and then fell back, uncontrolled, into her lap. It would not obey her mind's commands, lying limp and useless as she turned her glassy eyes back to the stage.

The St. Bernard now was nuzzling under the lust-paralyzed girl's crotch, pushing his massive head between her pelvis and the mattress. Claire's eyes widened in amazed disbelief as the head lifted, raising the girl's asscheeks. What he wanted was plain - and the girl obediently knelt, elevating the spread asscheeks, bending before the huge animal in abject surrender. The relentless tongue had lashed her to servile defeat; crushed her resistance with its vigorous and unremitting attack on her sensitive organs for interminable minutes.

The girl was on all fours and the huge dog mounted the spread rounds of her asscheeks, paws on her back. It was then Claire saw that white fur mitts had been lashed to the dog's forefeet to prevent his claws wounding her. The glistening, scarlet penis slipped from its huge sheath, dripping; the tapered point slipped and danced in the hot, wet crevice as the animal trembled and jerked, trying to bury the tapered point and the thick shaft in her body.

Sobbing, the girl looked back, shifting her round asscheeks to try to capture the lengthening shaft; like a bitch in heat, she strove to sheath the long, scarlet organ in her voracious, grasping vulva. The sharp tip missed, slid up to find the momentarily-relaxed ass, attempted to enter. With a cry, the girl tensed, evaded the bending, up-sliding prod in fright but the dog returned immediately to the attack, having tasted success. However, mindlessly, he thrust blindly, the thin point sliding unsuccessfully beneath, into the soft, hairy crevice, rubbing against the clit. The hot scarlet of his jabbing penis contrasted startlingly with the fevered pink of the girl's passion-inflamed cunt, spreading the lips wider as his still unhoused shaft rubbed between them. Claire held her breath with the other spectators who'd stopped to watch the huge dog, bucking madly behind the moaning girl, attempting to skewer her on the still-lengthening taper of the huge, dripping penis. Out of control, the dog growled in frustration as the girl, in desperation, reached back and, grasping the slippery organ, guided the point of it into the pink red slit, spreading it apart wider and wider with each forward thrust. Claire was holding her breath.

Groans of disbelief rippled through the room as the giant St. Bernard jerked forward and buried his huge cudgel deep up the squirming girl's pink, grasping hole. It slithered forward with a wet rush until it was sunk to the hilt, his hairy balls swinging below her wet pubic hair. A moan of relief came from her contorted lips as she began to move rhythmically backwards to meet the thrust of the panting dog. As the forelegs trapped her waist, she began to undulate her body and move her asscheeks in lewd circles, abandoning herself to the delicious animal fucking she was receiving from behind. Her face turned sideways toward the excited audience and they could see fully the effect it was having. Her face was contorted in rapture from the delicious screwing the dog was giving her. Her large, taut breasts danced tightly beneath her writhing torso, moving in time to the skewering cock of the dog as it slid deep into her from behind, a relentless, hot poker of glistening flesh burying itself in her belly.

Claire's breath was coming in tight gasps and the burning sensation bubbling in her belly grew in maddening intensity with each moment she watched the girl being ravished. Her body was beginning to perspire in the warm, close room. The excited heat of the audience acted as a giant heater and Claire could feel a trickle of sweat running from her navel down her belly into her pubic hair. Its slow, teasing trail caused her to squirm against the cushion, the edges rubbed sensuously against the moist, hairy flanges of her warm throbbing pussy. She bit harder on her lower lip to keep back a groan of frustration.

Her forehead was covered with tiny beads of sweat from the feverish bodies around her. Another trickle ran down the valley between her full, ripe breasts that Carlos had massaged into hardness, his hands slipping over the nipples and his fingers nipping them sharply, causing a nervous jump each time he did it.

