As so often is the case, beauty can be a millstone as well as an asset to a young girl. The child who is pampered and continually told that she is pretty very often develops a personality that excludes all others from her own way of thinking. She mistakingly thinks that the great beauty that she possesses will carry the burden throughout her life. There is no need for the consideration of others. Those who behold her should be grateful for the privilege, happy that they can be in the company of. one who has been so gifted. If a well-formed figure goes with the pretty face, the transition from a normal, well-adjusted human being into a spoiled, ill-mannered, cold-hearted one is complete.
Shelly was such a girl. She was a beautiful child who lost none of her beauty as she grew into young womanhood. Vivaciousness went with it. She found life full of excitement and fun. Being such a pretty girl inflated her ego to such a point that she thought only of herself. She took from life what she wanted, regardless of what others wanted.
Along with her attractiveness, Shelly had also been born with a raging passion, a fact that she cleverly revealed in hints and innuendos. Then, often at the last second, she denied her body to the boy that she was with. It pleased her that they seemed to suffer when she refused them.
She fought against losing control, then found pleasure in finding that she had the power to do so, even though she was often torn and miserable afterward. The boys began to shun her when they found that she was nothing but a tease. This angered her. She began to hate them. All males were weak, she reasoned, and she would make them pay for ignoring her. They would pay by being seduced by her. Those that she didn't desire would hunger for her-and be denied. That was her creed.
She finally discovered the type of man that she wanted for a husband-one who would obey her, one who would live by her rules and be grateful to have her as his wife. The husband that she selected was placed into the role of nothing more than a household pet.
During their marriage, she made him suffer. His sexual inadequacies were thrown up to him repeatedly. She denied him at the slightest whim, seduced him against his will. It was a game with her. The suffering on his face only caused an inner delight in her. She felt that his weakness was confirmed when he committed suicide. His death caused her more embarrassment than grief.
Long periods in front of her one and only friend-her mirror-revealed a shocking truth to her: her greed for sex and her constant drinking had taken their toll. Her once beautiful face had slowly given way to the aging process. It frightened her. Her only big weapon was slipping out of her hands.
Men began to openly refer to her as a prostitute, a title she abhorred. She was humiliated when she was picked up and booked for soliciting. She was furious that men didn't always fall under her once-magic Shelly spell. She was even more angry when they offered her money.
Shelly's monumental ego blinded her to the fact that she had become a sort of unofficial prostitute. She deluded herself into thinking what she had done was just the natural behavior of a passionate woman taking from life what was rightfully hers.
But then, after long hours of soul-searching, she began to see herself for what she had become. Accepting money was only fair, she thought. Men owed it to her. Life owed it to her.
She felt no shame in seeing herself for what she was, only relief in accepting it. For the first time in her life, she discovered that she had made an honest judgment of herself.
In Shelly, we see the familiar blind belief that one's physical attributes are all important. She based her entire life on the shallowness of beauty, failing to recognize the value of developing a character based on honesty and fair play. Instead, she let hatred and greed grow in her. She hated men because, in truth, she loved them and the deep pleasure that they could give her. She deplored the title of prostitute, yet directed her entire life to being one. It is surprising that, with the obsession she had for her own beauty, she didn't fall into a life of prostitution much earlier in life.
And when we direct our thoughts in that direction, we wonder if there wasn't just a spark of character in Shelly all along, for she did maintain a cloak of respectability for quite some time.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Shelly Wymore was not stricken by a siege of conscience as she removed the remainder of her clothing in front of the man who sat on the bed across from her. She should have been. Her husband, Tom, would have been crushed had he known what she was up to. In fact, what she had been up to almost since they had been married. He was not aware simply because he was a trusting soul who never suspected that some very deep emotions-passionate emotions-ran through the woman he had looked on as the epitome of womanhood. He did not know what fires raged through Shelly, what erotic fantasies raced through her lovely head whenever she was near a man whom she found attractive.
At home, Shelly was conservative. She did not undress in front of him, nor did she parade around the house in scanty attire. She spoke softly. She shunned the use of vulgar words or terms, even if their use sometimes would have been more applicable to a situation.
But there were fires raging under the surface that he did not see. There were glistening eyes for which he could find no reason, slight tremors of her beautiful body that to him meant only that possibly his beloved Shelly has suffered a momentary chill. That he was extremely naive was the only explanation. Or, he was so in love with Shelly that he failed to recognize anything else in her except a return of the love he held for her.
Now she stood in front of another man. The soft glow from the single bedside lamp out-lined her pink body as she slowly straightened from having slipped her panties off her ankles. She leaned against the dresser, arms straight at her sides, and smiled the same seductive smile that had captivated Ronald Henning only hours before, when he had come to her house to discuss some business matters with Tom, who was out of town. And, though apprehensive at first, Ron had come to bed with her and been pleased beyond his wildest expectations. Now, propped up on both elbows, he watched her with eagerness as she coiled and writhed in a shameless display of seductiveness. What he had enjoyed earlier was nothing to what she would give him now.
They were both naked, a naked morality that ignored common sense. A pleasant, yet disturbing situation for Ron, for he, too, was married. And, although he had not intended to fall prey to Shelly's wanton desires, nor to any other woman's, for that matter, he had never encountered anyone quite as insatiably determined as Shelly before.
