“You're early! Was the play that bad?” Brenda was in our kitchen putting away leftover snacks she'd absconded from her event.
“Worse than bad,” I groaned, tossing the theater program on the table. “How were the old folks?” Clamping her buttocks, I pulled her toward me for a smooch. “Did they enjoy their tea dance?”
“Yes, they did. That little swing band we hired even had me trying to jitterbug along with them.”
“Hope you didn't break anything.”
“You mean at the senior center? Or inside me?”
“Both.” Wrapping my arms around her, I swayed back and forth, slow-dancing to the hum of our open-door refrigerator light. “Suzie hated what was happening on stage worse than I did.” Twirling us within range, I closed the fridge door with my knee. “Thankfully, she was ready to leave after the second act. So happy to see her house, she was, and as you can see she kissed me all over before I could even park in their driveway.”
“Yes,” Brenda stopped our dance so she could inspect my face. “You will notice I gave you time to explain this mess.”
“Is it a mess?”
“You haven't looked?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Why are your lips red, Mike, my darling? Been biting them?”
“Nuh-uh. Have you showered yet?”
“No, silly. I just got home. Are you hungry?”
“Everywhere. Go fix us a bubble bath. I'll pick through the booty you brought home.”
Naked and in our tub, Brenda leaned against me, her reddish-brunette hair tickling my nose, her buttocks between my thighs and the small of her back nestled into my belly. "Okay, Mike," she purred. "Tell me about Richard theThird."
“Oh, please,” I licked the back of her neck, nibbled her ear. “The only point of interest was how he killed husbands so he could marry their wives.”
“Is that what you're planning for Eddie? So you can have Suzie?”
“Hardly.” My soap-slimy hands massaged Brenda's belly, moved to her breasts while my thumbs stimulated her nipples. “But it gave Suzie some ideas. Made her horny, too.”
“How do you know that?”
“She couldn't sit still. On the way home she told me why.”
“And?”
“Eddie. She wants to murder him, and she wants us to help.”
Brenda scooted forward and turned. “Oh, Mike! Really, now, be serious.”
“I am. She wants me to get him in a wrestling hold so you two can beat the crap out of him.”
“I still don't believe you. She can't be that angry with him. And besides, why would that make her horny?”
“I don't know. Are you horny? Thinking about it? Poor Eddie, all stretched out and primed for a beating? That big ol' hairy chest of his? That fat slab of meat bulging in his jock strap?”
“All right, Mike. That is enough.” She stood, opened the drain.
I reminded her, “You didn't answer my questions.”
She never did answer verbally, just turned on the water and ran it through the shower head, rinsed herself while motioning with her finger for me to do the same. After toweling, I followed her to our bed. She peeled the covers, lit a candle on our bedside table, turned off the lamp atop that same table and sprawled upon our mattress.
Brenda and I had discussed the topic before. Dating back to the beginnings of our wrestling matches and several times since. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her. She'd asked me to describe his penis, even though I'd only seen it in its flaccid state. I, in turn, had queried her for descriptions of Suzie, the shape of her breasts, the color of her nipples, design of her vagina and shade of fur surrounding it.
Our shared fantasies of the Caldwells had many times entered our bedroom conversations, so on this night, as I lay atop Brenda with my rigid tool targeting her clitoris, I spiced up our imaginations with the latest revelation. "Suzie says Eddie asked her about swinging with us."
"Partner exchange?"
"Yep. You need to call and talk to her, so you can hear all the details. Suzie's pretending to be pissed off at him for staying home to watch the Stanley Cup. She'll be giving him the cold shoulder all week, and then when we wrestle Thursday night, Eddie will get his comeuppance."
"So, we three will gang up on Eddie?"
"At this point, my dear, you should think of what might be. Let Suzie tell you about it later. Assuming, of course, that you are still interested in swinging with the Caldwells."
"Your assumptions are correct, lover."
Nothing more needed to be said. Visions of Thursday night's possibilities brought heavenly, orgasmic sounds the likes of which Brenda and I hadn't produced for quite some time.
The floor mat in the Caldwells' basement measures twenty by twenty feet, a handsome burgundy color, but a bit dull from years of use at the high school from whose rummage sale it was purchased. Rules simple. Brenda wrestles Suzie until one of them tires and calls for her partner, and then Eddie and I do battle. When Eddie or I call for it, Brenda and Suzie take over, and so on.
Our attire also is simple. T-shirts and gym shorts. Brenda and Suzie go barefooted and bra-less. Eddie and I sport jock straps under our shorts, and all-purpose athletic shoes and socks on our feet.
Before making our way to the basement, Suzie sent Eddie ahead of us. “Get the lights on,” she barked. “And make sure there's clean towels and bottles of water down there.”
Done by design so we could whisper. “Did you freeze him out?” I queried.
“Mike, I haven't said but a couple dozen words to him since you dropped me off.”
Brenda wondered, “Has he asked why?”
"Of course not. He knows, or at least he thinks he knows. Every time I give him the cold shoulder he smirks at me, like he's more intrigued than angry. He knows I'm up to something and he's anxious to see what it is."
“Good!” Brenda giggled. “Let's go get him.”
We stood as couples on opposite sides of the mat, Suzie turning to Eddie with a sneer of sarcasm. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
“Yes, dear,” his reply oozed with the whine of a henpecked husband, and with that, Suzie and Brenda began the contest.