Her nerves were shattered and her mind whirled in indecision. She knew she should demand that they take her home. Melinda's crowd was just a little too fast for her and this wasn't being true to Dave. She owed him faithfulness and had already gone too far by letting Carlos squeeze and knead her naked breasts this way but she still wanted to show Melinda that she was not a child. And perhaps it was all right. This petting didn't hurt anything so long as it didn't go any farther. She could always stop Carlos if he tried to do anything other than touch her breasts. Surely, Melinda wouldn't go any further with Pete. She had gone far enough as it was and Claire's face crimsoned as she thought of Pete's fingers digging wetly between her girl friend's thighs. The lewd thought sent another electric tingle deep into her belly and she could feel the seeping wetness between her own thighs increasing. Her heart pounded like a tom-tom. She was sure Carlos could feel it beneath her tight breast in his hand. She would stay, just until the show was over and then they could go. She would insist... she just had to; she had never intended things to go even this far.

Her mind strayed back to the obscenely swaying body of the girl kneeling before the hunching St. Bernard on the stage. She had gone completely out of her mind now and was shouting lewd encouragement to the dumb beast through clenched teeth. She was begging him to fuck her harder and faster and to spew his cum up her cunt. She wanted to be filled with the animal sperm in her drugged madness and that was all that mattered. The girl was no longer human but a quivering mass of sweating, lust-deranged flesh that begged to be subjugated. She was reveling in humiliation at being screwed by this panting beast in front of the crowd and ground her asscheeks back against his hairy jerking body like another animal. Claire watched in abject fascination. Tiny rivulets of moisture were building in the crevice of the girls rotating asscheeks. They glistened in the lights of the stage and tiny droplets ran slowly down the backs of her thighs, soaking the hose on her straining thighs.

Claire could feel Carlos becoming more restless; certain he could feel her occasionally grinding her own asscheeks into the couch. She tried to make it appear she was just changing position but it was becoming more difficult by the minute to conceal her frustration. Carlos' hand was kneading her breasts more vigorously now making her tiny, bud-like nipples throb in guilty pleasure. She snuggled down closer to him and put her hands over the front of her dress to hide his actions from Melinda. She wanted to convince her companion she wasn't a prude and could watch a show like this; but she didn't want Melinda to know she was letting another man touch her intimately even though Melinda herself was succumbing disgracefully to Pete's caresses. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Pete's hand was still probing under the panties between Melinda's loosely spread thighs, thrusting more rapidly now. Melinda's eyes looked glazed through the darkness and she was grinding her pelvis up with greater determination against Pete's fingers as they flicked in and out of her widespread pussy.

Claire suddenly squirmed down hard against the seat. Carlos had turned toward her and dropped his other hand to her bared knee, slipping it up toward the fullness of her thigh. She had frozen momentarily at the unexpected contact crawling insect-like over her sensitive flesh. Carlos was pushing the hem of her dress; was half way up to her panties before she reacted and dropped a hand to her lap. She restrained his wrist tightly not daring to look at him. Her eyes remained on the panting, unnatural coupling on the bed; darting quickly to the side to see if Melinda had spied Carlos' hand moving on her thigh. She obviously had not as she was totally engrossed in the fingers probing at her own genitals and the exhibition working toward a climax before them. She gradually forced Carlos' hand back down, pushing the dress with it, until she was covered again.

Carlos' hand came to rest on her lap as she lifted it from her knee and kept hers over it. She tried to hold it but it moved by force kneading the softness of her belly under the thin material of her dress. Teasing at the light sprinkling of hair at the base of her abdomen, his fingers rotated against the mound of her crotch unable to go lower because of her tightly pressed thighs. Claire pressed harder against the cushion, knowing he would think she was trying to escape his fingers and not suspect that secretly she was pressing the cushion into her own wet vaginal slit. The flood between her thighs was wetting her dress now and she could feel the warm wetness on the soft cheeks of her asscheeks as she pressed down harder to feed the pleasure building there. As his fingers worked more firmly at her crotch, indecision arose again but the pleasure rationalized away the danger. Carlos could not - without forcing her - get beneath her dress. With Melinda at hand, Claire didn't think he'd try. It felt wickedly good... only pleasure and no danger. She grasped his wrist tighter but it did not stop his hand. It was still able to move about freely, teasing her pussy and lower belly mercilessly through the thin material of her soaked dress and panties. Claire closed her eyes tightly for a moment and resigned herself to the rolling sensations of pleasure coursing through her body. It was almost as though he were touching her nakedness but still she felt safe. Surely he could go no farther with the others around like this. But suddenly, she gasped in surprise. Carlos removed his hand from her lap, moving it gradually under her asscheeks from the side. He still peered at the exhibition as though completely unaware of his left hand now thrust between her asscheeks and the seat. His hand searched like a mouse in the crevice between her asscheeks. Claire hesitated, not knowing what to do. If she moved to push him away she would have to drop the hand hiding her breasts in Carlos's kneading fingers, from Melinda and Pete. The struggle would certainly attract attention. Anything she said to him would be overheard in the silence that had fallen over the room.

