0 comments/ 16660 views/ 2 favorites Treed By: zack_w It was mid-May in northern Arizona, and final exams were over at last. Jenny knew that she had done well; studying is easy when you don't have a social life. She entered the Student Union and looked around until she spotted her best friend Toni waving to attract her attention. Toni rejoiced, "Free at last! What have you got planned for the summer, Jen?" "Nothing much now. I had hoped to work with Professor Slovak on his biodegradable plastic project, but the grant didn't go through. I promised my father that I'd visit him in Chicago, but I'm going to put that off as long as possible. How about you?" "I'm going to be here in Flagstaff all summer; I've got to get a job somewhere. You're lucky that your father pays all of your expenses." "Yeah, he's at least good for that." She muttered bitterly, "More than my mother's good for." Toni felt sad for her friend, whom she had known since elementary school. Jenny's parents had divorced when she was young, and Toni knew Jenny's neurotic mother had belittled her for most of her life. Toni said brightly, "I meet this great guy in my psych class. He's not really my type, but he was interested when I told him about you, and you might like him." "You mean he hasn't heard about Jenny The Stick? I thought that it was all over the campus by now." Jenny brushed back her short black hair with both hands, a mannerism that let Toni know she was upset. "Oh, Jen, you shouldn't let that bother you. Bill is an asshole, and what he said was garbage. I never should have introduced you to him." Toni really blamed herself; she had known what Bill was like. "He certainly is an asshole, but what he said was all too true. I've got a mirror; I know I'm shaped like a yardstick." "That's not true! You've got a great shape; you're just slim! You could be a fashion model. They don't have big boobs." "I could be a model if I was four inches taller, and if I had a face. I have no real way of telling if Bill was right when he said I also had all the personality of a stick." "There's nothing wrong with your face. You just don't do anything with it. You've got a good bone structure, and if you used any makeup at all you'd be very attractive. And why don't you do something with your hair? You know, I could do a makeover..." "You could give me a Barbydoll transplant and I'd still have the personality of a fence post. Whenever I try to talk to a man nothing comes out except an occasional monosyllable." Jenny looked closely at her friend, then sighed. 'Toni makes it sound so easy', she thought, 'and for her it is easy; she has long blonde hair, a voluptuous figure, and a gorgeous face. She could croak like a frog and men wouldn't notice.' Toni offered her Psychology 101 expertise: "You're just shy, and you can overcome your shyness if you try. My brother Steve was like that, but he worked at it and now he's almost normal." "I never noticed that Steve was shy. Of course, I don't see him very often." Steve attended Arizona State in Tempe, so he wasn't around during most of the year. Toni laughed. "Steve was very shy. Why do you think he majored in Engineering? Say! Maybe you two should get together. He's studying Material Science and you're in Environmental Chemistry, so you have a lot in common." "Thanks, but no thanks. It might strain our friendship when he rejected me." Jenny did like Steve, but her friendship with Toni was more important. It had taken a hit over the Bill incident, and Jenny didn't want to risk a situation where Toni had to choose between her and Steve. * * * Jenny rarely had a date, but she did have a sex life. It was strictly do-it-yourself, with self-bondage being the usual source of stimulation. Now she had an ambitious plan for fulfilling a long-held fantasy, where she would be chained outside and in isolation for several days. Jenny had read all of the works of John Norman, and her current inspiration was based on the cover art of 'Captives of Gor'. The usual problem with long-term self-bondage was devising a reliable escape mechanism, but Jenny had come up with an idea that she was sure would work. Her latest college research project had been to develop a plastic that was strong enough to be made into bags, but that would also break down so it wouldn't clutter up the environment. Now she had some strong plastic film that would turn into a powder after a day's exposure to the sun. She had thought of a way to use this material to dispense the key to her restraints. Jenny got a piece of plywood, about one foot by four feet, to use as a base. Across one of the short ends she mounted a block of wood with the top cut at a 45 degree angle, and to this she attached three thin wooden slats, four feet long by two inches wide. She bent a slat until it was horizontal and put a key on top. When she let go of the slat the key was catapulted over twenty feet. Now she bent the slats and held them down to the end of the plywood with strips of her special plastic film, attached with tape. The first