Circling one another, they clasped hands to shoulders and jockeyed for first offensive maneuver, while Eddie and I enjoyed watching their bra-less, bouncing titties under tight-fitting T-shirts. Brenda wrapped her arm around Suzie's neck, hooked her leg behind Suzie's leg and twisted her to the mat. Suzie laid on her back with Brenda on top of her, Suzie's face smothered by Brenda's pectoral with nothing of her head but her flowing blonde hair in sight. Planting her feet flat, she sprung herself upwards and thrust Brenda aside, forcing her to release the headlock, as Suzie pounced on her, grabbed an arm and twisted it into a reverse arm lock. Brenda's breasts were smashed against the mat, and with Suzie's weight bearing down on her, her arm bent in a position she didn't like, Brenda called for me.
“That's enough! Mike, I need a tag.”
“Hmph,” Eddie huffed. “That's what I call a half-assed effort, Brenda.”
First, I verbally defended her. “Are you trying to rile me, Eddie?” Next, I challenged him. “Come on, big-mouth. Show me what you've got.”
He lunged for my chest and I moved to the side, but his was a feint, as he crouched and grabbed hold my leg. With both arms wrapping my thigh, he lifted and turned me, throwing me onto the mat face-down as he deftly released my leg and secured one arm and my neck into a half-nelson. The tread on my boots came in handy. Pushing with one foot I twisted out from beneath him, broke his hold on me and grabbed his arm, stretching it into an arm bar while my feet pushed against his neck and ribs. Eddie laid on his chest, tried to raise by drawing up his knees, but before he could I bent his arm into a hammer lock, rose to one knee and planted my other knee atop his shoulder. Very uncomfortable, Eddie groaned, the points of his boots pounding the mat as he repeatedly failed in his attempts to gain leverage and lift me off him. Tiring, he conceded, asking for relief.
“That's enough! Suzie, I need a tag.”
“Hmph,” huffed Brenda. “That was a half-assed effort.”
“I agree,” Suzie snarled. “Hell, Eddie. Don't be such a wuss. Stay in there and fight.”
With a grunt, Eddie protested. “Hey! Come on now. You know the rules. I want out, so let's switch.”
Brenda stepped onto the mat. “You know what? There's something I've always wanted to do.” She grabbed both his ankles and raised his legs in a Boston crab, and as she put a severe backward curve to his spine, I released the hammer lock and moved in front of him. Taking his wrists, I tugged both of his arms past his head, planting the soles of my shoes into his trapeziums, as Brenda completed her thought. “Get me a close-up look at his legs.”
Straining his neck, Eddie glared at me. “Mike! What the hell is she doing? Trying to break my back?” All he got from me was a sadistic grin, so he tried Suzie. “Come on, babe. Do something with these cheaters, would ya?”
“Oh, all right,” she chuckled. “Honestly, Eddie. You are such a baby.” Entering the fray, she took one of his legs from Brenda. “Hairy things, aren't' they?”
“Indeed they are. Think I'll cop me a feel.”
They both did, securing him with one hand while rubbing up and down his fur-covered shins and muscular calves.
“God damn, you. What the hell is going on here?” Eddie's pain could have been much worse and he knew it. His protest matched the severity of his discomfort – half-way serious – and when Suzie took control over both of his legs, raising him higher so that his T-shirt fell to his rib cage, he merely exhaled, “Hmm,” when hands touched his exposed belly. Brenda's hands, as she straddled him and rubbed his middle.
“Mm-mm,” she approved. “His abdominals are like concrete.”
“Carpet-covered concrete,” added Suzie.
“Shag carpet,” finalized Brenda.
Grinning wide, I told Eddie, “Looks like you might as well lose the shirt. Do a push-up, buddy, if you can.” He could and did, as I released his wrists and stripped him from the waist up. “Looks like Eddie Caldwell is in some deep shit.”
I began a play-by-play, mimicking the voice of a sports announcer. “His partner has betrayed him, and now it's three against one. They're trying to break his spine. Suzie Sadist bending him in the Boston crab while Brenda Banshee digs into his stretched muscles with the dreaded belly claw. He's moanin' and groanin', fighting 'em with all his strength, but little by little they're wearing him down.” I nodded to Brenda and she tapped Suzie. The crab was released and toes of his shoes fell to the mat, as I maneuvered on top of him. “Oh, no!” I moaned in sympathetic voice. “Mike the Mauler is clamping on the full-nelson.”
“God, no,” Eddie grunted. “My spine can't take any more.”
“They're rolling him over. Banshee and Sadist grabbing his legs to turn him. He's laying on top of the Mauler, locked in the full-nelson, his arms pulled down, chest raised up and belly stretched. He's at their mercy, as these two heartless females circle him, stalking their prey. They kneel on either side of him, their hands rubbing on him, his chest, his belly. They're taunting him. Tormenting him, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it.”
Eddie said nothing. Merely groaned with each exhale of breath. Didn't fight me either. Kept his heels on the mat, his legs sprawled and arms limber.
“All right. Listen here, mister,” Suzie snarled as her claw dug into his belly. “Next time I ask you to take me somewhere, you better do it with no questions asked. Understand?”
“Sure,” he gasped. “As long as it's not that damn theater.”
“Really? Maybe this will change your attitude.” With a nod to Brenda, they lowered their faces to his chest, their tongues lightly flicking his nipples. He flinched, groaned, raised his head for a look. “Well,” she continued. “Since beating you senseless didn't work, perhaps we should try other methods to change your attitude.” Taking each his titties between fingers and thumbs, they twisted on them, pinched on them, and then covered them with their mouths, sucking and nibbling to their heart's content.
His groans grew louder. Voice deeper. He lowered his head, expanded his chest, arched his back, nearly lifting himself completely off of me while grunting like a caveman, “Ugh, you sadistic wenches.”
“Ready to obey me now?” Suzie questioned between sucks.
“Never,” he lifted his chest even higher. “Go ahead. Do you what you've gotta do.”
Abandoning his nipples, they lightly scraped him with their nails from his sternum to his belly, as Suzie moved the play to act two. “All right, mister. You leave us no choice but to strip you down.”
