Just then, the brushfire within him raged out of all control, and he felt his own body begin a lewd dance of wanton abandon and he jerked and tossed, unseating the now satiated Nancy. Carla still clung by her mouth to his gushing cock, and her face billowed and hollowed as she hungrily swallowed every last drop of his molten semen. She gasped and sputtered and drops of his foaming white cum overflowed out the corners of her mouth.
Then, all three of them lay there, satiated and spent from their lust-crazed orgy, sensual desire swelling out of every sinew and bone in their bodies, and little trickles of cum trailing in the water that lapped around their bodies, to be swept out and buried in the womb of the lake.
Chapter Seven
Iris woke up with a headache. As usual, she saw that John had already risen, although it was only 7:00 a.m. Downcast in spirit, she got out of bed and hastily threw on a loose fitting dress. She ambled into the kitchen and was relieved to see that John had left some coffee for her.
As she drank the strengthening liquid, she glanced out the kitchen window, and saw John out there, saddling one of the horses. Now where is he off to so early? she thought.
As if in answer to her thoughts, she spotted Carla and Nancy riding on ahead. Still half asleep, she began to think that he must be giving them swimming lessons, just like he had for the past several days.
She pondered over the dreariness of the past few days. They had dragged by, each day seeming longer than the one before. She hadn't spoken a word to John since that awful anal rape in the stable. And he hadn't said anything to her, either. And, to cap it all, Conquest's sprain had gotten much worse as a result of the anguish John had caused him by raping her in front of him, and making him batter the stall gate with his sprained hoof. The combination of events lead Iris to feel an almost unnatural loathing for her husband, and she was desperately seeking ways to get even with him. But he was so busy during the day, she hardly saw him. Always with the girls — giving them lessons, going to the village with them, taking them to the movies.
In the back of her mind, a nagging question recurred. Was he really teaching the girls to swim? He always seemed to be with Carla and Nancy — none of the others got any private lessons! Suspicion growing in her mind, she got up and dashed out to the yard in time to see John swing out towards the woods. She ran over to the paddock and hastily slapping a bridle on one of the horses, she leaped up and cantered off in the direction that John had taken. Careful to keep him a respectful distance in front, she was surprised to see that he didn't stop at the usual swimming area, but cantered on, making a circle of the lake. Silently, she followed him, and finally, in the distance, she saw him dismount. Ducking behind the trees so he wouldn't see her, she stealthily traced the path he had taken.
She tethered the horse a few hundred yards from where she could see three other horses, and then began to creep through the woods. She was afraid that the birds would give their usual warning — telling everyone that someone was creeping through the forest — but fortunately, this morning they obliged by keeping quiet.
She heard the laughter of feminine voices and then the huskier guffaw of her husband's voice. As the voices got louder, she craned her neck in an attempt to see the trio.
Finally, she approached a clearing, and could see through the trees a small waterfall, chattering over the rocks. She edged closer and finally she was separated from the clearing only by single trees.
For a moment, she saw nothing and was just about to step into view, when the naked laughing figure of her husband dashed past, only a few feet away from her. He was looking over his shoulder and he almost bent double with laughter. He was galloping around in circles, and Iris could barely stop herself from dashing out there herself and confronting him. Then she gasped. Another naked figure ran into view — it was Carla, her long dark hair flowing behind her, her arms outstretched, trying to reach John. Her shaded young pubic triangle gleamed against her bronze skin, and her long slender legs rippled with the efforts of her gait. Iris had barely time to draw a breath before she caught sight of yet another figure — this time it was Nancy, running on her shorter legs, her long blond hair like a golden cloud about her small face. Even from the distance, Iris could see her gray eyes were sparkling and her cherry red mouth was open, revealing perfect white teeth. The tip of her pointed pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her small breasts bobbed and bounced from the jaunting movement of her body. All three were playing some kind of lewd game of naked tag, and the places they were trying to touch were not the usual places either!
Blind fury convulsed Iris as she watched her husband frolicking like a lascivious satyr with wood nymphs.
Unable to stand it any longer, Iris dashed out, her hands doubled into fists, her dress riding up around her thighs.
"You dirty bastard!" she screamed, "You dirty old man!"
All three of the naked figures stopped their game abruptly and looked at her. Her hair was all askew, stuck with brambles and leaves. Her face was contorted and saliva was forming into flecks of foam at her lips. Her arms were raised in a typical John L. Sullivan pose and her shift was so high they could see the nylon of her panties.
Iris made straight for John and began to pummel him with her fists, all the while mouthing obscenities at him. He, surprised beyond belief, just stood there, mouth open, staring at the strange sight, impervious even to her stinging blows.
Carla and Nancy, at first dismayed by the sudden entry of Iris, regained their cool and began to laugh with gusto at the ludicrous sight. Iris was kicking freely at John, and she landed one hard thump on his shin, causing John to lift the attacked leg and bellow in rage.
The two girls began to jump up and down, complete children again in their enjoyment of the tragicomedy, and began to clap their hands, egging John on to defend himself against his angered wife.
The pain of the sharp blow to his shin brought John to his senses and he lunged forward, tackling Iris like a football player, bringing them both to the ground.
She continued to kick and swing at him, digging up the ground in her efforts, and pine needles and other leaves flew up, coating the perspiring pair. Finally John was able to subdue his enraged wife by pinning her arms back and sitting on her legs. Trapped though she was, she continued to spew invectives at her husband, her face a deformed picture of rage, covered with leaves and dirt.
"Bastard…" she howled. "No-good bum…"
John, seeing the funny appearance his wife presented, grime-covered as she was, couldn't suppress a laugh.
"What kind of wildlife do we have here?" he asked, prodding at her with his free hand. "A dirt-covered fishwife, fresh from the forest!" Carla and Nancy laughed uproariously, adding fuel to Iris' smouldering fire.
"Let's see what this bird looks like without feathers!" he sang, and began to pull her dress from her imprisoned body. She tried to struggle, but pinioned as she was, the attempt was futile. He managed to remove her dress, and then flicked her bra and removed it. He reached down and began to roll down her panties. Iris, her legs released for a split second, kicked out furiously, and landed a hard blow to John's chin, knocking him completely off balance.
Iris leaped up, her panties still just above her knees, and began to run toward the woods. The girls, galvanized into action by the sight of the fleeing woman, gave chase. Usually a strong and fast runner, Iris was hampered by the confining panties above her knees, and before she had fled many yards, the two younger girls caught up with her. They grabbed her, one on either side, and managed to slow her down. Tired from her struggle, the older woman was no match for the equal strength of Nancy and superior power of Carla. Triumphantly, the two girls marched back to the clearing with their prisoner, like natives capturing a fleeing missionary.