strip was exposed to the sun, but the others were shaded by cardboard, with each piece of cardboard tied to the preceding slat. As each slat was released the next plastic strip was exposed. She tested this several times over the next weeks and found that it worked perfectly. It took between thirteen and fifteen hours of sunshine to release a slat, so it would be three days and two nights before the key was available. Jenny drove south and east of Flagstaff, into the juniper forest. This area didn't attract many people, so she could be fairly sure that no one would see her if she stayed away from the roads. She scouted around until she found a big old alligator juniper tree. The tree trunk was thick, and the canopy of branches shaded a large area. She used her hand-held GPS unit to mark the spot, and early the next day she returned to prepare the site. She wanted to be sure that there would be no way for her to drag the catapult into her reach before the three days were up. She wrapped a heavy chain around the tree trunk and bolted it in place. She held the free end of the chain to her neck and stretched out on the ground and marked as far as her foot would reach. Then she used some string to draw a circle with that radius all the way around the tree. Inside the circle she carefully raked up all of the dead branches and cleared away the bushes. When she had finished with her groundskeeping there was nothing but bare dirt, with even the rocks and large pebbles tossed outside the circle. Jenny pruned all the low-hanging dead juniper branches, and to keep herself from climbing the tree she stapled the chain to the trunk; it would need a crowbar to pry it loose when all of this was over. The length of chain between her neck and the tree would be long enough to let her stand up, with a couple of feet extra. Jenny set up her catapult well outside the cleared area and tested it. She had decided that all she would eat would be granola bars, so she put one on the end of a catapult slat and released it. She did this several times with the different slats, and was pleased to find that each bar landed at almost the same place near the tree. The catapult was almost ten feet from the cleared circle, so it would definitely be inaccessible. She piled dirt and rocks on the plywood base to hold it in place. * * * Toni would be the safety backup. On Sunday, the day before Jenny was going to start her adventure, she phoned: "Hi, Toni. Say, are you going to be around Flag next week?" "Sure, I'm not going anyplace. Did you have something in mind?" "Not really. I'm doing a research project until Thursday, and I'll call you then." "OK. I can still arrange for you to meet my friend from psych class." "Maybe later. Bye." Jenny prepared a letter, with an explanation and a map showing where to find her. She included the GPS coordinates. On the back of the envelope she wrote: Toni, please do not open this letter before Thursday, June 7. BE SURE TO OPEN IT if I haven't called you after then. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT! Jenny thought, 'Why take chances?', and prepared a duplicate letter. Then she went out to mail them, in separate mail boxes. Just after Jenny left her apartment Toni got a call: "Hi Toni, this is Kim. My family has rented a condo in San Diego for the next two weeks, and my sister can't go all of a sudden. That means we have an empty bed. Would you like to come with us?" "Wow, yes! Thanks so much for asking me. I'd love to go." "OK, we'll pick you up early tomorrow morning." Toni called Jenny, but the phone wasn't answered. She didn't bother to leave a message; it wasn't that important. * * * Early Monday morning Jenny started her journey to Gor. She drove for over an hour on the highway and then along a dirt road. Jenny parked her car off the road and got out. The weather was cool and clear, as it usually was this time of year, and no rain was forecast for a month. No one was in sight, and all she could hear were a few birds. Jenny had another prop for her Gorean scenario. She had made a collar out of steel bar stock; it wasn't elaborate, just two overlapping semicircles with the ends bolted together to form a circlet around her neck. Jenny put it around her neck and used two wrenches to tighten the bolts. (For once, she remembered to include the collar's D-ring before she tightened everything down). She took a deep breath and paused to see if she had any second thoughts. Then she took off all of her clothes except for her canvas shoes. She put her clothes and the wrenches in the car and got out two gallon jugs of water and a small paper bag containing the rest of her supplies. The air was cool on her bare skin, and she again considered taking a blanket. The daytime temperatures were in the mid-eighties, but it would be in the fifties at night. She thought, 'Gorean slave girls aren't pampered!' and left the blanket in the car. She locked the car and buried her car keys next to the right rear tire. She could just see the top of her tree, and she hiked towards