They started with his shoes, tugging laces while I kept Eddie in the mood by whispering in his ear. “Damn, buddy, why don't you give it up?”
“Never,” he snapped, as both shoes came off. “No woman's ever going to break me.”
“I don't know, Eddie. I can't even guess what they're gonna do to you.”
"It doesn't matter," he snorted while they peeled off his socks. "I will never give in."
With no fanfare, Suzie and Brenda grabbed the waistband of Eddie's gym shorts, yanking them off his hips, past his feet and to the floor. This left but one garment covering him. His jock strap, but before exposing his cock and balls, they hesitated.
His wife asked, “Eddie? What the hell is this?”
Brenda answered. “Looks like a piece of paper stuffed in his jock strap. Shall we?”
“We shall,” said Suzie, and I peered over Eddie's shoulder as she opened the wad and read it. "Looks like an airline confirmation... to New York... for this weekend.”
“What is that handwritten part?” Brenda asked.
“It says, 'Dresser, top right drawer under your undies.” She stood, folded the paper. “All right, Eddie. I'll play. Brenda, you and Mike come with me. Knowing him he probably put a plastic mouse or something in there.”
With Eddie completely limp and non-resistant, I released the full-nelson and pushed him off of me. He sprawled onto his back, eyes closed, corners of his mouth slightly up-turned, and we left him there. In the drawer, another piece of paper folded in half. Another print out, this one for a double room at the New York Marriott Marquis.
Suzie determined, “It's for this Saturday night, and look what he wrote.”
Brenda and I read it. Instructions for us to look under his recliner. Skedaddling to the living room, I tilted the chair while Suzie grabbed a white envelope, opened it and removed four tickets. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked. “These are for The Book of Mormon. A Sunday matinee. This Sunday!”
How on earth? When on earth had he done all this? Apparently, while Suzie and I were plotting against him and he was supposedly watching a hockey game, Eddie Caldwell had instead plopped down at their computer and relieved himself of all guilt.
Her husband remained in the basement and out of hearing range, but still, Suzie spoke to him, shouting, “Damn, you Eddie!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I love you to death. Do you hear me?”
He probably heard but did not answer. Probably still laying there sprawled, wishing someone would yank away his jock strap and set his penis free.
“Well, I think it's time we all get naked,” Brenda suggested.
“Suzie, do you think it's time he sees all of us naked?” I queried.
“No time like the now,” she replied.
“OK, you two,” I lifted my shirt up and off. “Let's get to cutting this tape.”
* * *
part three in a week
written by Jasper McCutcheon
Pig-headed, that's Eddie Caldwell. At least he was on this particular issue. His wife, Suzie, needed an escort to the theater on Friday night. Eddie refused to take her, opting instead for hockey. Not as a participant, mind you. Not as a fan at the arena, but on television. That's right, Eddie Caldwell was choosing television over his wife.
"What's the big deal, Eddie?” I asked him while he toweled off from his shower. Thursday nights are wrestling nights at the Caldwell home. Eddie and Suzie Caldwell versus Mike and Brenda Willis, and we'd just finished our weekly session. “Just record your hockey game,” I reasoned. “Watch it later."
These wrestling matches we have are nothing serious. Strictly for exercise and social entertainment, because we'd all grown weary of sitting on our butts playing cards or watching a DVD movie.
"No, recording it is not the same,” Eddie presented his argument while naked, facing me full-frontal before stepping into his briefs. The standard procedure following our two-hour matches is for Eddie and I to take turns using the basement shower, in the bathroom adjacent to the main floor where the gym mats are laid out, while Suzie and Brenda use the upstairs facilities. Caldwells always shower first, and then Brenda and I take ours while Eddie and Suzie prepare snacks for all. “It's the fourth game of the Stanley Cup Finals,” Eddie noted. “Kings are going for the sweep."
"I know. I've been watchin' 'em." I unlaced my black Nikes, preparing to take my turn in the shower. Truth be known, I understood how Eddie felt. Watching a sporting event after it's happened, especially playoffs and finals, has a different feel to it. Almost like you're not a loyal fan. Something took precedence over your team's run for the championship, and late to the party diminishes the impact, but then again some things should take precedence. You know, like, your wife! "Geez, man," I pressed on. "This ain't the Super Bowl we're talking about. Just record game four and watch when you get home."
"Oh, come on, Mike. Get real," Eddie slipped on fresh gym shorts and a T-shirt. "You know it's not the same thing, and besides, what if the game's still going when I get home? You think I'll sit around twiddling my thumbs until it's over? Then watch the game while everybody else is celebrating?"
He had me. No man who knows anything about sports could honestly argue it further. "Well, to hell with you, then." I peeled off my second sock and threw it at him. "I'll take her myself."
"Good," he caught my sweaty garment and fired it back at me. "Thought you'd never get around to offering."
Dodging my sock, I taunted and teased. "Yeah, well, maybe you should jot down notes on how to take care of your woman."
“I take care of her where it matters, my friend. I bring home the bread, and unlike some people who sit on their butts all day,” he pointed at me. “I work hard for my living.” Eddie aimed a straight-right fist for my chest, grinning while lightly pressing my T-shirt to my sternum.
“Oh, yeah?” My fists retaliated toward his gut with fake punches, causing him to flinch and giggle while I defended the macho merits of my job. “You think driving a straight truck through city traffic's easy work?” Grabbing his wrist, I circled behind him with a reverse arm lock. “Stopping ten or more times a day to offload heavy cartons with a two-wheeler? Always getting stuck in jams because you street-maintenance clowns have the lanes shut down so you can pretend like you're fixing them?”
“Okay, okay!” he twisted out of my arm lock. “Get your nasty ass in the shower. You're sweating all over me, you filthy pig.”