Slowly she dropped her other arm to grasp his wrist tightly, but that didn't stop the hand. It continued its ruthless teasing under her crotch, probing at her moist slit through the thin dress and panties. There was no more she could do without creating a scene, so Claire resigned herself, almost with relief to Carlos' sneaky probing of her already-wet genitals. She squirmed slightly away from it as his middle finger began a gentle stroking motion, pushing the folds of her dress moistly into her suddenly throbbing crevice. A gush of shame washed through her at the sudden waves of indecent pleasure overcoming her desire to resist. Carlos' hand under her asscheeks became bolder as it sensed her tacit surrender to its probing. He hooked his middle finger to slide her dress up the backs of her thighs so that he could penetrate the moist softness underneath. She could feel already the light tickling sensation of the material sliding from between her thighs and the cushion.

Oh God, what should she do? This was sheer lunacy; allowing herself to be used like this, and worse, enjoying it! What was happening to her?

Claire bit hard on her lower lip, glancing to see if Melinda showed any signs of awareness. But she was still concentrating on the stage as Pete's hand continued its stroking.

She could feel the dress rising faster now, though still not apparent from the lap. She lifted inadvertently as a fingernail scratched the softness of her thigh, as the dress slid upward more rapidly in response to Carlos's hooking finger. Suddenly, she gasped aloud. There was no more dress. Carlos' hand covered all of the wet band of her panties and was snaking under the elastic leg-band and worming into the moist walls of her soft pussy. She squirmed against it, holding her breath for fear some tell-tale sound might escape her lips. Her whole torso quivered until her impaled pussy became accustomed to the invading finger probing at the lubricated softness of its tender walls. She could feel its moisture covering the palm of the hand beneath her asscheeks as it ground imperceptibly into her crotch. Carlos' fingers moved in circles inside her, expanding her tight little hole with each teasing rotation. Claire was almost out of her mind, now. She didn't think she could stand this maddening teasing of her genitals another moment. She was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging through her contracting pussy. The sight of the girl on the stage being buffeted into the squeaking mattress by the St. Bernard and the long thin finger, fucking into her cunt without mercy, were just too much! Something had to give!

It did.

Suddenly there was a loud cry from the stage. The girl was twisting her head from side to side wildly, her long dark hair churning on the mattress. She was in the beginning throes of an orgasm and screwed her asscheeks greedily against the dog like a she-demon gone insane. The giant animal's tongue hung from his mouth as he fucked into the waving asscheeks from behind. Saliva dripped from it, onto the sweat on her back. She screamed suddenly and rammed back against the dog wildly just as he jerked forward and his cock began spitting its sperm in hard spurts deep in her clasping pussy. Claire watched in fascination as the girl's round asscheeks began contracting uncontrollably. signaling her own orgiastic upheaval deep in her quivering belly. Thick white liquid oozed from her tight cunt squeezing the prick of the dog; thin trails of the sticky white ran down the ivory columns of her thighs. Her backside glistened, displaying soaked pubic hair and pink flesh as she pitched forward on her face, unconscious; the rapidly deflating cock of the dog slipping from her mauled passage-way with a sucking noise that echoed lewdly through the stunned silence of the room. The girl was out cold and the dog stood above her wagging his tail in obvious appreciation. In a last act of obscene depravity he dropped his head to her widespread crotch and licked at the white sticky liquid oozing from her still quivering cunt. He gulped at it hungrily until at last there was no more and lay down contentedly between her open legs, his giant head nuzzled gently into the soft chevron of her ravished pelvis.