it. When she got there she found everything just as she had left it. She put the water jugs next to the tree. She had estimated that she would need a quart a day, so there was plenty of reserve. Next she prepared the catapult by bending down each slat and holding it there with a strip of plastic taped in place, and she covered the last two strips with their cardboard sunshades. She put a granola bar on each of the first two slats. On the third slat she placed another bar, but this one had the key to the padlock taped to the wrapper. She had found that the weight of the granola bar was needed to keep the impact point constant. Jenny took off her shoes and dropped them next to the catapult. She walked barefoot and naked to the tree and picked up the end of the chain. She was breathing fast, and her nipples were hard. She put the padlock through the last link of the chain and the collar D-ring, clicked it shut, and fell to the ground. Her hand went to her clit, and she exploded in an orgasm that seemed to last forever. Jenny slipped into an erotic daze. She lost track of the number of orgasms. She continued until she was sore, and when she finally stopped she was exhausted. She stretched out in the shade of the tree and fell asleep. About an hour before sunset Jenny woke up. A few minutes later the catapult lobbed the first granola bar, and she eagerly ate it. She was hungry, and now that it was too late she realized she should have provided herself with more food; she certainly didn't need to lose any weight. She drank some water and wondered if she had enough surplus to allow her to wash, because she was covered with dirt, especially around the crotch. She decided to spare a bit of water, but she knew she'd be dirty again soon. After the sun went down Jenny really regretted not bringing the blanket. She curled into a ball and tried to keep warm. It wasn't too bad at first, because the bare ground had absorbed a lot of heat during the day, but it got colder as the night dragged on, and by dawn Jenny was shivering violently. She wasn't able to sleep, and she found that it was impossible to generate erotic heat when her body was so cold. Finally the sun appeared and Jenny stretched out in the warm sunshine. It was uncomfortable lying on the ground, but she was so tired that she quickly fell asleep. She napped for an hour or so, until she was awakened by some doves roosting in the tree over her head. Jenny crawled away from the tree until the chain fastened to her collar was taut. She cried, "I've got to escape before those slavers return! Where am I? This isn't Earth!" She knelt, grabbed the chain with both hands, and pulled as hard as she could. It didn't move in the slightest, and Jenny moaned, "It's no good; I'll never escape." The reality of her captivity aroused her, and she stroked herself to another orgasm. Once she came down she had a brief interlude of common sense, and used it to move into the shade before she started to climb another erotic peak. She spent the rest of the day near the tree trunk. Jenny didn't have to imagine that she was a captive; she knew she really was one, and the knowledge kept her aroused. The second slat was released in mid-afternoon, and Jenny lost no time in munching down the granola bar. She was very hungry, and a single bar was not nearly enough. She thought, 'This has been really exciting, but three days may be too much of a good thing. I'll know better next time.' She expected the third slat to release about noon the next day, because its plastic strip was now exposed to today's sun, and she was looking forward to her freedom. The second night was just as cold and unpleasant as the first one had been. About two hours before dawn Jenny heard a noise in the brush just beyond the catapult. The moon was almost full, and she could just see an animal of some sort. Then it moved into the open, and she saw it was a coyote. She stood and shouted, "Hey, get away from here!" She looked down for a rock, but she had cleared them all away. When she looked up again the coyote was starting to move away, and it had something in its mouth. Jenny was afraid she knew what it was, and the knowledge stunned her like a punch to the jaw. The coyote had stolen the remaining granola bar, and the padlock key went with it! When she had recovered from the shock Jenny told herself, 'Keep calm. Maybe it didn't take the granola bar; it's too dark to really tell. And even if it did have the granola bar in its mouth the coyote may drop the key where I can reach it.' Sunrise proved that Jenny's faint hopes were in vain. The catapult slat was bare, and the wrapper was nowhere in sight. Jenny reproached herself. 