“Get your squeaky-clean ass upstairs and fix me some grub, dick wad.”
Wad. An apt description of the man. With a frame short and stocky, Eddie Caldwell's at least two inches below my five feet and eleven inches of height, while his chest is three inches broader than mine. Makes for a good contest on the mat – my long and sinewy limbs versus his thick and muscular. Both of us wrestled in high school. Different schools. I was one year ahead of him, in a much-different weight class, and my accomplishments paled when compared to his senior-year, third-place finish at state competition.
He's shown both Brenda and me a few tricks in the three months we've been wrestling, and so I can hold my own against him in our casual contests. In an all-out match, however, there's no doubt Eddie Caldwell would be one tough cookie to pin.
Even without the Stanley Cup final, he probably would have tried to finagle out of escorting his wife to the play for another reason, and that's the theater itself. An old one from Vaudeville days with rows of seats crammed close together.
Sitting with knees cramped for three hours is not exactly what a man needs after a day of hard labor with the city's streets-maintenance department. Eddie stands on pavement for hours filling holes or laying concrete or new asphalt. No easy job, that, especially with wreckless fools whizzing past who disregard the orange barrels and signs telling them to slow down.
It's got to be nerve-racking, and so, I was glad to show him mercy and let him stretch out in his recliner to enjoy his precious hockey game. Besides, since it was my Brenda who created this conflict, the least I could do was try and keep both Caldwells happy.
Nearly two years prior, Brenda Willis and Suzie Caldwell met at a gym. Both worked out on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and casual conversations revealed their mutual admiration for musical theater and modern drama. Seems they also had a common acquaintance, some woman who was on the board of a community theater league, and so decided to purchase the upcoming season's tickets and attend as a duo. Suzie tried cajoling Eddie to join and was flat-out rejected. Brenda got the same answer from me, and this is when they decided Eddie and I should meet.
We were an instant hit, our rabid interest in sports, especially football, college and pro, being the initial catalyst. Since Eddie and I both appreciated trading sarcastic banter regarding people in general and ourselves in particular, our chemistry matched nearly as well as Suzie's and Brenda's, but with one major difference. Whereas I did try to learn about Brenda's (and Suzie's) number one recreational interest – theater – Eddie wanted nothing to do with it. For some reason, whenever Brenda, Suzie or I mentioned anything about any play or musical, Eddie cut off the conversation with a, “Yeah, yeah, that's great,” and an immediate change of subject.
Other than that one sticking point, however, Suzie and Eddie and Brenda and Mike were a good fit. This led to our weekly, Thursday night hook-ups, while Brenda and Suzie also did their theater thing twice a month. For this upcoming Tuesday-night production, however, Brenda's prior commitment to her volunteer work interfered, which left Suzie without a date.
I would be that date. Not only did I take Suzie Caldwell to see her play, we also engaged in some interesting conversation.
"Sorry to put you through this, Mike," she said while stepping into my automobile.
"No problem. That neighborhood's not like it used to be. Too much riff-raff. I didn't like the thought of you walking around down there by yourself."
“I know, but apparently my husband's not the least bit concerned about my welfare.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Sometimes he makes me so mad I could spit.”
“Men can do that,” I tried to soothe her, make it like she wasn't the only wife who suffered. “But I've got a sneaking suspicion he would have done something had I not stepped in.”
“Like what? Lock me in my room so I couldn't leave?”
“Well, yeah, or at the last minute get dressed and escort you after all, just to keep the peace.”
“Oh, I see. Push me to my limits. Test me. That would make for a lovely evening.”
“Hey, Suzie, consider yourself lucky. I can just see Eddie making you miserable. He'd be fidgeting, shuffling his feet and squeaking his chair. Probably saying something to you at the worst possible moment... you know, like in the middle of a dramatic passage. One of those quiet, intense moments when the actor's about to deliver the key message of the entire play.”
She burst into laughter, relating to my point. “You are so right, Mike. He's done that to me in a movie theater before.”
“I'll bet. And movie seats are soft and comfortable. Not like these tonight.”
“I know. Poor, Eddie. He simply has no tact.”
“Few of us do, but we usually make up for it in other areas. Don't you think?”
Her sigh, nearly a moan, told me she was now thinking of those other areas. “Oh, Mike, you know me too well.”
“I know you can't stay angry with him for long.”
“It's those eyes. Sometimes they look at me so sweetly. Like Hershey kisses, and I just want to melt in his arms.”
“And I can just see you melting in those arms of his.”
This time there was no mistaking her moan. “Mm,” she exhaled, and for a second or two I thought she might tell me to turn around and take her home so she could jump his bone, but no such luck. “Mike, you truly are an angel, offering to suffer through this so I won't have to explain why my seats were empty.”
“Explain to whom?”
“Oh, that snooty Marsha Tweed. Mrs. Board President of the Theater League herself. Truthfully, I don't care much for Shakespeare, but I am not about to let her know that.”
Good grief, I silently lamented. What had I gotten myself in to? Was it too late to back out? My attention span is short enough as it is, but sitting through amateurish attempts to dramatize language I do not understand is a fate worse than death. Oh, well, tough luck, schmuck. Put on your Elizabethan English hat, because you've committed yourself to a night of pure torture.
First intermission came not soon enough. Neither of us talked about how miserable we were. Instead, Suzie rekindled the topic of her domestic life. “I wonder if Eddie's enjoying himself.”
“If it's a tight game, I guarantee he is,” I slurped coffee from a Styrofoam cup while Suzie drank bottled water, both of us standing at a side wall in the lobby. “If it's a blowout, he's probably dozed off by now.”