Hypnotically, Ron watched, letting his eyes caress the beauty of her curvaceous figure, admiring the female form, devouring, inch by inch, each enticing feature. The two delicate, small breasts, the gently sloping curves of her hips were to Ron the ultimate of the female body. Not too fat, or too lean, not tall or short, Shelly was a woman and she used every inch of her anatomy to prove it.
"Beautiful!" he said as he looked longingly at her. He waved a limp hand toward her and swept his eyes over her skin from head to foot, then back again.
"You like me this way?" she asked impishly. She leaned back slightly and pushed her brave little breasts forward.
"You know I do."
She looked away but her demure smile remained.
He wanted to remember this night, store away in his memory the way Shelly looked as she stood across the room from him, for it would be a long time, if ever, before he would again see the perfection of a woman like Shelly.
He had had her. Earlier that evening the sex for both of them had been fulfilled. It had been rushed, though, impassioned, as the first time usually is. Once completed, they had relaxed until Shelly again demanded of Ron what he was more than willing to give her.
Ron had lain in bed while Shelly showered, smoking and hating himself, yet feeling helpless under her spell. He wanted to be here and he didn't want to be here. It was maddening. How could he, Ronald Henning, prominent attorney with a lovely wife and two children, let himself get involved in something like this, he wondered. But then, when he looked at her and felt the twitch in his groin, he knew he could not control himself. He saw only Shelly and the pleasure she could give.
Although Ron knew Tom Wymore, he had never met Shelly before. When he had come to her home he had fully expected to talk with Tom about business, then go home. But tonight had been something different. Suddenly, his life had taken such a turn that he found himself feeling giddy, even silly, and it had all been because of the wanton seductiveness of Shelly.
Their meeting, accidental as it was, turned out to be something quite different. Shelly had seen to that. It was no accident that Ron found himself in Shelly's bed. So cleverly had she handled him that he had the feeling he had seduced her. In fact, he felt almost sorry for having done such a thing.
Shelly had selected her prey well. Ron was every inch the man that any woman would be more than happy to have beside her in bed. Tall, virile, handsome in a rugged sort of way and a hairline that had receded very little in forty-two years. These features had whetted the sexual appetite of Shelly.
The sight of Ron's hands had sent little shivers running through Shelly and she had made up her mind that these very same hands would caress and stroke her body, handle her and excite her. Not tomorrow or some vague time in the future, either, for Shelly demanded that her sexual craving be satisfied tonight. She couldn't stand the thought of letting those wonderfully strong male hands get away to fondle some other woman. They and the man that went with them must be hers-tonight.
She had maneuvered gracefully, shyly, enticing the man beside her, tantalizing him, exciting him with the unmistakable expression of her eagerness for love, the promise of her body in passionate fulfillment. Ron had fallen under her spell quite easily, for Shelly was not only an efficient and deadly temptress, but she was also endowed with all the necessary equipment to make the seduction seem exceedingly simple-a most alluring figure and a beautiful face-attributes of which he was fully aware. And she knew exactly how to make her body perform once she got a man in bed with her, a feat Tom was unaware of.
"Shelly," Ron said, reaching out his arms, "come over here."
Shelly's eyes took on that practiced demure look again and she blushed slightly to complete the effect. Slowly, hips shifting ever so gracefully, she moved toward him. She did not take her eyes from him, for this was the moment she enjoyed most, savoring the look in his eyes that told her she was desired-and winning the game. This was the moment she could prove to herself that she was all woman, desired, wanted, lusted for, the only thing that really mattered to her. Everything else faded into the background. In horror, she often thought, if she could no longer excite a man then there would be no use in living, for what good was her beautiful body if men-many men-no longer found it appealing or exciting?
Ron was seated on the edge of the bed and Shelly was walking toward him, her arms still straight at her sides as though she were going to some kind of religious sacrifice. She stood there, calmly waiting for Ron's strong arms to snake around her buttocks, waiting to feel those wonderfully masculine hands paw gently at her hips and feel his head press against her breasts.
"OOH, BABY, YOU DRIVE ME WILD!" she heard him say with pleasure, just as she had expected his comment would be.
Then her hands pressed against his head, pulled it upward slightly so the nipple of one of her breasts was against his cheek, lying like a burning ember against the tanned flesh.
"Darling!" she whispered urgently. "Take me, lover!" She leaned forward and pressed the warm palms of her hands against his shoulders, kneading the flesh in her frenzy. His arms tightened around her while his lips burned hot against her breasts. They clung to each other for a long time and then finally Ron pulled her on top of him as he fell backward on the bed.
After a while he moved his mouth over to hers, then down to one of her breasts, lifting it gently in his warm palm and running his tongue around the firm nipple. Shelly gasped. He bit her lightly and she gasped once more and pushed forward, smothering his face in the torrid firmness. He opened his mouth wide and plunged the breast deep inside, his mouth engulfing almost the entire breast. He moved his head back and forth, side to side, so his mouth moved repeatedly over the entire surface from the nipple to the joining with the body and shook the breast as he moved. His tongue licked the tender surface, lapped across the nipple hungrily. Then he nibbled at it with his teeth, nipping at the rubbery bud so that she squirmed and writhed under him.