'Damn! How could I have been so stupid? This is the desert. It's full of coyotes, and they'll eat anything. I'm lucky it wasn't a sleen.' Jenny was more annoyed than afraid. She reasoned with herself, 'OK, don't panic. So I'll have to spend another day and night here. I know how curious Toni is. If she doesn't get a call from me tomorrow she'll open the envelope at once, and I'll be free soon after.' Jenny checked her water supply. One jug was empty, but the other was nearly full. She had drunk more than she had estimated, because all of her sexual exertions had made her sweat. Now she regretted using water for washing, but that didn't bring it back. She thought, 'Maybe I should pee into the empty jug, so I can recycle.' She shuddered. 'No, things aren't that desperate. Toni will save me.' But Toni didn't save her. Jenny endured more warm days and cold nights in the open air. She was very hungry now, and her stomach ached constantly. Fantasy wasn't that much fun when reality intruded. * * * Toni's brother Steve returned to his family's home in Flagstaff Saturday night. It was late when he arrived, so it wasn't until the next morning that he sorted through the mail that had been piled on a small table near the front door. He found the two letters from Jenny and read the message on the back of the envelopes. Steve wondered if he should open one of the letters. He respected Toni's privacy, but he knew she would be gone for another week and this seemed important. He was particularly impressed because there were duplicate letters; Jenny obviously wanted to be sure Toni received one. Steve had always liked Jenny, and the possibility that she needed help made him decide to open a letter. He was surprised by what he read: Dear Toni, If you're reading this I'm in trouble and I need your help immediately. The enclosed map will show you how to get to a big juniper tree, and you'll find me chained to its trunk. Yes, I know what I did was dangerous, and yes, I know I'm a sex pervert. I will contritely listen to your lecture as soon as you rescue me. Jenny of Gor Steve hadn't yet unpacked his truck, so his tools and camping gear were ready to go. He made sure his water bottles were full and his GPS and cellphone were handy, and then he was out the door and on the road. * * * Jenny drank the last of her water and pulled once again at the chain that held her captive. It didn't move. Not that she expected it to; not when it was wrapped around a tree trunk that was at least two feet in diameter. She kept quiet and listened intently, hoping to hear her friend Toni arriving to save her. She knew that Toni would have some tart words when she saw the fix Jenny had gotten herself into, but humiliation was the least of her worries now. She thought, 'Better humiliation than having somebody stumble across my mummified corpse.' Jenny felt a brief surge of hope when she heard a rustling in the bushes, but it died when the coyote poked his head into the open and stared at her. She muttered, "Is that mangy little beast laughing at me?" Jenny glared at the coyote. "With him around they won't find my mummified corpse; they'll find my scattered bones." Jenny was tired and very hungry, but she was still in fairly good shape, except for a slight sunburn on the parts of her body that were usually covered. She had followed the standard desert survival advice: 'Ration your sweat, not your water' so she wasn't dehydrated. She guiltily acknowledged to herself that she hadn't really rationed her sweat; she still found her captivity arousing and indulged herself with orgasms several times a day. Now that the water was gone her time was running out. She wondered why Toni hadn't arrived to save her. Had both letters gone astray? Was Toni in jail? Both were very unlikely, but she had expected Toni on Thursday, and now it was Sunday. Tendrils of real fear were starting to wind their way into her mind. * * * Steve had no trouble following Jenny's map and he found her car right where he expected it to be. He didn't know for sure that it was her car, but it was in the right place. He used his GPS to determine the heading to Jenny's tree and hiked in that direction. Jenny was sitting on the shady side of the tree, leaning against the trunk with her eyes closed. It was close to noon, and she reserved her strenuous activities for the cooler part of the day. Steve had walked quietly through the brush and he reached the edge of the cleared area without Jenny noticing him. Steve had expected to find Jenny chained to the tree, but he hadn't really expected her to be nude. He studied every detail of her body. Her breasts were small, but her narrow waist brought her shape into perfect proportion. Her arms and legs were slender, but with well-defined muscles. She had a lot of black pubic hair. At first glance she appeared to have a dark tan, but then Steve realized she was coated with dust and dirt. It was Jenny's face that held Steve's attention the longest. He could see the strain she must be experiencing outlined in the muscles around her eyes and mouth. It gave her a look of helplessness and hopelessness that made him want to simultaneously dominate her and protect her. She was a treasure worth fighting for. Treed The last thing Johnny needed, at age seven, was a tree house, my wife told me, in no uncertain terms. I admit I agree with her, but I didn't tell Jenny that. No