“Without question. Many a time I've caught him asleep during a game,” she stepped to front me, speaking softly, "and usually he has a hard-on." Leaning in closer with a coy winking of her eye, she whispered, "I think the leather turns him on."
I raised my eyebrows, indulging her, "Think he has some leather fantasies, do you?"
She nodded, her upper teeth pressing her lower lip.
"Ever test those waters with him?"
"You mean, a little bondage activity?"
"Uh-huh."
"Not yet, because, hm... how to explain," she blankly looked at the ceiling. "Well, Mike," her mischievous gaze returned to me, "there's more to it than that."
Before she could elaborate, a ringing chime struck by a silly woman dressed in costumed rags told us it was time to take our seats for another round of torture. Act two would soon commence. "I'll tell you later," her finger teasingly poked my tummy, and she grabbed my arm for escort to our seats.
During the second act, I had to keep looking over to make sure Suzie wasn't Eddie. She fidgeted. Her shoes scraped the floor as she frequently shifted the position of her buttocks on thinly-cushioned seat. Obviously, our conversation had worked her into a dither far-removed from whatever the hell was being acted out on stage.
As for me, hot and bothered can't begin to describe it. Our talk had left me seriously bamboozled. Which of them wanted to be tied up? I figured Eddie, but couldn't be sure. Either way, I wondered what forms of punishment turned them on, and what she meant by saying there was more to it than that. Suzie had me fantasizing all kinds of scenarios, and I'm sure my restless behavior matched hers wiggle for wiggle.
Once the curtain fell on act two, we hastily headed for the lobby, skipped the drinks and returned to our previous standing spot.
Suzie wasted no time. "Mike, I've got an idea. Would you and Brenda be interested in helping me teach Eddie a lesson regarding his priorities?"
"Probably," I grinned. Her carefully crafted question left no doubt in my mind as to which of them had a penchant for taking some form of punishment.
"Why are you smiling?" she anxiously smirked. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Probably," I laughed aloud. "Does it have to do with our next tag team match?"
"Probably," she giggled, and mercifully for me, her interest in whatever remained of amateur Shakespeare was completely squelched. "Come on, Mike. Take me home. We'll talk on the way."
We talked plenty, and our plotting excited Suzie so, she smacked me on my mouth with her red-glossed lips. Several times. Left more of her lipstick on my cheeks than she took inside to her waiting husband, and I kept every bit of the evidence right where she planted it. Figured the outlines of Suzie's mouth all over my face would make for good conversation when I got home.
(part two in a week)
"Well, Celeste," Jack stroked her silvery hair through his fingers. "We got one problem left to fix. Let's see if our grey goop can help us out.”
Jack coaxed his woman to stand with him above the still-pinned-to-the-floor Bart Conroy, but before either of them could ask him anything, Conroy blurted out a secret.
"I kilt a man back in Salina, Kansas."
"Oh, did ya now?" Jack chuckled. "Did they catch you?"
"No. Was an accident. We was ridin' out to..."
"We don't need the story. You killed him and never told nobody. Ain't that right?"
"Yep."
"What do ya think we oughtta do about it? There's about 80 witnesses just heard you say that."
"I dunno. What do ya wanna do?"
Jack looked to Celeste. "Works like a charm. Guess we're all set."
"Yes, we are. Tell him, Jack."
"Well, Bart, we could turn you in... that is, unless you’d like to do us a little favor."
"I suspect I will. What is it?"
"Pete Radcliffe is dead. You saw his body at the bottom of a ravine, or at least what was left of it after the wolves and turkey vultures had their fill. Fell he did. Tumbled about a hunnerd feet. Ain't that right?"
"Come to think of it, I did see a man's body. All that was left was bones and prison garb. That must've been poor ol' Pete."
"I suspect it was. I saw it, too. Guess we better go back and tell 'em what happened."
"Guess so."
Jack stood. "Ladies, dig out my clothes. Me and Bart's goin' to Colorado. Damn threads'll probably rub my skin raw, it's been so long since I wore any."
Celeste ordered that Pete be released from the wheel, while the other two men prepared for their journey. All gathered in the welcoming room, where Pete proceeded to satisfy any female who hadn't already felt what he was packing.
"Where's Bart's horse?" Jack asked, clutching his trusty Henry repeating rifle and fully outfitted in the same clothes he'd worn when captured.
"Just inside Jacob’s hole," answered Celeste. This was the original entrance to the cave, found by Jacob Nehi and closed by his followers once every person and their wagons were safely inside. To get there, Jack and Bart would climb down from their hole of capture and walk a quarter mile east, where the 10-feet-high opening recessed into rock about eight yards. "Been fed and watered. There's one for you, too. Pack horse he brought with him. Elizabeth‘s watching both." Celeste had sent Elizabeth to fetch the animals after Jack dragged Bart through the hole, figuring it better to give them shelter rather than let them starve to death or fall prey to carnivores.
"Ok, darling, I'll leave it with you. Should be about five days. I’ll make sure Mr. Conroy gets his story straight. If I ain't back, go ahead without me. Pete can handle about anything, with or without me."
They looked over to see Pete lying on his back with hands folded under his head for a pillow. Females surrounded him. They one at a time were mounting their steed's mighty cock, riding him like there was no tomorrow.
"Yes, Jack," Celeste grinned. "I think Pete can handle anything or anyone just fine."
"Pete," he yelled, "I'll see ya when I get back."
"Ok." Pete was oblivious to everything except the fuck, but then thought to ask, "Hey, Jack, how long does this stuff work? My dick ain't ever been this hard this long."
"Hell, son, I don't know. Guess you can just keep on pokin' holes forever till your pecker's had enough."
