The blonde struggled. The rapist prevailed. The scene dissolved and now she was tied face-up on the bed, her arms and legs secured to the four old-fashioned bedposts. She writhed in terror and there was a close-up of the effect on her twitching, clean-shaven mons veneris. The high mound pushed upwards to reveal a rigid clitoris and creaming, pulsating lips.
“She doesn’t look Polynesian,” someone observed.
Still stroking her Peke, watching the screen intently, Queen Nimmfetah moved a little closer to me on the divan. I pressed my leg against hers. She sighed and made no attempt to break the contact.
In the center of their couch, Mrs. East and Mrs. North, side-by-side, gazed at the movie and scratched. It took me a minute to realize they weren’t scratching themselves, but each other. Mrs. East’s floor-length gown was pushed all the way up over her hips to reveal her sleek, tanned legs and the curly red triangle above them with Mrs. North’s large hand strumming there. Her own hand was battering between Mrs. North’s fleshy thighs which rose and fell visibly as the Amazon responded to the redheads ministrations. As I watched them, Mrs. East unbuttoned the larger girl’s blouse, pushed aside her bra, and ran her tongue around the large, pink aureole she’d uncovered.
Meanwhile, to the right of them on the divan, Mrs. West had bared one of her own small breasts and was strumming the long nipple. Her other hand hung casually over the back of the couch. It rested in Mario Brandino’s lap. A telltale lump belied the impassive look on the aging Mafioso’s face. As I looked, the slender brunette fumbled with his zipper.
At the other end of the sofa, Mrs. South and Dr. Quotabusta were kissing, open-mouthed. Her hands were behind him and on his buttocks, clutching his bare, hard-muscled bottom to hold him steady. The African medico was bending over the petite blonde as they kissed, his hands full of plump, heaving, bared -breasts.
“. . . exotic tropical fruits, succulent to the palate, taste-treats for the gourmet tourist to savor . . .”
Black Socks slid his slavering mouth down the length of the blonde’s tethered body until it was at the hairless, pulsating core. He slung his thighs over her neck, reached behind him to force open her tight-clenched lips and plunged his obscenely swollen, rigid organ in to the hilt. The focus switched back and forth from her wide-stretched, hard-working mouth to his busy tongue probing deep in her glistening, wet, pumping orifice of love.
“That’s the second box of popcorn you’ve gone through, George; why do movies always make you so hungry?” a lady asked her husband in the dark.
Blaze Buxbocks’s gown was down around her waist now. Her magnificent mammaries were swinging free. Mister Jewish dived for one of them with his mouth while her hands reached down deep inside his pants.
Binny Stanford was sitting on Gorilla’s lap, her skirts up, facing him and bouncing. Her bared breasts rested on his shoulders. His shiny, bald head stuck up from between them.
Captain Maldemerde and Zelda Poppins were each struggling with the other’s corset. Sister Stella was on her knees in front of Ogden Stanford. And Magda was surreptitiously fondling Ensign Mayday while Miss Amanda Lowell-Cabot stared at the screen for all the world as if it really was an innocuous travelogue she was viewing.
Queen Nimmfetah was beside herself. “Touch me here!” she panted in my ear, grasping my hand and placing it beneath her adolescently flat stomach. Zwing Toy immediately nipped the hand. I removed it quickly and settled for a hold on her breast.
It was a small breast, but warm and very sensitive. Queen Nimmfetah pushed aside the gauzy material covering it so that the bare, butter-soft nipple nuzzled my palm. Her tongue found its way to my ear and she moaned and sighed as it probed.
“. . unforgettable is the spelunking tour, deep into the natural crystal grottoes of the island . . .”
Black Socks reversed his position. Cruelly squeezing the blonde’s breasts, he sprawled over her. His haunches spread wide to show the genital contact between them. Her love-tunnel swallowed him up full-length as they merged. Then his mighty tool was withdrawn, stabbed again, disappeared, re-appeared, disappeared . . . Her hairless, grinding socket rose and fell eagerly to meet his thrusts.
“I forgot to wind my watch,” was the anonymous comment from the audience.
Queen Nimmfetah straddled my lap, facing the screen, her back to me. I held onto her little breasts for support and their red tips burned in my clasp. Zwing Toy was still in her lap. As she raised herself, fumbled beneath her, found what she sought and resettled, I had a momentary panic that the damn mutt would bite me in a far more vulnerable spot than my hand. But he simply continued licking her-—which now meant he was licking me as well. It was one hell of a sensation!
Blaze Buxbocks was stretched out on the divan now. One of her shapely legs was slung over the back of the couch. Her other leg was kicking free in the air. Buried somewhere between them was the head of Mister Jewish.
“No!” Sister Stella was insisting to Ogden Stanford. “We’ll do it my way!”
“But why -?”
“My way!”
“Any way you say,” he panted. He wrapped his legs around her back and shoved his frothing lusting-rod still deeper into the cleft between her breasts.
Binny Stanford crouched on the couch. Gorilla crouched over her, clutching her well-padded, undulating hips for support. His scrotum sac swung back and forth as he labored to penetrate the entrance he’d selected. Like the rest of him, it was hairless.
“Damn!” Click-click. Captain Maldemerde was having problems. “Must have drunk too much champagne!”
“Then all I can say is ‘Bon Voyage!’ ” Zelda Poppins gasped, astride him like a bronco rider.
Mrs. East and Mrs. North were stretched out on the floor in front of the large divan. Panties removed, skirts pushed up, their legs were entwined like two pairs of scissors. As the blades opened and closed rhythmically, they leaned away from each other in opposite directions. Mrs. East’s red hair fanned out, and a sheen of lust-dew made her tawny features glisten as she tossed her head to the tempo. Mrs. North kept time by fondling her own heavy breasts with her hands, squeezing the tensed nipples hard to prolong the thrill each time their hot clittys rubbed together.
Mrs. South was stretched out on the couch above them. The petite blonde took up about three-quarters of the seating area. Dr. Quotabusta was on top of her, his loincloth tossed up around his waist, his sinewy rump a rippling ebony blur as he moved over her. Her widespread legs were curved around his hips, and her feet, still in high heels, danced a demanding tattoo on his haunches, urging him to go faster . . . harder . . . deeper!
At Mrs. South’s head, Mrs. West was kneeling on the divan and leaning over its back. One of the brunette’s sharp little breasts was bared and bouncing. Both her arms were stretched out, both hands encompassing Mario Brandino’s large, leaping, naked Mafia-cannon.
“Down in front!” Mrs. West was blocking the screen, and someone in the row behind Brandino complained.
The brunette complied. She slid over the back of the couch and came to rest on her knees before Brandino. She went down . . . in front . . . The flicker of a smile crossed the older man’s face. His fingers tangled in her short-cropped black hair as he grabbed her by both ears and plunged, slapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth, battering it to reach her throat.
Only Miss Amanda Lowell-Cabot seemed impervious to the stimulus of the travelogue. She was also oblivious to the activity on the divan beside her where Magda was manipulating herself with one hand and Ensign Mayday with the other. The old harridan simply stared straight ahead at the screen--blankly.