My Bride for Yours

by Curt Aldrich

  “Or could it be that your real feeling is that sex itself is dirty?”

  “You have no right to say that!” Marilyn said.

  “Listen to yourself... so fiery and so indignantly righteous,” Barbara retorted, an amused, indulgent smile playing on her lips. “Since I never accused you of anything—since I only asked you a straightforward question that naturally came to mind—I'd like to know why you felt you had to react with such an outburst. Do you think maybe I rubbed a raw wound?”

  Marilyn pouted. “All you are is being sarcastic, and don't think I don't know it.”

  Barbara whirled before her and grabbed both her wrists. “I'm not, Marilyn!” she countered heatedly. “All I'm doing is trying to straighten you out. Can't you see that?”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “It's not right to make yourself miserable for no good reason, and that's what you're doing. For God's sake, Marilyn, can't you just accept life and sex and yourself the way they are and the way you are? You've got a right to live, you know.”

  “I never said I didn't.”

  “Yeah, but you don't seem to think you have a right to live a life that's worth living.”

  “Oh, that's not fair, Barbara. I—”

  “It's not? You know what your ideas of right and wrong amount to? It's right to feel lousy and depressed and everything, but it's wrong to feel happy.”

  “I never said anything like that.”

  “You didn't have to. I know how it works, 'cause I've known plenty of people with your kind of views. Just tell me this: Have you ever gotten on your back, like you are now, about something you didn't enjoy—about something that bored you or made you unhappy when you were doing it?”

  Marilyn thought about the question for quite a few moments, but she couldn't recall a single instance of the sort Barbara referred to. As far as she could recall, every time she'd ever felt she had done something wrong, the “wrong” had been something she'd enjoyed doing.

  “Do you see what I'm getting at, Marilyn?” Barbara pressed, still holding her wrists. “Going by your feelings about right and wrong, if it's fun it's wrong. Maybe that's an oversimplification, but I bet it's not as much of an oversimplification as you think.”

  Marilyn forced herself to look at Barbara. “Well, what do you think of as wrong?” she asked.

  “I guess I'd say hurting people is wrong, and that includes hurting yourself. Doesn't that sound to you like a fair test of what's wrong?”

  “You're saying it's wrong of me to feel that what we did was wrong?”

  “That's exactly what I'm saying, and I'm saying it because it's so.”

  “But what about my husband... about Bill? Even if I could talk myself into looking at things the way you do—”

  “If you're worried that Bill will find out what we did, you can stop right now. The only way he'd find out would be if you were to tell him, because I promise you I won't.”

  Marilyn grinned warmly, if a little shyly, at Barbara. She'd been fairly confident that Barbara had no intention of telling Bill, but even so she was glad to have her promise.

  “You shouldn't even have to worry about what your husband might think anyway,” Barbara said. “There is such a thing as getting one up on him, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Barbara smiled, and proceeded to tell Marilyn exactly what she meant...

  * * *

  Barbara was still smiling when she knocked on the door of the cabin that had been assigned to Bill and Marilyn.

  “Just a minute,” Bill called from inside.

  “It's me, Bill... Barbara.”

  Barbara hadn't expected to have such an easy time manipulating Marilyn for her own advantage a second time, but she guessed that Marilyn was even more confused and filled with self-doubt than she had supposed.

  Marilyn was still at the lake shore. After explaining to her what she'd meant by “getting one up on” Bill, Barbara had talked Marilyn into agreeing to let her seduce Bill again, and Marilyn was supposed to come and barge in on them in a half-hour.

  Barbara hadn't been surprised that Marilyn had agreed to the plan, but she had been surprised at how quickly she had agreed to it. Maybe letting Bill and me have a rematch is her way of atoning for what she and I did, Barbara had reflected. Or maybe she gets an unconscious kick from thinking about her husband screwing stray stuff.

  Right now, Barbara was too preoccupied with her own concerns to bother herself over Marilyn's possible oddities. Why Marilyn had agreed to let her seduce Bill again didn't really matter; what mattered was that she had agreed.