The curtain closed slowly, leaving the depraved scene, the subjugated girl and her animal lover lying in satiated sleep, imprinted deeply in the minds of the breathless crowd. The room was filled with the stale air of excited breathing that had accompanied the passion-inciting exhibition. No one present had not felt the sensations of lust at that final climax, including Claire Bachman. It was with relief and regret that she felt Carlos' finger slip from her tortured pussy and his hand slide from beneath her. She was close to her own orgasm and in a few more moments, would herself have been as helpless a victim of passion as the girl unconscious on the bed in front of them.

Claire's eyes were still on the stage her breath coming in gasps as the curtain closed. She had never been so excited, sexually by anything and it frightened her. To actually see a beautiful young girl subjugated by an animal was far beyond the scope of her imagination, and for the girl to enjoy it the way she did with the St. Bernard was beyond anyone's imagination. Claire was a nervous wreck when Ramon announced that the lights would be turned on in three minutes. There was a bustle of clothing being straightened and she guilty pulled down her own dress under which Carlos' hand had been probing into her moments before. She felt the wet between her thighs as she lifted herself slightly off the seat and smoothed her dress beneath her asscheeks.

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Melinda reluctantly forcing Pete's hand out of the front of her panties and pulling her dress down as the lights Licked on. Claire was crimson at having to face all these people after the lewd exhibition on stage, but there was nothing she could do but look as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances.

"Boy," Pete said, wiping his perspiring forehead with a handkerchief. "That was some hot little bitch up there. Did you see the way she gave that hound a ride? Bet he'll never be happy with another she St. Bernard again."

Melinda and Carlos laughed at the joke and Claire forced a smile. He knew she had been on the verge of losing control of herself and for this reason, she could not look at him. She had never felt so humiliated and ashamed in her life and could not understand how Melinda could sit here so calmly after letting Pete do the things he did to her while the lights were down. She just did not understand it and a sudden wave of revulsion came over her when she remembered her own behavior and how she had allowed Carlos to take so many liberties with her own body.

God, what had come over them? They were both married women and had husbands away at sea and here they had acted like two whores picked up on the street, which is just what had happened! They had been picked up!

"Well, let's have a drink everyone," Pete said, wiping his flushed face with a handkerchief. "I need it after that exhibition of bedroom gymnastics. Come on, I've arranged a private room for us to cool off in; then we can continue where we left off, eh baby?" He patted Melinda playfully on the asscheeks as she rose from the couch. Claire was shocked and the sudden impact of what he was suggesting caught her unaware. She refused to move when the others got up.

"Well come on, Claire," Melinda smiled down at her. "I think you need a drink too." She directed a knowing smile at Carlos who had also risen and was waiting with the others.

"I-I'm not going. I want to go home now," she stammered, looking at the floor. Tears of humiliation were forming in the corners of her downcast eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake, baby, don't keep giving us that innocent act," Pete blurted suddenly. "I saw you rubbing against that seat like you had a short fuse under you, who do you think you're kidding?"

Claire gasped at the realization that Pete had been watching her shameless submission to Carlos' probing hand. She dropped her head into her hands sobbing, unable to believe it. They were watching her all the time!

"Pete," Melinda admonished, "leave the poor girl alone. I'll handle this. She's my guest down here."

"Well, hell, who does she think she is, Miss Untouchable?"

"Now you be quiet. Claire, darling, let's go freshen up, shall we? We'll meet you gentlemen in the room for a drink in a couple of minutes."

"Well make it fast, baby, I'm hot as a firecracker," Pete cracked as he and