by Curt Aldrich
“Ooh, Harry, Harry, it's too much! It's too much! You're ruining me, Harry!”
“No... no... it's good,” Harry husked. “You just relax. Don't you worry. It's good, honey.”
“It hurts, I tell you!” Joan retorted, her tone one of pleading. “Please, Harry! You've got to take it out!”
“That's what she says now,” Peter whispered in Marilyn's ear, “but you just wait 'til she gets used to having that big bone of his crammed up her. She's going to come like she's never come before!”
Marilyn felt his hands slipping under her armpits. She didn't resist when she realized he was drawing her up onto her feet.
And she didn't resist, either, when she felt his hands gliding sensually over her body as he began to remove her clothes. She simply relaxed against him, letting him do as he wished.
Harry started screwing Joan's rectum, pistoning his cock into her time after time. Ignoring his own obvious state of extreme excitement, he devoted himself entirely to pumping her lust higher and higher. He sawed his cock savagely in her asshole, driving it faster and faster, yet making every stroke as punishingly thorough as the last.
“No, no, no, Harry! Not so much!” Joan shouted. “Please! It's so big! It hurts when-oh, God in heaven!”
“Marilyn!” Peter yelped abruptly, made almost viciously in heat by his viewing of Harry and Joan's unorthodox lovemaking.
He threw himself between Marilyn's legs, tumbling her onto her back. Clasping her thighs near her knees, he swept them up, over her torso, and down, until her knees hung over her shoulders.
“I want to eat out your cunt so bad, Marilyn,” he husked, his eyes boring into the juicy red maw of her vulva. “You're so beautiful. You don't mind if I eat your cunt for you, do you?”
Marilyn clasped her thighs just behind her knees and drew them as far apart as she could.
“It's all yours, Peter,” she rasped. “I shouldn't let you, but... just see that you do a good job.”
Peter lay almost completely prone, his body extending directly away from her butt. Only his chest and head were elevated, supported by his elbows and forearms drawn up under his shoulders.
Before going down on Marilyn's pussy, he dragged the tip of his tongue repeatedly across the elastic pucker of her asshole. Then all of a sudden he jerked his face up and jammed the fully widened oval of his lips over the whole of Marilyn's cunt flesh and began lashing his tongue through the glistening tissues and membranes.
“Ah, give it to me, Peter!” Marilyn groaned. “Lick the skin out of the thing!”
Peter couldn't help being drawn by her jutting clitoris. He inched forward, his stomach pressing against the head of his erection and dragging it through the leaves, and his impatience drove him to attack the fleshy stalk with full fury from the very start. He chewed on the achingly sensitive organ, grinding and digging his teeth into it from root to tip.
He kept treating the spastically twitching little hard-on like a stick of unruly gum until he sensed that Marilyn was on the verge of coming; then he released it from his teeth and gave it a fond little smile of amusement because it looked like a used hunk of beef jerky.
Marilyn heard Joan squeal, “Oh, I can't believe it, Harry! I'm going to come out of my mind!”
Joan started coming at a moment when Harry had back-pumped his cock almost all the way out of her rectum, and her midsection immediately began bucking and gyrating so furiously that even the head of the shaft was dislodged from her hole so violently that Harry went head over heels and sprawled out flat on his back.
“Oh, honey, I'm coming, too!” Harry groaned, and Marilyn tipped her head back and was able to see, through the lower twigs of the bushes, the copious gobs of his seed arc up from the extreme tip of his jerking cock and splat on his heaving abdomen.
As soon as her rectum had been freed of the last of her husband's cock, Joan had started flopping about on the leaves. She rolled over and over, her legs flailing uncontrollably, and she moaned in response to the jolts of ecstasy shooting through her.
Peter had returned to chewing on Marilyn's fiercely jacked-up clitoris, pressing his tongue into service and lapping ferociously at the raunchy sprout, but he again brought his mouth away, this time as Marilyn was shaking on the very edge of orgasm.