Now Shelly began to moan aloud; her hands moved restlessly and unceasingly over his strong body. Suddenly she gasped, for Ron had moved away from the wet nipple and his lips now trailed down her stomach, his tongue darting in and out rapidly, urgently, seeking. His kisses now turned fierce, a harsh, tasting pressure of the mouth rather than a light probing, caressing movement of the lips. He kissed her lower stomach and belly with a ranging thoroughness that did not let him miss an inch of the loveliness spread out before him. His mouth held and bit at the flesh gently, then moved quickly to another spot. He paused at her navel, ran his tongue deep into the tiny crevice and tickled it with the tip. Then, with a quick motion, he surged lower and nipped her gently between the thighs.
Shelly gasped, clutched at his hair, tugging gently to pull him away at first, then pushing him back gently, spreading her legs even wider. This was no new experience for her. She had gone down on men and had made them reciprocate, and many times, when her lips were bruised and puffed from the hungry sucking she had given a man, she was forced to explain to her husband that her gums were acting up again. She had never given Tom the pleasure of going down on him, nor did she ever indicate that he should do the same to her. Her sex life with her husband had been one of total normalcy. He was of the old school of one-position, one-way sex and it had just never dawned on him that there were other ways to enjoy sex.
But she didn't have time to think of the whys and wherefores of sex and the lack of it with her husband. This man had aroused her to heights which electrified and numbed her brain.
Shelly moved her legs swiftly and eagerly, writhing under the minute probings of Ron's darting tongue. She pushed a little harder on the back of his head and raised her hips at the same time.
"KISS ME, DARLING," she hissed. "KISS MY NICE PUSSY ... PLEASE ... DARLING...."
He was kissing the inside of her thighs now, one hand spreading her legs apart while the other circled around the cheeks of her ass, kneading the flesh, pulling her toward him, then thrusting her away. He moved to her knees, kissing their dimpled sheen. He went to her lower legs, and he did not stop when he came to Shelly's tiny feet. He kissed the slim ankle and then each toe. He lifted Shelly's foot a little and kissed the surface of each sole.
He had slid from the bed and sat on the floor, holding her feet for a moment more. Then, with a swift, strong movement, he caught hold of her body and lifted her over so she lay on her stomach. Then he raised himself and lay flat against her and even with her, his middle resting against her slowly moving ass, and lay for a moment, working his body against hers. She was gasping and panting, trying to reach around to caress him.
"I-I WANT YOU TO ... TO PUT YOUR TONGUE IN ME," she whispered hoarsely.
"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmured. "I want to make love to you my way."
"OOOHHHH, DARLING ... !" she groaned.
He kissed her hair, stroking the shining length of it with his hand as he did so. He moved the hair away from her body and began to kiss her back, her shoulders, her sides, and continued kissing her all the way down-when he reached Shelly's twisting, churning buttocks, he paused.
Again he teased her a little, letting his mouth barely touch the smooth skin. After a while, he increased the pressure. Then he began to nip at the rounded flesh, more and more sharply. When Shelly finally cried out in pain, he took his mouth away and continued his progress down her long legs, kissing the tender underside. And, when he was down at her feet once more, he turned her over again, and finally he put his lips against her belly once more.
Now the movements of Shelly's body were frenzied and completely wild. The last fragment of her composure slipped away. She twisted and turned frantically on the bed, her ass wiggling, her middle bucking up and down. Ron's head moved frantically, too, savoring Shelly's loveliness and making more and more violent love to her. Her nails bit deeply into his skin, and they both moaned aloud together.
Shelly pulled her body away from his grasp and twisted around so that her lips, too, were probing and making love. Now they were caressing each other and twisting and wiggling in wild abandonment. Their bliss mounted and heightened and reached its shattering peak. His face was buried between her creamy thighs. His slithering tongue was probing into the soft hair, searching for the opening to her wanton cunt. Then he found the vaginal opening and ran his wetly warm tongue into the soft, moist membranes of her hotly throbbing pussy. He plunged in and out rapidly and hungrily, snorting his hot breath into the steaming crevice, clutching at the flesh of her resilient asscheeks as he "brought her sweet offering to his mouth.
Shelly bit gently into his firm flesh, then fell away as she gave herself completely to getting herself licked. She moved her hips up to him gently, moving in a fuck rhythm that caused her to pant loudly. She spread her legs as far apart as they would go to allow his hot tongue to devour her pussy.
Gently he put his fingers on the wet lips of her pussy and lewdly pried them apart. In the dim light, he could see the glistening reddish-brown membranes of her shadowy cuntal depths. He flattened his tongue and lapped across the puffed-up lips. He ran the tip of it up one lip, then down the other in a teasing movement that made her shudder uncontrollably. He formed his tongue into a tube and ran it into her as far as it would go, then withdrew it slowly. He found her clitoris and laved it with the tip of his probing tongue. There was a sweet, delicate aroma to her and the smell of her cunt excited him even more.
As his lapping between her legs increased, so did her motions and her gasping. She was thrusting her crotch up to him urgently now as his tongue worked on her clitoris.
"OH, GOD, YESSS!" she hissed. "OH, GOD, LICK MY CUNT, LOVER! LICK IT! OOHHH, YES-SSSSS...."
