Pamela loved the plan. In fact, if she and Hal got caught by her husband, Chet, she'd probably love it all the more. She wanted Hal, but she also wanted Chet to know that he'd been cuckolded and both that he wouldn't blame her for it and couldn't do a thing about it.
The opportunity for the perfect act of adultery arose with the garden club's plan for the Halloween costume party at Evangeline, the deteriorating plantation house on the Mississippi below Natchez, an ideal haunted house location for a costume party. The place hadn't been used for more than two decades, not since the last of the Turnballs died out from some family-shared rare form of anemia.
Pamela's best friend, Cindy, had recently married a grade A hunk, Hal, and Pamela wanted to lay with him so badly that her body ached for him. She had grown tired of Chet years ago and spurned all of his efforts to revitalize their sex life. Lately he had been into kinky outfits and had this strange notion that if they tried exotic positions and she let him take her in the ass it would somehow bring them closer together. Not a chance, she thought; she just needed a strong man's cock throbbing inside her, and she had every belief that the handsome, muscle-bound Hal was just what she needed.
And Cindy had played right into her hands—in fact had given Pamela the idea of how she could pull off the feat. Cindy was so busy with the party arrangements that she asked Pamela to help her and Hal find their costumes. Pamela took Hall shopping and had gotten Hal alone, half dressed, in a changing room, where she quickly was assured that Hal's eyes for her very definitely had been of the roving variety. He was so hot and what he was packing inside his briefs was so massive that Pamela nearly melted on the spot. But she needed something more than a quick grope and some lip work in a costume shop changing room. She needed what Hal was packing pumping inside her, and, for her own sense of humor and thrill, she wanted Chet to suffer in the process.
Her plan was simple in a complex sort of way. She selected the identical costume for both the men and the women of the foursome. Hal and Chet and she and Cindy were close to the same size and build, so, with a bow to Shakespeare and large masks over the upper section of their faces, and if she arranged the tryst in the dim garden of Evangeline, she was sure that she'd be able to say that her coupling with Hal was simply a case of mistaken identity all around, what with both men in vampire costumes and both women decked out as Little Bo Peep. Even if Chet or Cindy discovered them in the act—and Pamela did so hope it would be Chet, if anyone—neither she nor Hal could be blamed.
The night of Halloween proved to be ideal for Pamela's plan. The evening was warm and the moon was nearly absent, leaving the old plantation house's boxwood gardens, with its mazes rich with deadends and isolated park benches, dripping in the rich atmosphere of stolen love. The party was in full swing when Pamela, having just parted from her husband on the dance floor, gave Hal the high sign that she was going out into the garden to an isolated bench nearly swallowed by a graceful old magnolia tree.
By prearrangement, she would stand in front of the bench, facing a nearby giant spruce tree, as if deep in thought, ready to be approached from the rear by an "accosting stranger," who she was prepared to tell the world she believed was her husband, pursuing his latest fetishes to enhance their married life, an activity she would say she was willing wholeheartedly to succumb to in this enchanted garden on Halloween night.
And then, just as she had planned, her lover was there, close behind her. The cape from the costume she had picked out was swirling about her, and his strong arms were enfolding her. He kissed the hollow of her neck and she turned her head, meeting his lips with a hungry, open kiss. Tongues dueled, hers giving in to his as he stroked his big, consuming tongue in and out of her mouth, a harbinger of delights to come. She found his taste intoxicating, and, just as if she were drinking sweet wine, his kisses were loosening her, making her weak while at the same time inflaming her to his touch.
His hands ripped at the laces criss-crossing her peasant's blouse across her ample bosom. He was being rough and insistent with her as he freed the vest that the laces had been holding together and pulled her breasts, one by one out of the low-necked billowy blouse. And she loved him being rough with her. He worked her breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers, making her flow start. And he kissed her deeply, using his teeth, in the hollow of her neck. Her world was spinning; she was loving this; she was putty in his strong arms.
One hand left the breast work to the other and traveled down her body until it gripped her hard in the crotch. She moaned at the strength and insistence of his hand there and she could feel his manhood rising and pushing at the small of her back.
She had grown so weak that she had to fall forward, across the seat of the bench, gripping the top of the bench's wrought-iron back with her hands spread, holding herself in place as her lover continued his steamy onslaught on her willing body.
Her lover's hands were pulling at her long skirt, hauling yards of material up to a bunch around her waist, exposing Pamela's milky white thighs and dimpled bottom to his roving search. She felt and heard her panties being ripped away, and then his long fingers were invading her cunt, searching for and quickly finding her clit and sending flares of pleasure charging through her. But it was a electrifying feeling that seemed almost to be happening to someone else. His lips and teeth were still firmly planted in the hallow of her neck, and she was feeling woozy, almost as if she were rising up out of her body and watching this glorious ravishing she was receiving from somewhere up in the branches of the magnolia tree. But that was all right with her, because a glorious ravishing it was.
His long, slender, talented fingers working deep inside her fold was driving her to rapture, and she experienced an orgasm that eclipsed anything her husband had been able to do to her for years.