  “Oh... Barbara... come on in,” Bill invited. “I'm freshening up in the bathroom right now, but I'll be with you in a minute. You don't happen to know where Marilyn's gone off to, do you?”

  After entering the cabin and pushing the door closed behind her, Barbara answered, “As a matter of fact, I was talking to her just a few minutes ago. There's a rowboat tied up to a little pier at the lake, and she said something about rowing across the lake and back to work up a good appetite for breakfast.”

  Bill thrust his head and the upper part of his bare torso out of the bathroom doorway and treated Barbara to a bright, boyish grin of amusement.

  “That wife of mine is sure a kooky kid in some ways, isn't she?”

  Barbara returned his grin as she admired his broad, strong chest. She thought of telling him that she didn't really feel like talking about Marilyn, but she decided against it.

  “Did you stop by for any special reason?” Bill asked.

  “Yes. I thought I'd have a go at seducing you again.”

  Bill chuckled, and disappeared into the bathroom again. He knew Barbara was just joking with him.

  He was wrong... as he found out less than a minute later. Coming out of the bathroom, he found Barbara standing completely naked, her clothes scattered around her in the middle of the living room.

  “Don't just stand there, “Barbara said. “You wouldn't keep a lady waiting, would you?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Hey, Marilyn,” Peter called, “I thought you might be down there!”

  Marilyn turned and looked up away from the lake and saw that Peter was walking at a fast pace toward her, and she felt a sense of uneasiness sweeping into her. She hoped he only wanted to greet her good morning, but she was afraid there was more on his mind than that.

  “Good morning,” she said presently, when he had come near and stopped before her.

  “Morning,” Peter said, his voice as cheerful and sprightly as the look on his darkly handsome face. “You're looking as handsome as ever.”

  “Thank you,” she said formally, without warmth, then turned and looked back out over the lake.

  “I wanted to see you because I'd like to apologize.”

  “What makes you think you owe me an apology?”

  “I owe you an apology because I got you half-drunk then practically forced you to let me fuck you on the yacht, and because of my part in helping Harry get you so horny you couldn't resist either one of us.”

  Marilyn felt shivers running up and down her spine in response to Peter's shockingly frank language. How he could use such language was beyond her understanding, but she knew that hearing him do so made her feel warm and itchy at the juncture of her thighs, a sensation that was by no means unpleasant, even though she couldn't help feeling it was naughty.

  “Do you have to talk that way?” she asked.

  “What way?”

  “Those words...”

  “You mean like 'fuck'? Marilyn, are you still offended by honesty in talk about sex?”

  “There's a difference between honesty and vulgarity,” Marilyn insisted.

  “Oh, don't try to throw that line at me. We fucked on the yacht, and we fucked up the shore of the lake there... and fucking was exactly what it was both times.”

  “If you're going to keep saying that, at least I don't have to listen,” Marilyn huffed, and turned to walk
away from Peter along the shore.

  Peter stood for a few minutes watching her buttocks twitch under her snug clothes as she stalked away; then he hurried after her and grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around.

  Marilyn's eyes were blazing at him. She shouted, “You let me—”

  Peter wasn't really in a mood to waste time matching words with her, so he cut her short by pulling her against him and smashing his lips down on hers, his arms snaking around her and his hands winding up, pressing firmly against her buttocks. He kissed her so passionately that Marilyn soon gave up struggling and relaxed against him, her mouth opening to let in his tongue.

  When at last he ended the kiss, Marilyn's face was deeply flushed and she had to lower her eyes confusion.

  “You had no right to do that,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

  “You enjoyed it, didn't you?” Peter retorted, enjoying her embarrassment.

  Marilyn gazed blankly straight down between them and said nothing. What could she say? If she said she hadn't enjoyed it, she'd be lying; and if she admitted that she'd enjoyed it...

  She was acutely aware of his hands on her buttocks. He had started to stroke the firm mounds gently, almost idly.

