"How'd you make out with Sherry last night, man?" he'd smirked.

"She's wild, really wild," Verne had leered back. "You sure do know how to spot the winners, Larry. Honest to God, I never thought a girl would want to do all those kinky things! Sandi would freak out if I even mentioned trying stuff like that!"

Somehow this remembered conversation just didn't relate to the image Johnson was forming of Mrs. Sandi Smith tonight. Surely this sophisticated-looking female in her lurid lace nightgown wouldn't be shocked by a few harmless perversions! And surely her supposed lover couldn't be contented with a steady diet of missionary position.

This wasn't the time for idle speculation, however; all that mattered at this moment was the intoxicating perfume of the young wife's voluptuous body and the satin sheen of her unblemished white flesh beneath his roving hands. Just the innocent act of dabbing antiseptic on her firm-fleshed upper leg was sending electrical tremors of arousal shooting from his fingertips out to every nerve-ending in his body, and he felt his cock expand and pulsate in eager anticipation. Was the girl feeling the same surges of desire? It was hard to tell from the way she lay motionless except for a slight flinch of pain from the stinging antiseptic.

"Am I hurting you, Sandi?" he whispered huskily, bending still closer to the blonde's lewdly exposed body so that he could speak directly into her ear. Strands of honey-gold hair brushed across his cheek, and the hotly aroused Motorcycle Circus manager knew that he had to have this succulent young girl, had to get to know every inch of her lushly rounded figure, had to explore her blonde-fringed pussy. Most of all, he longed to hear his partner's formerly aloof and uptight wife begging for more of his throbbing male flesh, imploring him to still the fires that he suspected raged through her healthy young body.