Her lover's lips left her and her head lolled to the side as she felt them reengage with her in the crevice between her soft butt cheeks. He was kissing and tonguing her at her puckered hole, and she had never known what ecstasy this could invoke. That long, thick tongue was invading her there, while the fingers of one of his hands continued to stroke her pleasure spot, encouraging her to explode once more under his expert touch.
She was writhing under him now, hardly able to hold herself up bent over the bench. He sensed she was about to collapse, and he rose up and took her breasts in his hands once more and both held her up to him and squeezed them until she screamed out in pain-laced ecstasy. Then he was holding her there with just one hand and he was using the other one to slap a huge cock, a monster cock, against the small of her back and her thighs, urging it to hardened even further, when it already was making Pamela weak in the knees at the thought of taking him in her love canal.
That wasn't his immediate plan. The slappings of his tool turned to rubbings across her bum and up and down in the crease between her cheeks and then he was centering on her puckered backdoor.
Pamela arched her back and screamed to the distant sliver of a moon as he entered her there and started to stroke her, reaching a new depth with each stroke. He pulled her close into him, with the fingers of one hand entering her vagina once more and stroking her clit, his other hand cupping a breast, and his lips and teeth back at the hallow of her neck. His cock was impossibly huge, stretching her further with each stroke, filling her beyond capacity. But she was growing weaker, and his kiss continued to have an intoxicating effect on her, making her feel both the full pleasure and pain of each stroke but being somehow distant from what was happening to her. She only knew that she'd never been taken like this and that she loved him throbbing and growing and working inside her. He brought her to a third orgasm even more electrifying than the first two.
She was a rag doll now, supported only by him. He pulled out of her and picked her up in his arms and carried her underneath the spreading branches of the nearby towering spruce tree. He laid her on her back on a sturdy bough near the base of the tree that was fully able to support her slight figure. Then he spread her legs wide and straddled her pelvis. She felt that she should scream and beg for her safety when she saw the battering ram that his cock had become, impossibly larger than it had ever been inside her ass canal, but she was just too drowsy and drunk with the hard vigor of him and filled with a burning desire for her consuming lover.
He entered her gently and slowly and she cried out and arched her back again, being sure that he would split her apart. All she could see were burning eyes through the black mask and a magnificent naked torso as his supercock slowly moved up into her. Despite her desire for him, she couldn't stop crying out for him to stop stretching her beyond all limits and digging deeper than she thought any man could reach. He brought his lips down to hers to calm her down, and, indeed, his intoxicating kiss caused her to reduce her protests to soft sobs, turning to sighs and then moans, and then cries of ecstasy and desire as he started to fuck her in long, deep-penetrating strokes. His lips and teeth went back to the hollow of her neck and she had wrapped her legs around his plump, trembling buttocks now, wanting to hold him inside her forever. It felt like his entire body had entered her and pushed toward the very center of her, possessing her fully and for all time.
As he deeply stroked, she continued to weaken, until her legs lost their hold around him and both her legs and arms, feeling like lead weights, just dangled down the sides of the pine bough. He was holding her body to him with a strong arm wrapped around on the small of her back and stroking, stroking, stroking his giant cock in and out of her in never ending rhythm.
Her lover lifted his head from the hollow of her neck and howled to the skies as he flooded her insides with a fountain of semen that burbled up around his encased cock and dribbled down her thighs. He pulled his still-hard cock back out almost to the surface and then plunged back in for a second flooding and then a third and a forth. Pamela just lay there under him, lost in her own drowsy world, a sweet little smile of complete satisfaction on her lips.
When she was able to wake enough to take stock of her surroundings, Pamela was alone. She spent many minutes trying to pull her clothes back into some semblance of order. She was still weak and disoriented, which she chalked up to just having had the most wonderful fuck of her life.
Somehow she managed to stumble back into the plantation house, where she found that most of the guests had gone home and the party planners were busy straightening up.
"My God, Pamela, where have you been? We've been worried about you," Cindy was saying, or so it seemed. Pamela was having difficulty concentrating on her friend even though she was standing just a few feet away.
"Out in the garden," Pamela was saying with a weak wave of a thin, alabaster-white arm toward the French doors, although she was slurring her words and having trouble standing upright.
"Well, you missed a real mess in here," Cindy was saying. "Right after you left, that ancient sink in the kitchen started playing like Old Faithful, and Hal has been fighting the flood ever since.
Pamela looked dully at a pair of men's legs emerging from under the sink cabinet. Hal. Hal was in here all the time. Then who? Pamela's thoughts raced to her husband, Chet. He'd had her after all the way he'd wanted her. And she had to admit that he had been right. That was the best coupling performance he'd ever given her. Maybe . . .
"Oh, hi, Chet," Cindy was saying as she waved across the room behind Pamela's back. "Everything all right at home now? As you can see, we've finally found Pamela, although she isn't acting like Pamela."
"Pamela, Pamela. Are you OK? Your babysitter called, and we couldn't find you anywhere, and Chet had to go on home and sort that out. And . . . Pamela? Pamela? You look so pale and weak. And, what's that? Oh, my God, Pamela, you have blood dribbling down from a wound there in the hollow of your neck. Chet, push that chair over here fast. I think she's going to . . ."