  “I didn't only want to apologize,” he said, “I wanted to know... I was wondering if you might have seen Barbara.”

  Marilyn wriggled against him, feeling his fingertips wandering all over her bottom.

  “I...” No, I can't tell him where she is. “No... no, I'm sorry; I haven't seen her. Did you... did you have a fight or something?”

  “A fight? Me and Barbara? What on earth would we fight about? We understand each other perfectly. No, she just went out for a little walk. I can't understand where she got off to. You see, we have a sort of appointment.”

  “An appointment here? And before breakfast?”

  Marilyn wished he would stop working his fingertips over her buttocks. She could hardly help but respond in the way she knew he wanted her to respond, and she didn't want to respond. She didn't want to respond now anyway. She still had to barge in on Bill and Barbara—to “get one up on” Bill, as Barbara had suggested. She had to believe it was important for her to do that, or she wouldn't have let Barbara talk her into going along with the idea.

  But Peter's fingers kept on and on, boldly digging between her cheeks.

  “What kind of appointment is it?” she asked shakily, unthinkingly pressing her midsection against his loins.

  “Did I ever tell you what a nice-feeling little ass you have, Marilyn?”

  “Oh, Peter, please don't talk that way.”

  Peter laughed briefly, then said, “About that appointment, it has to do with a certain peculiarity of Harry's. Some people would call it a peculiarity anyway.”

  “What is it?” Marilyn asked, only half listening.

  Peter's fingers had already so stimulated her that she could feel the band of her underpants growing moist against her cunt. She was no longer sure she wanted him to stop what he was doing. She was no longer even sure that she was very interested in barging in on Bill and Barbara. Images kept drifting through her mind that gave evidence of a much stronger, more immediate interest.

  If only her buttocks weren't so terribly sensitive...

  “Well, the thing is, Harry likes to have other people watching, you know,” Peter answered her question evasively.

  “Watching?” Marilyn prompted.

  “When he's doing it,” Peter said. “You know...”

  “Oh, you're joking,” Marilyn said, her voice a squeal because his fingers were digging right into the crack of her ass now, pushing in the rear of her underpants and several folds of her dress. “Ooh, stop, Peter...”

  “The thing is, I wanted to screw his wife... to screw Joan... and he said he wouldn't have any objections if I just did this one thing for him.”

  “Ooh, Peter... What thing?”

  “Of course, I could keep hunting for Barbara and hope I'd find her in time...”

  No, he can't do that, Marilyn thought. He might... might find her.

  “See, Harry and Joan are going to be in the patch of woods up beyond the line of the cabins, where the trees haven't been cleared off—for a nice fresh-air screw to wake 'em up, as he put it—and I told him I'd talk Barbara into coming along with me to watch them. Only I can't seem to find Barbara...”

  “Oh... all right... all right...” Marilyn sighed.

  “All right what?”

  “I'll go with you in Barbara's-oh, Peter, don't poke so hard!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The woods were not thick. Marilyn and Peter made out Harry and Joan even before they passed beyond the first of the trees up beyond the line of the cabins.

  “There they are,” Peter said unnecessarily, holding Marilyn's hand as the two made their way through the trees toward the couple.

  Harry and Joan were both naked. Harry was on his knees behind Joan, who was on her hands and knees. Resigned, Marilyn watched them without embarrassment; it was clear to her that they had already made love once on the carpet of leaves, and that they were about to do so again.

  The noise of Marilyn and Peter approaching undoubtedly was heard by Harry and Joan, but neither of the latter two made any sign of having heard. Marilyn assumed they were pretending not to be aware that they were being watched. Why they chose to do that, she wasn't sure, but she guessed the pretense spiced the “odd” thrill—Marilyn thought of it as odd anyway—they got from making an exhibition of their lovemaking.

  “We'll stop here,” Peter said.

  Marilyn sat down beside him. They were twenty-five or thirty feet from Harry and Joan, behind several small bushes clustered between two trees. Harry and Joan could see them, if they chose to look in their direction, as easily as they could see Harry and Joan, but their presence nearby wasn't so obvious as to be distracting to the naked couple.

