“You know I am, baby. Know what? Something tells me Caron is, too. Would you really like to make it a three-way, get her into the middle?”
Melissa giggled. “I don’t think she likes me well enough. But somebody else does.”
“That boyfriend?” Lou wondered. “I saw the way he was drooling when he got a look at your jugs. And such sweet jugs they are, too. You oughta give him a taste, maybe keep his tongue from dragging on the floor.” He reached down, squeezed her titties. Melissa squealed in glee and romped on the sand. Her knees scissored together on Lou and she pulled him down upon her. One of her hands, stroked his bald head and it looked as if she were licking his ear. “No shit,” Sheila heard Lou say. “I never even noticed. You really think so?”
“Mmmm-hmmmm,” Melissa purred. “Right on the carpet, if nobody’d been looking. And you know what else, honey?” She pulled his head close again.
Lou gave a mighty, bear-like guffaw. It went well with the new look he’d acquired. Jesus, Sheila thought, the last time I saw him, he was a sallow-faced turd with a spare tire big enough for a Mercedes around his middle, and he looked like the kind of guy who went to singles’ bars every night but never scored. And now—big hard hairy body, barrel chest, broad muscled shoulders, big arms, strong-looking thighs —no Arnold Schwarzenegger, but no Lou Archer either. “No shit!” she heard him say. “Well, in that case, baby, I oughta give you a good one. Just to make everybody happy, hmmmm?”
Melissa hummed something, and her legs spread widely, and Lou came down upon her. There was a moment of fumbling and then the girl wailed out a cry of delight. Her legs shot up into the air, toes wiggling, and she moaned, “Oh, do it, Lou, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
Sheila’s eyes were full of tears now, thankfully misting the degraded sight she was watching, and there was a roaring in her ears, louder than the inrush of the surf further down the beach. “I could make you bloom,” she whispered, still pawing her tits and frigging her hot box of a pussy. “I could light up your life. It wouldn’t be the same after you’d been with me, darling. You’d never look at him again, never want to look at another man. You’d know how ugly they are, with their big hard cocks sticking out and all their brains in those cocks. You’d want me, me only. And I’d give myself to you, fully, completely. The only thing I’d want in return—the only thing I’d ask would be you, darling, just you. No, please, Melissa, don’t —don’t make those noises —don’t moan —don’t cry out —don’t fold your legs around him. Tell him to get off you. Tell him, you don’t want to do it. I’ll come and help. Just scream. Scream for help and I’ll be your help. Call me, Melissa. Call to me. I’ll come. I’ll come. I’ll come!”
She wasn’t far from coming now. She could sense it in every fiber of her being. Her fingers trembled inside her pussy, quivered tensely, and the lips of her slot, the walls of her tube—they were doing all the work, rippling, contracting like the speeded-up tempo of her breathing. Her clitoris throbbed and her tits were sore, aching lumps of abused flesh. She stared out the window, sobbing with frustration as she watched Melissa Chase writhe under Lou Archer, and she could feel the shame as each stroke of that fat thick cock pounded into the girl.
Melissa screamed wildly, rolling under Lou as if she were going into epileptic seizure. Her legs wreathed around him, and she said, “Oh, fuck me, daddy, really fuck me, fuck it to me, fuck me, fuck me…”
“Fuck it to you and a dozen more, the way I feel tonight.” Lou panted, working hard above her. His bare buttocks shone in the firelight, and they looked hard and firm, like slabs of meat. Oh, she hated him, hated him because he’d married Caron and then broken her heart by deserting her, hated him because he’d come back now to complicate Caron’s life, hated him more than any other reason because he was atop Melissa and his ugly cock was pummeling its way in and out of her sweet, sweet cunt. His body topped Melissa’s beautiful frame and he used her the way an animal uses the nearest available female of its species. He didn’t care about Melissa. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her. He only wanted someplace to dump his cum. If Sheila could have but one wish, it would be that every man on earth would wake up in hell tomorrow morning. And she hoped Lou Archer would be the man nearest the flames. The hottest flames. I’d go to hell myself, she thought, if only for the chance to stick a pitchfork up his ass.