He smiled inwardly, and he started moving up over Marilyn. He was confident that she was far too horny even to consider offering him any resistance.
* * *
Marilyn happened to meet Barbara a while later on her way to her and Bill's cabin from the patch of woods.
“Hey, you were supposed to barge in on us,” Barbara said in a tone of feigned reproach.
“I know,” Marilyn said softly, averting her eyes.
“What happened? Don't tell me you forgot!” Barbara laughed at her teasing speculation.
“No. I... I just couldn't make it.”
“Something came up, huh?” Barbara said, winking suggestively. “I guess all that time I spent with Bill... and everything we did... it was just all a waste then, huh?”
“I'm sorry,” Marilyn mumbled.
“Oh, that's okay. It wasn't really a complete waste. In fact, I guess I ought to admit that I enjoyed it.”
Marilyn looked up at her and found herself smiling. “Did you really?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Could I get you a cup of coffee?” Lydia Janeway asked Marilyn, at the same time indicating with a nod of her head that the two should sit on the bench that stretched along one side of the back wall of the Wanderlust's bridge.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Janeway,” Marilyn answered, following Lydia to the sofa.
Sitting down beside the large, friendly woman with the deep yet somehow gentle voice, Marilyn reflected briefly on what had prompted her to come to the bridge of the yacht and call on her.
What was bothering Marilyn was a highly personal matter, and under normal circumstances she was hardly likely to consider bringing up such a matter with a stranger. But the circumstances weren't normal, she felt; she felt different than she ever had before—and it was how she felt that disturbed her.
And it was how she felt, she guessed, that made her look upon Lydia as someone considerably closer than a stranger, even though she'd only talked to the woman a few times. There was something maternal in the manner and bearing of Captain Tony's wife, it seemed to her. Marilyn found Lydia's look of maturity and experience appealing. She felt that she needed the advice of such a woman,-and she hoped Lydia would be able and willing to oblige her.
The trouble was, she didn't quite know how to broach the subject she wanted to talk about.
Barbara's talk with her that one morning had made her feel less ashamed of herself over her behavior, but it hadn't entirely rid her of her shame. After her bout of infidelity with Peter while the two had watched Harry and Joan in the patch of woods, she had told herself—and had really believed it—that she would be faithful to Bill thereafter. It hadn't worked out that way, and neither had Bill been faithful to her after Barbara's visit. During the past few days at the resort, she'd made love so often to so many people—including, once, even the old man, Eddy Johnson, the manager of the place, who had proved to be surprisingly spry for his age-that she was still a little sore. She felt used, yet she didn't really feel bad. More than anything else, she felt disturbed. She no longer blindly accepted the moral standards that had been hers for so long, but she didn't know what standards she should replace them with.
“Lydia's the name I answer to,” Lydia said warmly, briefly touching Marilyn's hand in a tender gesture of concern. “What's troubling you... Marilyn?”
“Well... I guess it's the way our marriage has been going... Bill and me,” Marilyn answered uncertainly, her eyes searching Lydia's as if in the hope of finding help in expressing what she had to say.
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Oh, I don't know. I just don't know.” Marilyn lowered her eyes. She watched her hands, seeing nothing, as she laced her fingers tog
ether in her lap. “I guess it's just that everything's been happening so quickly... and everything's changed so much.”
Lydia smiled and said, “I think I'm beginning to get an idea of what you're talking about, Marilyn. You expected everything to be just like it is in the storybooks, didn't you? You expected it to be all love, love, love, and no arguments or anything, huh?”
“I guess... But the main thing—”
“I know: you thought neither of you would ever again be attracted to another person. Right?”
Marilyn started crying quietly. “Nothing's like I thought it would be. We've both been.... both cheated on each other... again and again.” She bit her upper lip as she forced herself to look into Lydia's eyes again. “It sounds terrible, doesn't it?”