Then her body suddenly hung in mid-air as the tension of her climax held her immobile for a moment. When she descended, she did so in a shuddering, gasping movement that made not only her body tremble, but the entire bed as well. Then she went into the rhythmic fuck movements forced on her by her orgasm.
Ron held her ass tightly, yet gently, allowing it freedom of movement. He did not lick her pussy, but held his tongue still and let her agitate her excited, dilating pussy against it.
She sank her teeth in her own arm as the spasms racked her. She moaned and writhed on the bed, her head twisting from side to side. A stream of perspiration made a rivulet down her face. Then suddenly, as though a switch had been turned off, she fell away in complete exhaustion, gasping for breath.
Long moments later, Ron pulled himself up beside her, resting on one elbow, looking down into her face. His own face was wet with perspiration and the secretions of her cunt. A haunting aroma of sex held to it.
"Did you like that?" he asked, perhaps not knowing what else to say.
"Oh, yes ... yes!" she gurgled. "Oh, it was so good!"
"I'm glad," he said softly. "I like doing it if the woman does."
"That really drives me crazy."
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said matter-of-factly.
"Yes. I'd like that."
And he did.
Afterward, her voice became only a mumble and, in moments, her breathing became heavy with sleep.
Ron, too, had fallen asleep.
Much later, when Ron opened his eyes, there was a dull glow showing through the lacy white curtains of Shelly's bedroom. He rolled over and turned on the bed lamp and took a quick look at his watch. Then he quickly turned out the light.
"Darling," she whispered, moving closer and pressing her body against his. "Did you enjoy your little visit with me?"
"Yes," he replied, a bit uneasy. He hadn't meant to stay so long. Reality was a brutal thing. Reality was facing his wife and explaining where he had been all night, a rarity in his case. Reality was getting away from Shelly as diplomatically as possible.
"And you're not one bit sorry?" she asked.
"No, of course not. Why should I be?"
"I'm sure you have a wife to explain to," she said. There was a tone in her voice that seemed to bring out the vixen in her. "You're quite a man, you know. If you were mine I'd sure want to know where you were at all times."
"I-I have to go now, Shelly. I didn't mean to stay this long."
"Not right this minute, darling. You can stay a little longer." Her hand crept to his crotch where she fondled his limp cock for a moment. "That's such a nice thing," she cooed. "Can't I have just a little more of it?"
Ron did not answer immediately. His mind was beginning to clear and he was developing a strong hatred inside himself. Not for Shelly, but for himself. How could he explain to his wife where he had spent the night? Never in all his eighteen years of married life had he been away from home without a sound, logical excuse. What would she think? She would be worried sick, for one thing. She may have even called the police. It was five-thirty in the morning and even when he went out with the boys he had never come home much later than midnight. He shuddered when he realized there would be guilt written on his face when he finally had to face her.
"I have to go," he repeated.
"Worried about your wife?" Shelly asked, with that cold, calculating way that she had about her when her prey finally came to his senses and wanted to get away.
"Yes, if you must know, I am," he said. "I can't help it. This thing sort of got out of hand. I didn't mean to...."
"Wouldn't you rather be here with me than home?" she asked. She knew the word "home" would hurt him. That's why she used it.
"Look, Shelly, I've enjoyed being here with you but now I'll have to go. She ... she'll be worried about me."
She smiled. "I'd worry, too, darling, if I had a big, strong man like you, but I'd worry more if you left me so soon. You have plenty of time. Your wife is probably sleeping soundly now so why barge in and wake her? This is no time to be coming home anyway."
"What would you suggest I do?" he asked, sarcasm in his voice. "Stay here with you for the next few days?"
"That would be nice," she purred, "but I know you can't do that. Why don't you tell her you got tied up in something important and took a room downtown? After all, I am important, aren't I?" She snuggled against him and threw one leg across his and slowly let her hands slide down his stomach. Again, she took hold of his cock.
"No, Shelly. Don't do that," he protested.
"Why not? Are you afraid it might get hard if I play with it?"
"I have to go!"
"You don't really want to go."
"No, I'll admit I don't want to but I have to." Almost roughly, he pulled himself free of her and sat on the edge of the bed. He groped for the light and turned it on, then plucked a cigarette from the half-empty pack on the nightstand.
Lighting one, he offered it to Shelly but she only groaned and pushed it gently away. Her head was still buried in the pillow with the rumpled sheet covering her midsection. Ron turned away quickly. Shelly smiled as she watched his discomfiture. She seemed to enjoy watching the battle that was taking place within him.
When he had smoked only half the cigarette, he jammed it into the tray, got up, snatched his shorts from the floor, and walked into the bathroom. After he had taken a quick shower, he came out to find Shelly sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. He gave her only a casual glance, then went quickly about the job of dressing. He had put the finishing touches to his suit and tugged his tie into place, when he turned to her, smiled sheepishly, and said, "Well, as all good things must come to an end, so must this one."
Shelly returned his smile, then held out her arms.
"Come here, big lover-man. Give me a goodbye kiss."
Dutifully, Ron went to the side of the bed, leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
"Oh, no, darling. Not like that. Like this!" She leaped to her knees on the bed and crushed her mouth against his. For a long time they clung together, Shelly's fingers kneading the back of his neck, smashing her lips. Then, as though she had suddenly tired of the whole affair, she broke loose and thrust him away. "Now," she said firmly, "you can go!"