“Do it, baby, do it to me!” Melissa squealed, rocking and writhing under him on the sands. She attacked him with hands and legs, but she wasn’t fighting him off. She was enticing him to fuck her harder, to ravish her and brutalize her and fuck her. Sheila felt her heart breaking at the realization. It was worse than with Claire, almost, but it was also too late for Sheila to stop masturbating. She turned away from the window. She had shamed herself enough by watching this long. She would take care of her own needs now, the way she’d always taken care of them, the way she’d always have to take care of them. She staggered toward the bed, fingers still buried in her rippling snatch. Somehow she managed to throw herself down, collapsing onto the mattress with sighs and tears of frustration.
She rolled aver, and she could see the flames through her window and she could still hear the moans and giggles of Melissa as the slutty little blonde was fucked and re-fucked. Slut. That’s what she was. A slut. Nothing but a slut. But sluts are my type! Sheila wanted to scream. I love sluts! And I love her! God, when I want to roll in garbage, I know where to find it! And I want to rolllll…
Her fingers thrust in and out furiously. She had her knees up, her panties down to her knees, and her nightgown rolled, up past her quivering tits. Her cunt seemed to buck up to meet the plunges of her fingers, and she fucked herself with a maddened determination. I don’t need anyone, she told herself, and least of all that trampy twat Melissa. I’ll never need anyone again. I’ve learned my lesson well. As long as I have myself, I still have more than most other people will ever call their own. And I have me. Oh, baby, I have meeeeee!
Her orgasms came thundering down upon her, one followed by another and still another. She rocked on the bed, not caring how much noise she made. Caron was doped into dreamland. The people on the beach had their own activities going. Yet through it all, through the whole sweet surrender to her own passions and lusts, she could hear plain as anything the sound of Melissa’s radio, and, even clearer, the girl’s sexual moans and cries, floating in with the breeze from the sea, through her open window.
And when it was over, she could still hear the sounds from outside. Weren’t they ever going to stop? She wanted to close the window, shut out the noises, but she knew she couldn’t walk over and do it, that she’d have to look, and that if she looked… Sheila Ross crawled under her covers, sobbing like a baby, and she covered her head with the pillow. And still those sounds hammered upon her eardrums, penetrating the pillow’s shield the way Lou’s cock must be penetrating Melissa’s cunt. She rocked and tossed until a fitful, dream-haunted sleep stole upon her. It seemed to take hours, but her body finally fell, leaden, into the sea of slumber.
CHAPTER FIVE
Caron Archer spent a lousy night, the rottenest of her life. The sleeping pill went to work, but it catapulted her into dreamland, and the dreams were as bad as being awake. In one of them she was with Paul, on the beach. They were fucking gloriously, the way they’d done this afternoon. He was mounting her from the rear, really giving her the dick, and he leaned close to kiss her on the side of the face and she could feel a moustache. “Oh, God, no,” she moaned, turning her head round, staring right into Lou’s face, the bald head, the big moustache. It was his cock ramming in and out of her, sending messages of delight from her pussy to her brain, and even as she understood she felt herself beginning to come, to come like a bandit, her body shaking and writhing under him, and he could feel it too because he stepped up his fucking and speared her with his tool and she couldn’t stop, she could only lie there and weep and buck and climax, again and again.
She awoke from that dream with a cry of panic, but she was alone in her bed and the house was as silent as a grave. The digital clock by the bed said it was 5:17 and that had to be A.M. because there was only a chilly- looking gray light outside. Caron closed her eyes, sank onto her bed again, and sleep came stealing back. Her dreams were no more pleasant, but at least she didn’t awake until the alarm rang.
She staggered out to the kitchen, loaded up Mr. Coffee, and her hand shook as she poured down the first cup, black and hot. Sleeping pills always made her nervous the morning after. She almost never took them. But last night it was essential. And tonight? Would she have to drug herself again tonight? She didn’t know. She could only swallow the hot coffee in gulps that hurt her throat and shake her head. There was a note on the refrigerator, pinned up by a tiny magnet. Caron took it down and read:
“CARON—I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, but I had to get out of this house. I’m sorry. I’m desperate. Everything is so awful. Please don’t hate me for not being here. I’m painting, at the cove. If you want to, come up and be with me. I had to go. Love, S.”