“Don't be silly, dear,” Lydia answered, draping her arm across the back of Marilyn's neck. “Things are never the way they are in the storybooks, but that doesn't mean that the way things really are is worse. I can remember when Tony and I got married— God, about a thousand years ago...”
“Oh, you're not old, Lydia,” Marilyn protested politely.
“Well, I've got a few years on you, dear, you know. And you want to know something else? When Tony and I first got married, I was just as naive as you... maybe even more so. But I haven't been completely faithful to Tony over the years, and I'm sure Tony hasn't been completely faithful to me, either. I used to be bothered about it, but I've learned to accept the fact that people aren't always perfect in that way or any other way... and maybe it's better that they're not. Maybe I appreciate Tony more for having made love to other men, do you see?”
“But... our honeymoon,” Marilyn said softly, feeling that she had to challenge Lydia's rosy view of her and Bill's behavior if she were to have any chance of coming to terms with herself, of understanding herself.
“So what?” Lydia countered. “Do you want to feel guilty, Marilyn? A honeymoon is rough on the emotions of any couple-no matter what you thought it would be like. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that more unfaithfulness goes on during the honeymoon than at any other time in a marriage, at least when a lot of couples are thrown together so that there's plenty of opportunity for unfaithfulness.”
“Then you don't think what we did was shameful... the way Bill and I behaved on our honeymoon?”
“Of course not, dear. And you shouldn't think that, either. That kind of attitude can only wreck a marriage, if you want my honest opinion.”
Marilyn didn't know what to say. She wished she knew what her own opinion was, but all she was really sure of was that she was still not entirely at peace with herself, or with Bill.
“Have you talked things over with your husband?” Lydia asked. “I mean, have you really talked about everything... your feelings, and his, and the things both of you have done that seem to be getting you down?”
“Well, we've talked, yes...”
“But not much, huh?”
Lydia stood up saying, “You stay here, and I'll go hunt your husband up. Maybe With you two together, and with an outside party like yours truly helping to sort of spark the talking and do what I can to get you through any... well, rough spots... maybe that way you two can get things settled between yourselves.”
Marilyn started to get up, but Lydia put her hand on her shoulder and said, “No, you stay here; I'll get him.”
“But... I've bothered you so much already. Do you think it's really necessary?”
“Aw, stop it, Marilyn. You haven't bothered me one bit, dear. Now, you just sit there and relax, and I'll be back with your husband before you know it.”
“I hope he doesn't get mad at me for coming to you,” Marilyn said, the corners of her mouth turned down with worry. “He might think—”
“I won't let him get mad at you,” Lydia said through a grin, and turned to go.
Captain Tony cut the speed of the Wanderlust by half, then locked the helm so that the course of the yacht wouldn't vary, shortly after Lydia had left the bridge. Turning away from the panoramic view of sea and sky out beyond the bow of the yacht, he faced Marilyn and smiled at her when she looked up at him.
“Hi,” he said, starting to cross to the bench. “I couldn't help but hear what you and Lydia have been saying...”
“I hope we haven't bothered you,” Marilyn said thoughtfully.
“No, you haven't,” Captain Tony said, sitting down beside her. “Don't you worry yourself on that score.”
Captain Tony prided himself on being a quick and perceptive judge of character, and he was confident that he had heard enough from Marilyn to enable him to have a good chance of bending her to his will. And if Marilyn had given his face a searching look, she might have seen that his will was to seduce her, and to do so as rapidly as possible.
He had already decided that his best approach would be to use a kind of social shock treatment on her. Because she'd avoided all but the most “proper” language in talking with Lydia, he was fairly sure she found the more blunt sex-related words “naughty” and exciting.
“I was thinking that I might be able to give you some good advice about what's been bothering you,” Captain Tony said in a confidential tone of voice.
“Oh?” Marilyn said in return, looking at him, honestly curious about what he had to say.
“You don't mind, do you? I mean, I'm not butting in where I shouldn't, am I?”
“No, of course not. I'd be glad to hear your advice.”