For a brief moment, Ron fought with himself, trying to decide whether to undress and stay with her or tear himself away and run for the door. He did neither. Shelly's kiss had been so impassioned that he almost staggered from the effect. He shook his head, smiled wryly, and turned to leave.
In one quick movement, Shelly was out of bed and walked, completely naked, to the bathroom door, where she stopped. "Wait just a minute, dear. I'll let you out." Once in the bathroom, she closed the door, quickly found her lipstick, and smeared the tube lightly over his lips. Then she pawed at her hair, fluffed it a little, put on her bathrobe, and returned to the living room. Ron was standing just inside the door, puffing on another cigarette and looking nervously at his watch.
"One more kiss," she pouted, holding out her arms.
They kissed once again and, when he released her, she let her lips brush over his white shirt collar in a way so he couldn't notice. She let him out, watched him walk down the walk, then softly closed the door. She leaned against the door, tipped her head back, and laughed almost fiendishly. "Now, you big-hung son-of-a-bitch, explain to your little wife where you got the lipstick on your collar!"
With a cruel smile of triumph on her lips, Shelly crawled into the mussed bed and turned out the light. Once again she was satisfied. The satisfaction would not last, however. In a day or two, she would once again sharpen her claws, preen herself, and set out on yet another predatory mission. Tom would be home the following day, but she never gave him consideration when it came to finding sexual fulfillment. What would he think if she demanded something out of the ordinary from him?
CHAPTER TWO
Boggs had been Shelly's maiden name. Almost from the time she was born she had seemed restless, in a hurry to get life lived, get on with whatever her destiny was to be. And underneath this restlessness lay the reason even Shelly did not understand. It was a sexual longing that made her flighty, often giddy, yet she did not realize what was gnawing at her. Her body often cried out for some kind of sexual adventure but her Puritan upbringing denied her the experimentation that would have revealed so much to her. She necked, she kissed-and enjoyed it. Yet, whenever a boy went a bit too far with her, she put him in his place.
But she was fighting a losing battle within herself. At the age of fifteen, she became involved with a boy of nineteen, Billy Dorton, and the two decided marriage was the solution to their undying love. In a fit of passion and a desire to discover themselves, Shelly and Billy left in his aged jalopy and drove to a neighboring state where the two of them were married.
Nervously, but with eager anticipation, they checked into a motel where they immediately fell into a clinch just inside the door. Crudely, Billy pawed at Shelly, squeezing her breasts so hard she let out a soft cry.
"Please, darling, not so hard."
"I-I'm sorry, Shelly. It's just that it's so wonderful being married to you and thinking about having you in bed with me I just can't stay away from you."
She giggled. "Well, just stay away long enough so we can get our clothes off. I wouldn't want to get all tangled up in clothes."
"I don't think I can wait," he said, clutching at her again.
He put both arms around her this time and her body was immediately pressed hard against him, her breasts hot and firm and exciting. He put his mouth against hers and kissed her, bruisingly hard, and she returned the kiss with a fierceness even greater than his. The pressure of her soft red mouth increased as he put a hand down between their bodies and began to squeeze and caress her full breast again. As they kissed, her mouth opened and her tongue moved upward and touched his-their tongues caught and began to twist and move and rub together.
They kissed that way for a long time, their mouths and tongues held together, and again Billy's hand had begun to slide along her lower abdomen, rubbing urgently, impatiently. And suddenly Billy pulled his mouth away and said, unable to control the panting tremor in his voice, "Let's get in bed!"
Shelly gulped, nodded assent, herself unable to speak from the excitement he had aroused in her. Wild passion ruled her now, the heat rushing from her torrid body up to her neck, bursting in her brain like a roaring river.
She tore impatiently at her blouse, annoyed that the buttons would not release immediately, then removed her skirt and the rest of her clothes.
Billy, too, had taken off his clothing and they met on the side of the bed. Quickly, they grabbed at the bedspread, threw it back, then pulled the top sheet back. In one motion, they toppled onto the smooth whiteness of the bed, clutched in each others arms.
Billy pawed at the young, vibrant body, kissed her almost viciously, then rammed his hips against her, undulating rapidly.
"Please, Bill, please. Aren't we supposed to start slow or something?"
"Huh? I-I don't know," he snorted.
The eager passion of youth did not allow for more conversation or reasoning.
With a lunge, he was atop her, prying her legs apart roughly with his knees, then pushing his hips back and forth crudely, stabbing his hard young cock at her tightly closed pussy without direction or patience.
"OW, BILLY, YOU'RE HURTING ME," she cried in protest. She spread her legs further apart but pulled away from his thrusting motions. "Please be careful."
"I-I can't wait," he gasped. "I-I...."
With a surge forward, he moaned and she could feel his body jerk in rapid movements. She felt something hot against her inner thighs and on her stomach. Instinctively, she pulled away from him. Somehow, at that moment, Shelly felt dirty, as though she were doing something that wasn't right. Her raging passion decreased as the revulsion developed in her. And yet, she found excitement in being in bed with a naked male.
After Billy had stopped his movements on top of her, she found courage to speak. "Is-is that the way it's supposed to be?" she asked, puzzled that she had not risen to a greater sensation than that which she had experienced just necking with a boy.