way. I had a use for the tree house, even if my son didn't. The tree in which I'd construct it, a big oak, with a glorious, spreading crown, stood in our backyard, near the eight-foot-tall wooden fence that separates our lot from our neighbor's. Tammy Butler (the neighbor) is a dyed-in-the-wool nudist--that is, she is if the town scuttlebutt is true (which may or may not be the case, on any given topic, Tammy's alleged penchant for nudism included). Under the pretense of studying the treetop for the best site at which to construct Johnny's tree house, I climbed the oak on a suitably warm, slightly breezy day, when I judged Tammy might be catching a few rays in the altogether, and, damn if she wasn't laid out on a beach towel in her backyard, bronze all over and getting darker, her back, butt, thighs, and calves shimmering with suntan lotion. Tammy's a young thing, no older than twenty, and she had an ass that made me hard, right away. I'd figured I might have to wait half the morning before I saw Tammy, naked or otherwise, if I saw her at all, but, bingo!, no sooner had I shimmied up that oak, there she lay, all golden-brown, without a stitch of clothing on, not even a thong bikini. If I'd been this lucky this quickly, I might be lucky enough to see her turn over before Jenny, missing me, came looking for me. If she spotted me up this tree, the "discussion" about whether our son was old enough to have a tree house, even if he wanted one, would resume, right after my wife told me to get down out of this oak, in a tone that suggested I was seven years old myself--or may as well be. My luck held, though, and Tammy turned over, shielding her eyes from the sun with her forearm, exposing her beautiful breasts. They were smallish, firm, but soft at the same time, high, and round, like apples, just the way I like them. I also got an eyeful of the concave depression of her belly, the slope of her hairless pubic mound, the tiny cleft of her sex, and her smooth, shapely legs. She was just as beautiful from the front as she was from the back. She was definitely a nudist, too. In this regard, the town scuttlebutt had it right. However, it didn't necessarily follow that she was an exhibitionist as well. She might be, though. After all, a good many townspeople had seen her naked--or claimed to have, and not always in her own backyard. Rumor had it that Tammy had been seen walking a path through the woods with no more on than she was wearing right now, which was nothing, and some claimed she'd been caught wandering naked through the meadow back of Colby's Furniture Store and warned by Deputy Winslow not to let it happen again. She'd been seen naked several times since, though, despite Winslow's warning, even once by the Scott twins, but she was never arrested or even cited, as far as anyone knows. It seems our local law enforcement officers like to see a little T & A every now and then, the same as any other true-blue, red-blooded, all-American man does. "Jim Hall!" Uh, oh! Jenny had missed me. Worse, she'd come looking for me, and she'd found me. "You come down out of that tree!" Thanks, Jen, I thought. Your honeyed voice, screaming at me like a banshee, was all I'd needed. I had no doubt that my sunbathing neighbor had heard my wife's screeching voice. The whole damn neighborhood--maybe the whole damned state--had heard her. Yep, sure enough, Tammy sat up, looked around, surveyed the treetops, and spotted me. I know, because she waved at me, smiling. I damned near fell out of the fork of the tree. "Come down here, this minute!" Jen ordered, and Tammy, still smiling, blew me a kiss! I guess I had my answer as to whether Tammy was both a nudist and an exhibitionist. That evening, after supper had been eaten, the dishes had been done, and Johnny had been bundled off to bed, Jenny and I had another "discussion" about whether our son was old enough to have a tree house, even if he wanted one, and it left us standing where we'd been before we'd begun, with Jen opposed and me "undecided." That night, I slept on the couch. * The next morning, which was a Saturday, I was off from work, and, while Jen was at the beautician's, I drove over to a lumberyard, filled the bed of my pickup truck with building materials, returned home, and commenced building Johnny's tree house. By the time she came home--she always saw a movie, had lunch, and went shopping on Saturday--I had half the tree house built. That night, and for the next week, I slept on the couch again. * I'd probably still be sleeping on the couch, but I promised Jen that Johnny would never step foot inside the tree house before he was twelve years old. I'd never intended anything else, I swore to her. I'd built the tree house--or what I had built of it--just so our son would have something to look forward to. Five years from now, on his twelfth birthday, I'd give him the keys to the padlocks on the trapdoors that admitted visitors to the landing off of which rose the rungs of the ladder I'd nailed to the oak to provide access to the