"Fine by me," and Pete returned to his duties. Wasn't a bad idea, he thought. Not a bad life for an escaped convict. Living in a cave, hidden from the outside world, fed, tended to and worshiped by a gaggle of horny females for the rest of your days, but unbeknownst to Pete, Celeste had other plans. She would allow Pete Radcliffe to fuck her daughters until their appetites were satisfied, and then she'd prepare this man for the future -- his very worthwhile future.
"We are Mormons," she told him on the third day of Jack's absence, when Pete's craving for sex had finally subsided enough so that he'd listen to anything not related to the subject of fornicating. "Jacob and I broke away when Brigham decided to attack those settlers. Killing innocents has nothing to do with our faith. Jacob brought us all here to continue the true teachings of Joseph Smith."
Of course, Pete didn't have a clue as to what she was talking about -- hadn't even heard of the massacre of settlers passing through Utah territory on their way further west. But he sat and listened with respect.
"When we discovered the power of that grey muck in the pool, Jacob knew that was his calling. His duty to God was to right the wrongs of this wild country, but Jacob up and died on me before we could get started. When we stumbled upon Jack, I thought he'd be the perfect man, but he shot blanks. It won't work without manseed, Pete."
"What won't work?"
"That grey liquid. It's a truth serum, but it only works when it's fired from the penis of a virile man."
"You mean, a man like me?"
"To me, you're man enough without the serum, but when that muck is in your belly, you feel no pain. No other man can match your strength, nor speed, nor any other physical ability. With the serum inside you, dear Pete, you are invincible."
Jack Hutch did return on that fifth day, and I suppose you‘ll think me a genuine cad for leaving things as they are right here. But hell, what am I supposed to do? Sit here and write ten books all at once?
Pete and Jack truly did become crime-fighters of the American West. Their many adventures entail sagas of defending the downtrodden and rescuing those in peril. Pete and Jack also, together or solo, often fell into the clutches of evil men and evil women, suffered through interrogations and tortures, but always won the day with their amazing strength and sexual prowess. And all because of that amazing discovery in Jacob Nehi's cave -- grey gunk that smelled to high heaven. Sure, it could burn the hairs right out of a man's nostrils, but it also served as truth serum to those who'd done wrong, and as the protector of right-minded, horny men.
And so, yes, now that you know how Pete came to be a he-man I must end his beginning, but he will emerge from his cave some day, when I get around to unsealing what Jacob Nehi closed. Look for him along with Jack Hutch, and together we will relive the wild escapades of…
Pete Radcliffe, He-man of the American West
* * * * *
the end
Into the room came another naked man, groggily stumbling between the grasping hands of two daughters. "Hey, I know that fellow," exclaimed Pete. "That's Bart Conroy, from Montezuma County."
"Yes, Pete," Celeste confirmed. "We dragged him out of that hole same as we did you. Been wrestling him ever since. He claims he's the tracker from that prison you were in."
"Right as rain, that's exactly who he is. How long has he been here?"
"Jack heard a rustling when we were giving you a bath and you were asleep." She gazed over to Jack, who was wildly spinning on the wheel, whooping and hollering on his orgasmic merry-go-round. "Jack went up there and dragged that tracker in all by himself. Jack's one hell of a man, but he's got no seed. Screws like a mad dog, but nothing comes out."
Grunts, screams and moans confirmed it, as Jack's spinning cock contracted blanks and his aged girlfriend spasmed real juice.
"Are you happy, Maggie?" Jack chuckled as the wheel came to a halt.
The poor thing nearly collapsed, forcing the others to rescue her in their arms. She babbled ecstatically, "Oh, my god. What a fucking man. Lordy, lordy, lordy, I love that man's pecker."
As for Jack, he posed just like Pete, puffing up his broad chest, sucking in his thick and well-sculptured belly, begging for more. "Gimme anothern, Celeste. I'll fix all of 'em good."
Pete broke into laughter, "Me, too, Celeste. Gimme anothern."
Jack got his wish, but Pete got something else. "Got to try something first, young man. This Conroy fellow's got some learning to do. Back him up there, ladies."
They pounced on the weakened man like carnivorous beasts, lifting him up with his knees bent and thighs spread wide. Conroy was tilted so that his upper torso was horizontal while the rest of him was vertical position, chest down, waist bent, and arms pulled past his head by hands holding his wrists. He was shaped like an L turned to the right. One of the females spit on her hand and rubbed her slickum onto Bart's anus, while another did the same with her spit onto Pete's hard pecker. Then, they impaled Bart Conroy onto Pete’s dick.
Pete could not have cared less. For him, in his state of lustful craziness any hole would do, but for the owner of that hole it was a different matter. Conroy howled in ungodly pain, as female youngsters mercilessly thrust his ass onto the pole, sending Pete's ram-rodding tool past the man's rim with no regard as to Bart Conroy's comfort. There was no time for him to do anything but scream, as that fat and impaling cock was buried to the very depths of Conroy’s bowels.
"Ok, Sarah, give Pete a whirl. Ladies, hold that ass steady."
Pete loved it. Mr. Conroy's virgin ass was just as tight as any pussy he'd ever felt and the increasing revolutions gave him all the friction he needed. Another orgasmic rocket flooded Bart's rectum, as he let out howls worthy of a bitch in heat.
When the wheel stopped, they yanked his ass free of Pete's cock just as violently as they'd connected it, and then laid Conroy on the floor chest up with arms and legs pinned.
"Make sure that asshole stays closed," Celeste chuckled. Fists planted firmly to the sides of each butt cheek did the trick, as they kept Conroy's ass shut tight.
Bridget stood before her mother. "I did a bad thing..."
"I know," Celeste interrupted. "We all have done bad things. I forgive you."
The elderly ladies weren't paying much attention to all of this, because they were busy taking turns on Jack's carnival ride, and as for Pete, he was feeling no pain. "Ok, Celeste. Who's next? Man? Woman? I don't care."