"I-I don't think so," he muttered. "I think it's supposed to go inside."
"Well, don't you know about things like that? Haven't you ever done it before?"
He was silent for some moments, then replied, sounding ashamed. "Uh-uh. The only thing I know about is what some guys told me about it."
She pondered this statement for a moment. "I know it's supposed to go inside me," she burst, as though the remark took great effort. "It's got to! That's where all the feeling is." She paused for a moment. During that brief time, she felt a new flush of excitement gush through her. "Can you do it now? I mean, now that you're not so excited maybe we can take our time."
"I-I think so," he stammered. "Can you help me? I don't want to hurt you."
He was still on top of her and he moved his hips up slightly so she could put her hand between them. Gingerly, she groped for his hardened cock. When she coiled her fingers around it, she heard him gasp. Carefully, her other hand came between them and then she guided him slowly to her. She spread the lips of her young pussy carefully and put the head of his cock between them.
He pushed slightly and she admonished him immediately.
"Please, darling, don't push too hard. It's ... it's so big. It might hurt."
But Billy was not easy to control. With a lunge, he rammed his excited young cock into her and began immediately to pump his hips back and forth furiously. He was panting and grunting, oblivious to the protestations coming from her that he was hurting her. Then, amidst her scream, he shot his hot load into her, then collapsed in his own private heaven.
"OH, GOD! BILLY! BILLY! IT HURTS SO BAD! WHAT DID YOU DO? OH, GOD...."
He could only groan as a reply.
"Billy, it's not supposed to hurt like this, is it?" She started to sob softly. "I hurt all over."
This was Shelly's first adventure into the world of sex and, had she not been made of very determined sexual urges, she might have turned frigid after that first disaster. As it was, it was to be the only sex she would encounter with Billy.
Shelly's parents, quite naturally, viewed this elopement with something less than enchantment and instead of bestowing their blessings on the young couple, they pursued the impetuous pair to their motel and brought them back home for an annulment.
Billy Dorton was sent on his way to parts elsewhere than the home town of Wildwood while Shelly was placed back in the family nest under the watchful eyes of her parents.
While Shelly was growing up to full womanhood on one side of town, the city of Wildwood was developing into manhood the young man who was to provide the love interest in Shelly's sparkling life. He, unlike Shelly, was shy. So shy, in fact, it gave him an aura of mystery. It also gave people the impression he was far more intelligent than he really was. His prolonged silences were interpreted as trips into some kind of intellectual field reserved only for deep thinkers.
Tom Wymore was not overly handsome but he was well-groomed and well-mannered. Indifferent to Shelly's blustery personality at first, he later found himself seeking her out because of it. They frequently met at parties to which they had both been invited separately.
Shelly needed Tom. At twenty-two, she realized she was only half a woman without a husband. Thoughts of Billy Dorton and the one night they had spent together haunted her. Tom pleased her. Not sexually, for they never stepped beyond these bounds, but he listened when she spoke; he did not interrupt her; he went where she wanted to go without argument. She often became annoyed with him when he did not pursue their sometimes torrid necking sessions, yet she could not let him know that fires of raging passion were burning inside her. She would hold herself in check, she told herself, until the time came when she and Tom would go all out in their quest for sexual happiness. That it did not come about as she expected was due to Tom's averseness to anything but the so-called normal sexual act.
Without recalling just how it had all come about, Tom found himself a bridegroom just two years after he and Shelly had first met.
CHAPTER THREE
Even though Shelly had not come to the marriage bed a virgin, Tom never mentioned this during their marriage. And it was possible that he never even knew, such being his knowledge of women and anything to do with sex. Or it could have been because he was too much of a gentleman to throw it up to her. Shelly was not made up of the material to reveal this juvenile incident to Tom so the secret was kept.
Shelly's chief concern in life was Shelly. Her mirror was the first to acknowledge that she was a thing of beauty, a luxurious, feminine creature on whom, somehow, it was an utter shame to squander on just one man. Other men told her what she saw in the mirror. After only two years of marriage she discovered there was far more to sex than what she had experienced with either young Billy Dorton or with Tom.
Tom's duties with Wymore Enterprises were actually the opening wedge in prying apart their marriage. It was not unusual for him to be gone from home for three and four days at a time, taking overseas flights or overnight trips to other cities. These absences only increased the initial boredom Shelly experienced with Tom's work, and it required very little encouragement from one of her admirers to take the first step into the depths of infidelity. The feeling of loneliness and boredom was too great for Shelly to comprehend. Surely, she thought, Tom was terribly inconsiderate to abandon such a delightful feminine body as hers and he most certainly couldn't expect her to sit home alone for days on end.
Shelly's first lover appeared on the scene quite by accident and at almost a perfect time. Tom was out of town and would be gone for at least three more days. Hannah, the housekeeper, had the two small children that had come to the marriage.
Shelly, feeling bored and lonesome as usual, was attired in a thin negligee with only a light filmy robe thrown over it. As was her custom, she had showered, made herself up to perfection and was just stroking her hair brush through her long, raven hair when the doorbell rang.
Shelly had planned for just such a moment for some time and, as she slowly ambled to the door, she muttered to herself, "If it's a man, he's mine!"