tree house, and to the tree house itself, which was another fifteen feet beyond the walled-in landing. My solemn vow not to let Johnny into the tree house before then took the edge off her anger, and she allowed me back into our bed. That night, I fucked her hard and fast, thinking of Tammy, naked on her backyard lawn, smiling and waving up at me as I sat in the fork of the old oak tree that overlooked her property. Jen's heart didn't seem much involved in our "lovemaking," though; she was as just as mechanical and dutiful as she'd been for the past few years of our marriage. * Johnny couldn't go inside the tree house, but I could. I had to, in fact, if it was ever going to be completed, and I did, every day, but I took my time finishing it. Every day, Tammy was there, on her beach towel, sunning herself, naked, smiling, and waving at me. The third day, she didn't wave. Instead, she motioned for me to join her, and, I must say, I was tempted. She might be more than just a showoff, I thought. She might be a nymphomaniac, too. If so, I could sure go for a piece of her--but, no! I shouldn't think that way, I chastised myself. I was a married man, a happily married man, with a seven-year-old son. It was all right to look, maybe, since Tammy was only to happy to put on her daily show, but anything more than looking--well, that was something altogether different. * The tree house took shape nicely, if slowly. Between every small task, I "rested," ogling the bathing beauty next door. I'd all but memorized her tits, twat, and ass. I knew the size of her nipples, both in their normal and their erect states; the dimension, complexion, texture, shape, heft, and jiggle-and-sway capacity of her breasts and which of the twin angels was larger than the other--the left was ever-so-slightly smaller than its neighbor on the right; the flare of her hips; the pink-red watermelon-flesh of the tissues within the folds of her succulent labia; the delicate pink-white bud of her clitoris, within its hood of flesh; the wonderful fullness of her sleek, firm-soft, dimpled buttocks; the marble-smooth columns of her thighs and tapering calves; the daintiness of her hands and feet; the loveliness of her flaxen hair, her sky-blue eyes, her apple cheeks, and her soft, full, sensuous lips. Impossible, you say, that I could have noticed such features from the distance of a tree house overlooking her backyard, no matter how close the oak in which it was built--or was being built--to the wall that divided our respective properties? I saw all these features and more; I saw the beauty mark above her right breast; the thin, short scar on her left thigh, perhaps from a slip of her razor while she was shaving her legs; the chip in the sculpted nail of her left forefinger. I saw all these elegant and beautiful sights because I had purchased a pair of binoculars, of which Jen knew nothing, which I stored in the tree house, using them to "spy" on Tammy during my frequent breaks. Surely, my neighbor saw the binoculars held up, against my eyes, but they didn't dismay her. She continued to smile and wave. She has perfectly even, white teeth, and the interior of her mouth is as lovely a watermelon-flesh-red as is the heart of her cunt. She smiles and she waves and she motions for me to join her. At the end of the day, I set the binoculars in their case, descend the ladder through the trapdoor in the floor of the tree house and the trapdoor in the walled-in platform below, climb down the ladder from the landing to the ground, pause to lock the padlock on the lower trapdoor, and return to the garage with my tools, my cock as hard as the hammer that juts from the rear pocket of my overalls. I putter around in the garage for a while, returning my tools to their places on the pegboard mounted upon the rear wall and allowing my penis time to decompress, so to speak, and return to its normal, flaccid state, before going inside the house. "When will you be finished with that damned tree house?" Jenny asks me. "Soon," I lie. * I purchased a video camera. State of the art. Came with a tripod. I carried the equipment up the ladders to the tree house and mounted the camera on the tripod, pointing it through the casement I'd installed in the wall that faces Tammy's backyard. After visually ensuring that the lens was set to zoom and focused upon our neighborhood nudist, I set the camera on automatic. For two hours, as I worked on the tree house, taking breaks to study Tammy through my binoculars, the camera videotaped on lying on her back, her left side, her tummy, her right side, sitting, stretching, and exercising. I let the camera run as long as I dared, capturing her perfect tits, the tiny groove of her pussy, and her splendid ass, because, I'd decided, I'd seen enough of Tammy--in the flesh, at least. After today, I'd declare the tree house finished, and I wouldn't be back again. My neighbor has a fine body and a beautiful face, but ogling her had become too risky. I was starting to want to do more than merely watch--a lot more--and the temptation was becoming greater than I could endure much longer. As I said, I'm happily married, with a lovely wife of my own, and a son whom I love. Jen may not be perfect--who is?