  When Harry closed in on Joan, Marilyn saw that he was going to fuck her in the ass. She didn't know whether to feel sympathy for Joan or jealousy of her. She remembered Bill's doing it to her that way, and a shiver ran through her. Whatever she felt now, she knew she didn't want to miss seeing what was about to take place.

  Harry was obviously intending to achieve a quick and thorough penetration of his wife's rectum. After directing her to lower her head to her hands, he said, “Now get your ass up good and high, honey.”

  Moments later he was moving on his knees in closer, then closer still, to the divide between Joan's splayed cheeks. He guided his cock with one hand until its head smacked neatly into contact with the little pucker of her anus.

  “You are ready, aren't you?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “I guess I am if I'll ever be,” came Joan's muffled reply.

  Harry gripped her cheeks and pried them apart, and he began to apply pressure with his thick, fully hardened cock.

  Joan groaned, and she tried to keep from growing tense and resistant under him.

  Harry tightened his hands more determinedly on the rubbery mounds of her bottom, his fingers digging into her tender flesh so strongly that even his nails started poking into her, piercing shallowly right into the flesh of her muscles as he ground his teeth together and strained for all he was worth to drag the tensing mounds as far apart as possible.

  Though he didn't really relish the idea of subjecting Joan to any abuse whatever, let alone abuse of such sustained ferocity, he was, nevertheless, pleased when he heard her anus at last emitting barely audible sounds of yielding as its resistance was worn down and it began slowly to widen.

  “Push as hard as you can,” Joan grunted bravely, her lips pale and painfully taut. “You've got the hole growing good now, and I'm sure you can fuck your way through if you give it all you've got.”

  She pressed her face against her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. It took all her will power to keep from crying out in response to the flashing anguish searing the little aperture of her back passage. Sweat was pouring off her f
ace, and she was panting so hard that she sounded less like a human being than like some wounded, whining animal.

  But she wouldn't cry out! She was determined not to cry out!

  “Ooh, it's starting to go in!” Harry groaned. “But it's so thick; you're so tight, honey... If I can just manage to tug the cheeks of your ass just a little farther apart, I think that'll do it.”

  “But it's impossible!” Joan cried. “Yet even as the words passed from her mouth she was trying to relax enough to enable him to do that “impossible” thing. “You've got me stretched so wide-open already...”

  “It's working, though, honey! I'm getting them farther apart! It's starting to go in easier!”

  “Ooh, no more; no wider. Don't hurt me, Harry...”

  “It's okay, honey. This is good enough now. As soon as I get another wind, I'm going to fuck in so hard I'm bound to get it all the way in.”

  Marilyn watched intently as his massive, throbbing erection was driven like a post into Joan's rectum. The brutal column of flesh tore into her back passage more and more quickly.

  Marilyn heard the rustle of clothing behind her, and she was dimly aware that Peter had gotten up and was stripping. She paid little attention to the sounds of his doing so, and she didn't turn around to watch him; she was too interested in what was taking place before her to be distracted. She didn't even give any conscious thought to why Peter was stripping.

  “It's going all the way in now!” Harry shouted, feeling as if he were achieving the accomplishment of a lifetime. “Nothing can stop it!”

  “Aiieee!” Joan screamed, salivating copiously all over her hands. “I can't take it! I'm stuffed to the gills! Harry, you're goring me like a bull! You're going to burst my whole rear end!”

  “It's okay, honey. It's okay, darling,” Harry murmured tenderly. “Just this last little bit... just this last inch and it'll be all the way in...”

  “I can't take any more! God, Harry, I can't take what you've already got fucked into me!”

  Marilyn leaned forward on her knees, her head over the bushes. She strained to see Joan's apple-sized anus being penetrated fully by Harry's cock. What she saw made her eyes widen to a comical extent: Harry had stuffed every last fraction of an inch of his cock into Joan's bowels, and now he seemed to be trying to force his swollen testicles in after the thick shaft.