"I know you don't, Pete. Do you know why?"
"Can't explain it." He expanded his chest and thrust it towards her. "Wanna lick me? I feel like the horniest fella who's ever born."
She burst into laughter. "You are, Pete. You are the horniest, and the manliest man ever born, because of that gunk you swallowed. As long as that grey mud is in your belly, nothing's going to stop you from shooting one load after another. Let me show you something else, too."
Celeste stepped onto the stools, then reached up with both hands to take Pete's manly nipples between fingers and thumbs. With a violent pinch, she twisted both, clamping with all her strength. "This ought to hurt. Does it?"
"No, I don't feel much of anything there."
“How about this?” She reared back and punched him in the belly as hard as she could. Fist met muscle with a deep thud, but all Pete could do was laugh.
“Stop it, woman. That tickles.”
"That goo protects you from pain... deadens it. All you feel is your masculine sex drive. Now, feel this."
She returned to his tits, but this time her fingers lovingly squeezed and rubbed on them.
"Holy shit! My dick just got bigger."
"No, it can't get any bigger," she chuckled, while moving forward to mount him. "It just feels that way. Like a man. That's all you can feel."
"You don't need to spin me, Celeste. Just do that nipple thing. I'll do the rest."
"Oh, we can do better than that." She felt the amazing strength of the man all pinpointed to one place: his powerful cock, fully imbedded to her crushing vagina. "Daughters of Nehi, join us. Set Jack free. The man we need is right here."
Celeste stood clamping Pete in her magical vise while tenderly stimulating his ever-shrinking tits. Within seconds, molestation commenced. Pete arched his back, sucked in his belly and thrust forward his chest, as a plethora of tongues, lips, hands and fingers enveloped him. With the exception of those females securing Conroy, they all had a taste of Pete wherever they could find an available piece of Pete's skin. All females took their turns. All females ravaged him. All females lavished Pete Radcliffe with the praise only a man such as he deserves. And all the while, the vagina of Celeste squeezed and comforted his mighty cock inside her warm, velvety vise.
From behind, Jack positioned the stools from his wheel so he could step up to work on Celeste. He massaged the breasts of the matriarch, delicately rubbing and pinching her hardened nipple tips. Pete's incredible tool surged to spread her vaginal walls, and she clamped her inside muscles as tight as she could to steady herself.
"I'm ready," she moaned. "Leave him be." All tongues were removed. "Send him."
The wheel was given a sudden spin. Pete‘s powerful pole whirled inside her, and the poor woman shuddered. "God, Jack, hold me tight. We done found us a he-man. There's nothing in the world like this. Pete Radcliffe's got the cock to beat all cocks. He's the most... incredible... oh, my god... what an amazing... man... what a... fuck... ing... god... damn... ma... ah... uh..."
Only Jack's hands clamped to her breasts kept Celeste upright. Every muscle, every nerve in her body twitched and convulsed, as Pete's magical seed jettisoned deep into her bosom - his cock's fat, powerful thickness violently corkscrewed her vibrating pussy hole. Lustful, indescribable sounds connected to some pre-historic civilization nearly crumbled the rock walls surrounding them. Pete Radcliffe and Celeste Nehi had returned to a time when Neanderthals ruled the earth. The Caveman, dominant and indestructible, wholly conquered his female tribe.
The wheel did eventually stop and Jack tenderly removed Celeste from Pete's forever-throbbing manhood. He gently laid her on the floor, cradling the mesmerized woman in his arms. "We done good, darlin'," Jack comforted her. "Jacob's smiling down on us right now."
"And it works," Celeste gazed up at him. "Doesn't it, Jack?"
"We're about to find out just how good."
* * *
next part in a week
Part 4 - Spinning the Wheel
Bringing buckets of water, the women drenched Pete's undulating form to rinse away grey goo, then carried him out suspended by four limbs. For the first time, Pete entered room number four, where he was reunited with Jack Hutch.
Here were the other two wagon wheels, both still attached to their axles. They'd been rigged so that the axles were set horizontally into grooved, wooden stands and counter-weighted with heavy rocks bundled by rope netting. These bundled rocks were suspended by one strand of rope from each bundle, looped over the axles at opposite ends to the wheels. This made the wheels stand vertical with their lowest edge about ten inches off the cave floor. The wooden stands holding them, along with the bundled counter-weights, allowed the wheels to spin just as if they were attached to the wagon from which they'd come.
"Howdy, Pete," Jack chuckled. "Did you eat lots of that grey shit?" His light-hearted question was asked from a seemingly dire predicament: Jack Hutch, stripped naked, was bound to one of the wheels.
His legs were spread wide and ankles extended just outside the rim, his legs secured by ropes wrapped around his shins and through spokes of the wheel. Also tied in ropes were Jack's wrists. With his hands folded behind his head and wrists bound together, another rope secured his wrists to the rim of the wheel, leaving the crown of his head to rest against the palms of his hands.
And as if this bondage wasn’t precarious enough, Jack Hutch was upside down. With his buttocks covering the center hub, causing his pelvis to be thrust forward, Jack's naked body was inverted while his healthy scrotum hung handsomely vulnerable. His cock also hung exposed. And speaking of handsome, gravity brought this old man’s fuck tool in a straight line down his belly clear past his belly button. That’s not all. His scraggly beard was gone, shaven clean, and with this new appearance Jack Hutch looked to be mid-forties at most.
"Well, no need to answer," Jack laughed while focusing on Pete's engorged cock. "I can see you’ve done been dunked."
"Upright him," Celeste ordered. "Having fun, Jack?"
"You know it, mama. I aim to please."
"Ok, girls," Mrs. Nehi barked. "String that one up like this one."