--but she's more than I deserve, even if sex between us isn't what it was on our wedding night. I don't want to risk what I already have. Afterward, I left the camera equipment in place, instead of bringing it down and putting it away in the garage, as I'd intended. It was late, and I was tired. I could just as well bring the tripod-mounted camera down from the tree house tomorrow, I told myself. In retrospect, I realize that my reasoning was nothing more than a thinly disguised rationalization, a lie I'd told myself as an excuse to come back to the tree house, one last time, for one last look of my lovely naked neighbor, in all her fleshly glory. Lying to myself was an indication as to just how dangerously far gone my obsession with Tammy had become. Jenny was waiting for me in the kitchen, and she didn't look happy. "When is that damned tree house going to be finished?" she demanded. Her look was like that of Medusa's; I'm lucky it didn't turn me into stone. "It's finished," I told her. She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and smiled, looking just as lovely as Tammy, even if she was in her pajamas, slippers, and a robe, instead of naked, and said, "Thank God!" "All but the finishing touches," I added. That night, I slept on the couch again. * The next day, when I arrived at the tree house, my heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed the panic rising in my chest and throat. My eyes widened at the sight of the padlock, tossed aside on the lawn and the trapdoor left open in the floor of the walled-in landing above me. My hand shot to the pocket of my overalls, where I'd tucked the keys to the padlocks the night before. Neither of them was there! Frantically, I checked all the other pockets, with no better success. The keys were gone. Of course, they were missing, I told myself. Jenny had taken the damned things from my pocket last night, while I slept, and she'd used one of them to open the padlock to the lower trapdoor before tossing the lock onto the lawn. I scrambled up the ladder to the second trapdoor. The one in the floor of the tree house above the walled-in platform was also open, its padlock on the landing below. Awaiting my arrival, Jenny was seated in the armchair I'd hoisted into place weeks ago, before I'd installed the fourth wall. She nodded toward the camera on the tripod, still pointed through the window, at Tammy's backyard. "Care to explain that?" Her tone was icy cold. My marriage, I feared, was over. "I'd say it's pretty much self-explanatory," I said. "Well, I wouldn't! Jim! How could you?" Haltingly, I explained, as much to myself, I think, as to Jenny. The spark had gone out of our lovemaking. When we bothered to have sex at all, which was rarely, it was entirely mechanical and lackluster, as if we were just going through the motions. I loved Jen, with all my heart, I told her, which was the truth, but I needed more than a mannequin in bed with me when I made love; I needed the Jen I'd married, sensuous, vibrant, intense, passionate, intimate, arousing, and lustful; the Jen who not dutifully, but joyously, sucked my cock; the Jen who'd as soon take my prick up her ass as her cunt; the Jen who wasn't afraid to play the strumpet, the virgin, the college cheerleader, or a score of other roles. I expected to sleep on the couch forever. I thought that, despite our son Johnny, she might sue my ass for a divorce. Instead, she surprised me. "Is she out there now, do you think?" "She" was Tammy, of course. I nodded. "She's out there all the time, it seems, every day." "Can she see us?" "Not unless we go to the window." Jenny smiled. She pulled her tee shirt off, over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her boobs bounced and jiggled, looking lovelier by far than my nudist neighbor's apple-size breasts. I'd almost forgotten how narrow my wife's waist is and how flat--even concave--her tummy is. Although a few years older than Tammy, Jenny was in every bit as good a shape. She kicked off her sandals and stood, careful not to expose herself through the window, unbuckled her belt, unsnapped her waistband, and unzipped her zipper, lowering her tight jeans down her smooth, firm thighs, over her dimpled knees, and past her tapering calves. She stepped out of the heaped denim, completely and stunningly naked. She smiled at the huge bulge in the crotch of my overalls as she knelt before me. Her hand clutched my balls, giving them a teasing squeeze. She pressed her face to my groin, rolling her lips back and forth across the thick outline of my erection. Looking up at me, she winked. "Didn't you say you wanted your Jen back, Jimmy? The Jen who'd as soon take your prick up her ass as her cunt; the Jen who wasn't afraid to play the strumpet? Well, here I am; I'm back. I want you to fuck me, here and now, hard and fast, in