"Yes," he answered. "God, yes!"
"If you're a good boy," Cindy giggled, rubbing his deflated penis lightly with the tips of her fingers, "I might even suck you off. Would you like me to suck your big cock, Roger?"
He felt his limp prick give a convulsive leap at the sound of her words, come half-erect again in her hand. She kissed him passionately. "See?" she said. "I told you I could make it hard again."
He heard himself say the words he was then thinking, "Oh Christ, Cindy, I want to lick your cunt. I want to lick your cunt while you suck my cock!"
Her hand tightened on him. "Then let's go!" she said, and, still holding onto his genitals, she led him to the tile steps at the shallow end of the pool.
CHAPTER FOUR
"The pitcher is empty, little girl," Marc Cord said, smiling and lifting the heavy cut crystal decanter for her to see.
Diane, her mind fuzzy from the rum, stared at it. "And I was almost ready for a refill." The sun sparkled off the glass, making her wince. Her whole physical being seemed to satisfyingly relax in the warm rays of the sun. She could have sat there forever…
"Come on," Marc urged, standing up. "Keep me company while I make some more."
She smiled up at him. He was really quite a man, she thought. Pure, raw, male animal, and she was… well, sort of attracted to him. Not that she was going to do anything about it, of course. She was married, and so was he. Hands off! Private property! But that didn't stop her from helping him mix some more rum cocktails, did it? Not at all!
"Love to," she replied. She rose unsteadily, and Marc took her arm. She accepted his assistance gratefully; with all the liquor she'd drunk and the soporific effect of the sun, she doubted she could make it to the door without it.
She giggled and took her empty glass as they walked to the sun porch. Marc opened the door and waited for her to enter. He led her to the tweed couch, and, in spite of her apprehension, she sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. He continued to talk of generalities as he crossed to the bar and opened the small refrigerator for more ice. Diane leaned back on the cushions, her mind drifting, hazy from the alcohol, and let his warm voice flow through her. She enjoyed the way he talked. He was so pleasant, almost like a brother rather than the ruthless ogre her husband had made him seem like. Well, Roger was wrong: Marc was not all that dangerous, all that terrible.
She leaned forward and for the first time noticed the hard-cover portfolio on the rattan table in front of her. The jacket had the gold embossed title: "Studies of Love". She touched the cover, afraid and yet a little curious as to what it might contain; but her inquisitiveness finally won out. She raised the cover and gazed at the first picture.
It was in full color, obviously taken by a skilled photographer. It depicted two people making love, their faces contorted in rapture. Diane gasped in sudden embarrassment and looked quickly over at Cord, who was still blandly mixing the new pitcher of rum cocktails and talking about the weather they had in Marin County, evidently oblivious to her knowledge of the portfolio.
Hypnotized by the carnal activity in the photo, Diane studied the photo, for she had never seen a picture of two people making love before, and it looked strange to her. She wondered if this was the way she and Roger looked, with the almost crab-like splaying of arms and legs. Then she turned to the next one, which was of a man having his penis sucked by a beautiful blonde woman. She thought of the night before, of her with Roger's member in her mouth; but the differences were obvious. The woman in the picture was enjoying it, her mouth stretched wide and her lips locked around it in an oval as though they would never release their prize. A ripple of secret desire coursed through Diane as she looked at the man's hardened penis, for it was even larger than Roger's, and she wondered how the woman could take it all without choking. She clenched her thighs together at the idea of having such a monster even between her legs, then quickly turned to the third photo. Just as explicitly this one showed the woman flat on her back on the floor, her knees drawn up to her breasts. The man was kneeling between her thighs, his tongue parting her pubic hair and curling in the wide pink slit of her vagina. Diane gaped at the obscene sight, and a small gasp of shock escaped her lips.
"You like them, Diane?" came a smiling voice which made her jump, and a hand appeared with a fresh drink for her.
"Well… well, no I don't. Not really." She took the drink from Marc and a quick swallow in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was blushing. She looked at Cord, thought, and saw that there was an amused expression on his face.
"Don't be so sure, Diane. Even I enjoy looking at such things occasionally."
"You don't mean that you… approve of what those people are doing, do you?" she blurted incredulously. "They're like… animals!"
"Who can tell what should or shouldn't be done in passion? It's a very strong emotion. Everybody needs passion to make themselves happy, don't they? To make the person they love happy?"
"Of course," she agreed. "But doing… doing such perverted acts can't be a part of that happiness."
"No? Well, I think the couple in the photos made each other happy."
Diane felt confused. She knew she shouldn't have had that last drink, and even though she felt that she was right, she wasn't in any condition to be arguing morality — or anything else. She blinked heavily trying to clear her mind of blurred thoughts, thoughts of the previous night and her unwilling initiation into sexual deviations. Roger had always seemed satisfied with her, at least most of the time, but she did have to admit she was unknowledgeable about certain things. Did it really take such acts to hold a man? No, of course not. How could she consider such a perverted idea? It was evil just to think of things like that, much besides lower oneself to perform them. Or… was it? For the first time in her life, Diane seriously began to question her frozen values, wondering if she really didn't know what a man wanted or needed physically. She tipped the glass again, her throat parched from embarrassment and nervousness.
"You're really going at that rum," Cord said.
"Mmmmm," she replied. "These are good." Despite the heavy commitment she had toward her inbred code of morals, Diane began to feel faint stirrings of arousal once again churn her body. Moisture seeped between her legs, and she pressed her thighs tightly together and moved her buttocks against the rear of the sofa in a vain attempt to quiet the lascivious tingling. "I… I think maybe we'd better go back outside, Marc. Perhaps Roger and Cindy are waiting for us."
"Oh, I doubt that," Marc said, and Diane detected a sudden change in his voice. "I saw them as I was making the drinks."
She frowned. "What do you mean, together?"
Cord, his lips pursed and his forehead furrowed, walked around from the back of the couch and sat down beside Diane. He looked straight at her. "I mean we have a situation on our hands, Diane," he said seriously, "One that isn't as academic as the photos you were looking at." He dipped his eyes and peered into his drink, then rotated the glass in his hand. "I don't know how to put this, Diane, but — well, I've known for some time that Cindy has been playing around, and…" He paused, shaking his head in a mixture of pathos and anger. "Well, maybe you had better look for yourself."
He took her hand and she rose, still confused as to what he was talking about. He led her around the couch and over to the bamboo-blinded window and drew aside the curtain.
"Look," he said. "Over there, by the shallow end of the pool."
Diane took one quick glance, and suddenly she felt as if she would scream. Instead, she raised the glass to her lips in convulsive horror and swallowed heavily, thirstily, not tasting the liquid at all. "Oh no… no!" she gasped as she lowered the almost empty glass. "Oh… my God, I don't believe it! No, no, no!"