Pete Radcliffe was fixed to the second wheel, bound in the same manner as Jack in an upright positon.
"Get ready for a wild ride, son." Jack smiled.
"I'm afraid to ask you, Jack, but what the hell is this all about?"
"This here cave's got four rooms that we know of, Pete. There's the waitin' room where you met me; the welcome room where you got to wrestle; the skinny dippin' room where you got dunked; and this."
"What's this? The torture room?" Pete gazed to his male companion, as the females tied the final knot of his ropes.
Jack laughed, "Well, maybe, dependin' on how you wanna look at it."
"Ok, I get it. You can't tell me."
Both men looked at one another. Two men, separated by about six feet, bodies spread wide, turned upright and vertically bound to their wheels, Jack and Pete scanned each other's naked bodies.
"No, Pete, I can't say anything. Don't wanna scare you."
Jack's impressive tool pointed straight forward, piercing nearly eight inches of air, while Pete's, surprisingly to him, also remained as hard as when he'd left the dunking room. Being with Jack comforted Pete. He figured that regardless of whatever tortures lay ahead for him, at least Jack had been through and survived them. More importantly, Pete felt a bond with this man. For whatever reason, Jack’s presence allayed his fears. He‘d guided Pete through one mysterious ordeal after another and Pete reckoned that as long as they were together they could handle whatever punishments these vixens cared to throw at them.
He tested the ropes and their knots, flexing and straining to see if they'd give. Of course, they didn't, but his efforts certainly excited his spectators. Pete's masculine form, still defiant, bound and helpless with manly tool primed for action caused a stir amongst the ladies. His body still glistened with a combination of water and sweat, his dark brown hair sparkling with tiny beads from the top of his head to the tops of his feet. With Pete performing as the lust-crazed, masculine beast he was, 80 female hands self-massaged 40 female pussies. With Jack joining Pete to display his own strength, clenching his scrotum to make his cock bob up and down and wave to the ladies, 40 fingers fingered 40 clits and 40 streams of vaginal juices began to trickle.
After two wooden stools were placed on the floor in front of Pete, Celeste tapped the shoulder of the youngster, Josie. This pretty brunette stepped up with one foot on each, then took Pete's throbbing cock into her hand, holding it steady while she covered him with her pussy hole. Finally, Pete felt the loving warmth of a vibrating vagina. She clinched her interior muscles to squeeze his pulsating pole, then threw back her arms, locking her hands behind her head.
Sarah, the muscular blond, spun the wheel. Pete spun with it. Two voices, one male and one female, let out slight whimpers, as a tantalizing sensation stirred their innards. Sarah increased the speed of revolution. One turn outpaced the next, as animalistic howls echoed from one rock wall to another. Pete's body became a blur, while Josie arched her back and thrust forward her pelvis, driving Pete's frantically rotating cock into her pussy for maximum penetration.
For Pete, the penis wasn't the only thing spinning. His head became lighter than air and all vision became white. All he could feel was the indescribable ecstasy of this rotating fuck. Spinning friction of warm wetness consumed and lifted him to a frenzied state of unbridled masculinity.
Two voices cried out words of English, "Oh, god; holy shit," coupled with sounds and utterances known only to sexual climax, as man and woman spewed their orgasmic fluids, dual eruptions and emotions never before felt.
Sarah let go the handle. Revolutions slowed. Pete's body stopped with his feet up and head down. Ecstatic moans filled the room, as Josie withdrew her pussy, uncovered Pete's cock and stepped down from the stools. Reaching for the rim, Josie turned the wheel to bring Pete upright, where he gasped for air, hypnotized with lust.
"There ya are, Pete," Jack's voice of joy brought everybody back to reality. "This here's the milking room, but there ain't no cow teats to milk - just man dicks."
"That's right, young man," Celeste joined in. "And that's exactly what we're going to do. Marjorie, you're next."
Still primed and ready, Pete's poker again was covered by another salivating pussy hole and the wheel turned to produce the next psychotic, wall-crumbling, double-orgasmic explosion of animal sounds and human creams.
They left him upright, chest heaving, with manly tool still primed for action.
"Lookin' good, Pete," Jack chuckled. "I think you'll be makin' up for those three years of nothing to fuck, you fornicatin' he-man."
Contrary to what should have been, Pete felt like a sex-crazed, nut-busting maniac. He expanded his chest, sucked in his belly and thrust forward his cock while grunting like a caveman, “Ugh… bring it on, woman."
Celeste prompted Bridget to take a ride on the spinning cock, but as she mounted Pete and Sarah turned the handle, Josie dropped to her knees in tears.
"Momma, I did a bad thing."
Celeste comforted her daughter, lifting Josie to stand while her other daughter shrieked with delights of spinning Pete-meat. "What is it, my darling?"
"I put my fingers in that hole." She pointed to Sarah. "I put my tongue in there, too."
"Yes, Josie, that is bad, but only because you and Sarah did not ask me first. You have confessed. You are forgiven."
As Josie walked away, Marjorie took her place to confess all of her sins, following it up with a pleading. "Momma, you've got to let Pete go. He's the most amazing man we could ever hope for. Please stop torturing him."
"All right, dear. You're a good girl. We're not torturing Pete. Look at him. He's a happy man."
Indeed he was. With a third orgasm completed and cock aching for another round, Pete writhed in a frenetic ecstasy. He looked to his buddy. "Shit, Jack. Ain't you gonna get some?"
"I don't know, Pete. What about it, Celeste? Send one of them old birds up here. I'm ready to go."
"You old lecher," she bellowed. "You're always ready to go."
She directed an old one to step up for a ride on Jack's pole, but had a surprise for Pete. "Bring in our prisoner."
end of 4a