my ass." She turned, positioning herself upon her elbows and knees, with her firm, round ass high in the air and her legs spread wide. Between the inward-curving slopes of her buttocks, I could see the tiny, puckered anus I had once plowed as regularly as I'd fucked her cunt, but hadn't even seen in months, until now. It was as tempting and enticing a target as ever, and as I studied the opening to my wife's bowels, my cock swelled further, my balls aching inside the tightening pouch of my scrotum. I undressed, as quickly as possible, cursing my heavy boots, my cumbersome overalls, my plaid shirt, even my briefs. Finally naked, I knelt on the floor of the tree house, between Jenny's legs, and, taking my erection in hand, guided my massive organ between the moist labia of my wife's warm, wet pussy. I slammed my meat into the soft, liquid center of her sex, feeling the mucous fluids of her twat wash and caress the shaft of my plunging prick. Her cunt felt as wonderful as the first time I'd ever fucked her, which was on the night that we'd graduated from high school, just after her eighteenth birthday; Johnny was a gift of our first union. After a few more rocking, rhythmic thrusts into her twat, I pulled out, aiming my cunt-slick cock into the deep cleavage of Jenny's widespread ass cheeks. Wet with her pussy, my prick slid up the cleavage of her buttocks, rather than through her anus and into her rectum, as I'd intended. Taking my wayward penis in hand, I guided it into the tiny opening between my wife's ass cheeks, pressing firmly and resolutely forward with my hips when my glans met the stout resistance of Jen's anal sphincter. Her asshole spread, opening to admit me, and my member forced its way through the portal, inch after rock-hard inch of my erection vanishing inside my wife's bottom. I continued, slowly and deliberately, to drive my prick forward, watching it slide past the slopes of her buttocks and through her anus, until I'd buried the entire length of my thick, rigid nine inches inside her ass. Jen moaned, shifting her weight and crouching lower. She'd learned how to accommodate my massive member. Her asshole was utterly relaxed now, offering no resistance whatsoever. She was passive, open, submissive, just the way I liked her. "Having a man's cock up your ass changes your whole outlook," she'd told me once. I suppose having my prick up her butt now had worked the same magic, because the indifferent, angry, shrewish wife that Jen, more and more, had become lately was gone, and an acquiescent, but passionate, minx had taken her place. I let my cock stay still inside her, feeling the occasional spasms of her impaled anus. I loved the feel of her asshole, circling my cock, firmly and snugly. It was comforting, the clutch of her anal sphincter. I wanted Jen to get the full feel of being occupied, too, the complete sensation of being crammed with cock. She gave an impatient wag of her tail. "Fuck me, Jimmy!" I smiled. All right, honey, I thought. If it's an ass fucking you want, it's an ass fucking you shall have! I pulled back my hips, letting my cock slide, slowly, slowly, back, through her asshole, meaning to keep only the tip of my prick inside her anus, to prop open her sphincter, but the glans popped out as well, showing the gaping, round opening that her tiny aperture had become. Looking into Jen's cored asshole, I could see an inch or more into the pink tunnel of her bowels before the deeper interior was lost to darkness. I pointed my prick at its target, and my cock easily slipped back into Jenny's bottom, without the slightest resistance. I started slowly, with long, leisurely strokes of my cock into Jen's bottom, enjoying the sight of its slow advance into her depths. Inch by inch, my rigid column of flesh entered her, vanishing within the ring of her widespread anus. My pubes ground hard against my wife's backside, flattening the full cheeks of her ass. She grunted. All the way in, I just as slowly retreated, easing my hips back as I drew my thick, hard organ, inch by inch, from her impaled bottom. Jen was breathing fast and hard, and I imagined the lust that I had kindled inside her, both by my weeks-long voyeurism, the flood of sensations the nerve-endings in and around her asshole were suffering, and her own fantasies, whatever they might be. She moaned again, at some sensation she was feeling in her anus, along her intestinal tract or, possibly, in her clit or cunt, and I drove my cock back through her skewered anus, deep into her rectum, my balls slapping her perineum. Faster and more forcefully, I drove my cock into her ass, relentlessly assaulting her bottom. Her ass cheeks flattened and bounced back to renewed fullness with each plunging stroke, her breasts jiggling and bouncing. I rocked her frame before my merciless assault, ramming my prick through her anal aperture with a savagery that I possessed nowhere else but when I was fucking or butt-fucking my wife, pummeling her sexually as if she were but a common whore or a shameless slut.