“Well, could you tell me something first?”
Marilyn nodded. “Of course, if I can.”
“I'd like to know what your feelings are about fucking.”
The muscles of Marilyn's face went suddenly slack. Her look of perplexity was rather comical in its openness, though she hardly meant it to be comical. Captain Tony's voice had seemed so clear, his words so unmistakably what she'd heard them to be; yet she couldn't believe he'd actually asked her what she thought he'd asked.
“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“I asked you what your feelings are about fucking.”
Marilyn's face turned crimson with mingled outrage and embarrassment.
“Why, how dare you...” Her voice died on her.
Captain Tony moved quickly, almost flinging himself at her. He squatted down before her, poised unsteadily on the toes of his shoes, his hands clamped over her shoulders.
“Now listen to me,” he said, shaking her slightly, his eyes burning into hers. “If you never learn anything else, learn this: actions mean nothing by themselves. It depends on their context what they mean—what you should think about them. And fucking is only an action. Do you understand me? Fucking is only an action. It's not necessarily dirty, and neither is the word necessarily dirty. Do you understand me?”
Marilyn didn't know what possessed her, but she found herself nodding fitfully, her head moving in short, sharp jerks.
“You do? Then let me hear you say it.
“F... f...
“Say it!”
“F-fucking.”
“Say it again.”
“Fucking.”
Captain Tony released her shoulders and rubbed away the beads of sweat that had quickly formed on his forehead.
“There, you see? God didn't strike you dead after all, did he?”
“No,” Marilyn answered softly.
Her face was deeply flushed, and her whole body seemed to be suffused with a warm glow. She knew she was in the presence of a truly commanding personality—even more commanding than Harry—and she found it strangely exciting.
Captain Tony stood up and sat back down beside her on the bench, so close that his hip was pressing against hers.
“Your trouble is that you seem to think you ought to hold everything in,” he said. “But it's no good to hold everything in, Marilyn.”
Marilyn nodded. She understood. And she believed.
Leaning toward her, Captain Tony said, “Look, Marilyn, I'm confident something can be done... that I can help to st
raighten things out between you and Bill. But you've got to trust me, Marilyn. You do trust me, don't you?”
“I... Yes... yes, I do.”
Captain Tony gave her a warm caress of a smile. “I'm glad. And your trust isn't misplaced, believe me. I have you and your husband's best interests in mind.”
“But I'm not sure I under—”
“You will, Marilyn.”
Without another word, Captain Tony got up again and moved around to the side of the bench, getting onto his knees facing Marilyn, his hands on the bench arm.
“What... what are you doing there?” Marilyn asked him.
“Remember that you said you trust me,” Captain Tony replied.
He slipped one of his hands nonchalantly over the arm of the bench and into her lap, high on her thigh.
“But—”
“And I told you that you should trust me,” Captain Tony said insistently, and began moving his hand—slowly, slowly—stroking her thigh.
His hand grew more and more busy in her lap, and soon he was slowly, methodically, determinedly working the front of her dress farther and farther up her thighs, bunching the gathering folds nearer and nearer her stomach.
“What are you doooing?” Marilyn hissed in a barely audible voice, transfixed by Captain Tony's boldness, her eyes intent on his hand as it progressed up her thighs.
“Trust me, little thing,” Captain Tony rasped. “I'm older than you; I know what I'm doing.”
Soon he had bunched every bit of the front of her skirt against her stomach, and now he grasped her nearer thigh and yanked it up toward himself. After draping her leg over the arm of the bench, he drove his hand down to her crotch and started right in frigging her through the narrow band of her underpants. He made her whole midsection squirm and twist, his fingers digging away uselessly at the maw of her cunt. Quickly deciding that he wanted to feel her pussy flesh unfiltered, he let up for a moment and fingered aside the band of her underpants; then he lowed his fingers directly into her slit and screwed three of them into her vagina, causing her entire body to shiver and quake in response.