The impact of that orgasm was so great on the mind and the body of the innocent young woman, that her mind was carried off to another world, and she did not even feel Harry's thick deflated penis pop wetly from her semen-flooded vagina. Nor did she feel him lower his head and plant a possessive and yet thankful kiss on the warm dampness of her warmly twitching vaginal lips. She did not even hear her husband, Tom, scream in a high-pitched voice when he began filling the insatiable cunt of Gay Sommers with his own fiery hot semen in the next room.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jill Parker stared miserably at the ceiling above her head, and trembled underneath the thin bedspread. Her mind raced wildly from one contrary emotion to the next, tripping over her conscience, stumbling continually against the shameful image of what she had allowed to be done to her that day. And always, her thoughts found no escape, no refuge from the awful realization that something terrible was happening to her. Something over which she had absolutely no control. Jill tossed and turned on the bed, trying to think of some solution, but none came to her. Instead she could think of nothing but the horrible events of that morning.
After the episode in the living room with Harry Sommers, Jill had been overwhelmed by a sense of shame and debasement. She and Harry had quickly dressed themselves and left the cottage, to avoid discovery by Jill's husband and Harry's wife, who were at that moment themselves spent by the violence of their fierce passion. Harry had invited her up to the bar for another drink, but Jill had curtly refused, and gone by herself for a long walk along the edge of a beautiful stream that ran through the artificially irrigated plushness of Hidden Valley Resort's large acreage. By the time she'd returned, and timidly knocked at the door to her cottage before entering, Tom and Gay were gone.
And now, huddled in her bed, Jill's mind was tormented by a sick, intense self-hate once again, now that she had returned to the world of the rational. She knew she had committed an unforgivable sin, that of adultery, infidelity; and she knew that something was terribly wrong with her, emotionally. Perhaps she needed psychiatric help, perhaps she was actually some kind of psychotic. How else could she explain to herself her actions: allowing a near stranger to take her from the rear, while she watched her own husband engaged in doing the self same obscene act with the other man's wife?
Jill moaned aloud, wretchedly. She didn't know what to do, whom to turn to. She was alone and soiled and evil now, and there was no one to whom she could go who would offer her sympathy in the time of this terrible crisis. Not Tom, oh God surely not Tom! He was as guilty as she, as evilly wicked as she, and it didn't matter which of them had taken the first step.
It would not be so terrible, so encompassingly monstrous, if she had failed to experience any pleasure from her transgression with Harry Sommers… if she had failed to have the awesomely rapturous orgasm, that she undeniably had, had.
Jill's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Tom entering their cottage. He made a good deal of noise coming in, slamming the door open so that the knob slapped hard against the inner wall and then whipping it shut with a reverberating crash. His footsteps, coming toward the bedroom, were heavy and angry and somehow foreboding.
Then he suddenly appeared in the doorway, his lips set tightly and his eyes glowing with anger. His hands were clenched into fists, and a tic made the left side of his face spasm grotesquely. Lying on the bed, Jill's eyes locked with those of her husband as he advanced toward her; she was afraid, for she knew what was about to happen, the confrontation which was about to take place between them and the extent of Tom's volatile anger… and yet, strangely, she wasn't afraid of him at all, wasn't afraid of physical harm or of the words which were sure to be said. That paradoxical and ambivalent mixture of feelings made her very calm, but also very rigid.
When Tom reached the side of the bed, he stopped and glared malice down at his lovely young wife.
'You goddamned cheating bitch!' he said in a cold, soft, bitter voice. 'You good for nothing tramp. Fucking another man! Giving him what you refused to give me all the time we've been married!'
Jill just lay there, meeting his gaze. She deserved his wrath, just as he deserved hers. Neither of them was blameless. And yet, she hoped very much that through some strange act of fate this mutual infidelity of theirs might have broken down the wall which had grown between them. Because she loved him, loved him now more than ever before. But even as she thought these things, Jill felt an ominous voice of doom prophesying that her hopes were vain ones, and that by reason of what had happened today, the last possible hope of a re- establishment of their love and their marriage was forever cast to the wind.
'Oh yes,' Tom said contemptuously as he loomed over her. 'I know what you did last night, my sweet little slut of a wife. I know that you let Harry Sommers fuck you. I know because I saw part of what you did in some pictures the bastard arranged; seems his wife got hold of them and came to me.
'And what did you do then?' asked Jill very softly.
'What the hell do you mean, what did I do then?'
'You fucked her, didn't you, Tom?' Jill said, only a little surprised at the ease with which the obscene word came from her lips. 'You fucked Gay Sommers.'
Tom recoiled as if he had been struck, and some of the high flush of anger receded from his cheeks. His lower lips seemed to quiver. He was shocked both by his wife's use of the word fuck, a word which she had always hated before now, and by her apparent knowledge of his unfaithfulness.
'How…' he stammered, 'how did you…?'
'How did I know?' Jill asked with a sad, humorless smile. 'I know because I saw you, Tom. I saw you fucking her. I saw you and I was sick and aroused, and Harry Sommers gave me some drinks so that I was drunk, too. Do you know what I did then? I let Harry fuck me from behind, like one animal fucks another, right there in the doorway, while I watched you! I let him do the thing you thought he'd done to me last night, the thing Irefusedto let him do last night.'
Tom's handsome, ruddy face was a mask of confusion; he didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, the magnitude of what his wife was saying. And then, one irrefutable fact of her confession seeped into his brain: she had willingly given herself to Harry Sommers while watching him and Gay!
'You god damn whore slut bitch!' he screamed in mindless, irrational rage. His pride was crushed by her bland admission of guilt
'Yes, that's exactly what I am Tom' Jill said with tears in her eyes. 'But are you any better? Aren't we one and the same thing?'
'No!' he bellowed. But, deep down inside, he knew that she was right he was no better than she, no better to have allowed Gay to seduce him, to have given in to his animal instincts in spite of himself He could no longer be righteously indignant, for he had committed the same sin as his wife, had done what she had done and he knew it. And yet, somehow, his masculine ego Wouldn't allow him to be rational on the subject. He had to strike out at her, punish her, hurt her in some way..
The thought came all at once and consumed him with a raging fire of anger and lust. He would rape. her, as he had raped her last night, really give it to her, punish her and hurt her for what she had done to him. He felt his dully pulsating penis leap to life in his pants, and his hands came up and began to unbutton his shirt while he leered down at his wife, all reason gone from his mind now in the face of this one, all consuming action.
'What… what are you going to do, Tom?' Jill pleaded hesitantly, staring up at him, suddenly fearful again.
'I'm going to fuck you,' he hissed. 'I'm going to fuck you like Sommers fucked you.'
'Tom, no… Oh God, no.'
'Why not? I'll bet you didn't tell Harry no.'
'Not this way, please not through anger and hate… darling… we can work this out.
'The hell not this way!' Tom had his shirt off now, and he was working on his trousers.
Momentarily, he was naked, his immense, angrily swollen cock popping out from his loins like some impossibly rigid snake, the first faint traces of his complete arousal evident as lubricating fluid sheened the lust bloated tip. He stood there for a moment, and then he reached down and pulled the bedspread away from his wife's huddled form.