Dan Michaels had no such plans for Shelly that day when he walked gaily up the walk at 1410 Willow Drive. Nattily dressed in a light gray summer suit and his brown hair neatly in place, he looked exactly as a young insurance man of twenty-seven should. His was not a casual solicitation of the Wymore home that day. Previously, he had contacted Tom at his office and was advised that if he was ever in the neighborhood he should stop at the house. However, Tom had not meant for Michaels to call while only Shelly was home. This was the last thing in his mind for, naive as he was, he still possessed that male instinct that told him a man and a woman alone in the same room together for five minutes would occupy their thoughts with sex.
He had seen Shelly operate and, although done in the most casual and innocent manner, her innuendos and flirtatious attentions to other men had caused him some uneasiness over the past several years. However, he had said nothing, preferring to observe and prevent rather than attack the situation head-on.
Now Shelly's heart skipped a beat and a slight shiver ran down her spine as she looked through the small window in the front door. Dan Michaels was made to order for what she wanted this day. She could feel the excitement race through her as her fingers clutched the knob. Then, inhaling deeply, she threw the door open wide, affixing her most provocative smile as she did so.
Dan Michaels experienced the same tremor, but it was more of surprise and fear than of want. For a moment, he stood there, unable to speak. He felt the perspiration moisten the hand holding his briefcase. Shelly continued to smile, then arched one eyebrow. "Yes?" she asked.
"Ah, I-I'm Dan Michaels. I-I'm, ah...."
"Won't you come in?" Shelly asked. She backed away, then turned and walked to the living room, leaving the man no choice but to follow. His body followed mechanically, while his eyes followed the easy sway of Shelly's retreating form.
She waved casually toward the divan, motioning for him to be seated.
"Now then, what can I help you with?" she asked.
"Ah, I," he stammered, clutching nervously at his briefcase. "I came to see Tom ... ah, Mr. Wymore. Is he home?"
"No, but I'm Mrs. Wymore. Can I help you?"
"Well, I was supposed to see Mr. Wymore about some insurance. He said I should stop in the next time I was in the area. He...."
"Oh, dear, my husband is out of town. He won't be back for two or three days. He's always going off somewhere, leaving me home all alone. I really don't know where he goes all the time."
"Business trip?"
"Well," she purred, "he says it's business. Sometimes I wonder."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him, Mrs. Wymore. The kind of business he's in requires a lot of travel. That's why I'm here. I thought some additional insurance coverage might be a good thing for him. In fact, he asked me to come to the house so he could discuss it with you, too. You're interested in being fully protected, aren't you?"
"That sort of thing I usually leave to Tom, but then, as long as you're here, maybe you can go over some of the different types of policies with me."
"Well, I don't know, Mrs. Wymore. Some of these things get a little technical. Maybe I'd better come back some other time. I'd rather...."
"Oh, no, Mr. Michaels. I understand a lot more about such things than most women," Shelly lied, seeing Dan preparing to get up.
"Well, all right," he said hesitantly, obviously uneasy in the presence of this scantily-clad woman. He plucked nervously at the zipper on the case, then, when he had undone it, laid the case open on his knees. Shelly, who had remained standing during this brief conversation, slipped silently to the divan and sat down beside him.
It was slightly chilly in the room, even though the windows were still closed, and Shelly pulled her robe around her, accentuating the firm mounds of her breasts. Dan looked at her in a curious, serious manner, and then a worried expression clouded his face. He fumbled through the many papers in the open case, seemingly not aware of what he was looking for.
Shelly watched in amused silence. The mantrap was beginning to work and a great surge of pleasure shot through her, giving her the confidence she needed to carry out the seduction to its successful conclusion. In her mind, sex was the secondary act of fulfillment. The anti-climax to the chase and entrapment. Sex for the sake of sex did not carry with it the deep-felt pleasure and satisfaction that the seduction did. Perhaps, this is why marriage and the marriage bed with Tom held little fascination for her. He was there, available, any time, and the flavor somehow lost its palatability when she realized this. But this was not to say she did not crave and seek sexual fulfillment. It was just that the seduction held greater fascination for her.
"Would you like a drink, Mr. Michaels?" she asked suddenly.
"No, ah, thanks, ma'am. I'm still working."
"Oh, a little one won't hurt you. I'll make it weak. Anyway," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the small portable bar across the room, "you can take the rest of the day off."
"Yeah, and wouldn't my boss like that, though?"
"How would your boss know? You're here on business, aren't you ? Isn't this part of your business?"
"Well, ah, yes, I guess so," he replied, looking anxiously about the room. "What's the matter? Nervous?"
''Well, ah...."
"Don't be," she tried to assure him. "I told you my husband won't be home for days. Besides, there's nothing wrong with you having a little drink with me."
When she returned with the two drinks, she had unfastened the small belt holding her robe and as she walked she made sure it parted so there was very little left to the imagination. Dan Michaels looked up once, then turned quickly away.
Shelly sat down beside him, let her robe fall away from her knees, then handed him his drink. When he reached out for the glass, Shelly made sure their fingers touched, then let her hand fall away slowly and drop onto his wrist. It was only for a moment, but Shelly heard Dan suck in his breath. She smiled as she saw his hand shake noticeably. The ice cubes clinked against the glass, and he clutched it with both hands.
"Don't be nervous, darling," she purred. "Oh, I'm sorry, I mean Mr. Michaels."
"That's all right."
"You mean you don't mind me calling you 'darling'?"
"N-no, I guess not," he said, quickly averting his eyes. "It sounds better than 'Mr. Michaels,' I suppose."
"You can call me Shelly."
"All right ... Shelly."
"That's better," she said, her voice suddenly becoming soft and hushed.
Nodding almost too vigorously, Dan said giddily, "As long as you're going to call me anything, 'darling' is fine. Maybe I should do the same ... darling." His voice sounded strange, as though it had come from a long distance and least of all from him. Shelly patted his hand.
"Drink up," she said poking at his half-empty glass with her index finger. "I'll fix us another."
He looked at his glass a moment, then drank what was left in it.
"Why don't you get comfortable, darling? It must be strangling in that coat and tie," she said, handing him his second drink. "Can I help you?"
"N-no, that's all right," he stammered. He began to tug at his tie with one hand while the other probed in mid-air, looking for the coffee table on which to set his glass. Shelly took the drink from him, set both of them on the table, then reached up and undid the tie for him.
"Come with me, darling," she said. She took his hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom.
Shelly looked lovely to Dan as she began to remove her clothes. As he watched with increased interest, undoing his own clothes in the meantime, she opened her bra and tossed it casually across a chair and stood there in front of him naked. Naked, that is, except for a pair of pale blue panties. Her body, he thought as he looked at her now, was just amazing.
It had been his experience that even the most well-developed and well-shaped breasts seemed to sag a little when a bra was removed, but Shelly did not bear out this earlier observation. Her breasts remained erect and beautifully curved toward the ceiling, upswept firmly from their meeting with her chest to the deep-red nipples and pink circles of the aureoles around them.
Dan made a move as though to put his arms around her, but she touched him gently on the shoulder and held him off. His interest was caught now, but she wanted to increase it and strengthen it so that he would not slip away from her into his dull world of business again. As he understood and sat down on the bed, she began to move her body.
There was no music on but Shelly moved as though she were dancing. Her slim body swayed in a smooth and lovely rhythm, her red-capped breasts lifting and falling gently, and her full buttocks moving excitingly underneath the tight little panties. When she turned back to face him again she took hold of her own breasts. She put her hands under them and lifted them as though offering them to him, her thumbs and forefingers caught hold of her nipples and pinched and squeezed them as she did so.
Again Dan lifted himself as though to seize her, but she whirled quickly away. As he settled down again, she moved a little further and turned her back to him, her buttocks still swaying from side to side. She caught hold of the front of her panties and tugged them downward, running her hands around in back, pulling the elastic a little farther down until they were nothing but a silk en roll around her thighs. With a quick movement, she wiggled and the roll fell down around her ankles.
Then, still holding and caressing her breasts, she smiled a seductive smile at him.
Dan could contain himself no longer. He got to his feet and moved quickly to where she stood. She was still standing with her smile becoming even more seductive. He reached her and moved against her, his body crushing against her softness. He put his arms around her and his hands on her breasts. They felt even more wonderful to him than they looked, warm and yielding under his touch. He took hold of both of them and began to crush his fingers into their softness. He heard her gasp with a mixture of pain and enjoyment at the brutal masculinity of his caress. He tightened his fingers even more harshly around the soft, pliable mounds.
Then, still holding and caressing her, he bent his head and kissed her satin-smooth skin. He heard her gasp again and felt her entire body tremble. He kissed her again, letting his teeth sink a little into her soft, perfumed flesh. She writhed under his touch.
He released her right breast and caught both of them in his left hand, squeezing them together and rubbing her nipples with his fingers. He slid his free right hand down her back and caught hold of her buttocks, kneading the flesh gently as he undulated back and forth with his prick pressing into her. Then he put his left arm around her again, sliding the hand up from her smooth belly to lift and squeeze each breast in turn. He felt deep pleasure and enjoyment as he pressed his bare chest against the softness of her breasts, warmth blended with warmth. He pressed his body against her, hearing her breath suck in at the touch of him and at the muscled strength of his caress.
He continued to hold her, his one hand caressing her breast, first one, then the other, and squeezing them together. He ran his hand behind her and fondled the cheeks of her ass, then swept into the crevice and searched for her puckered anus. He began to caress her in rhythm with the movement of his body against hers.
Shelly began to move a little as he did this to her, pressing her body against his body and his hand while he kissed her throat and neck. Their breathing was deeper and more racking nowboth of them completely wild with hunger for each other. She did not mind the bruising brutality of his hands on her; nor did he mind when she put her arms around him and began to tear at his skin with her nails.
She turned her face up to him, feeling a sudden urge to be kissed. His mouth welcomed her soft lips. Their mouths crushed together, their bodies meeting so her breasts touched and flattened hotly against his chest. Their middles sought each other and ground together. As they kissed, he moved his hands again so one hand caressed and fondled her breasts and his other went to the junction between her legs where heaven lay in a bed of silky hair. He probed the soft mushiness of her crotch, gently searching for the opening to her pussy. And when he found the moist slit, he slid his finger in and gently massaged the swollen clitoris until she was twisting and writhing in his arms.
Suddenly, he lifted her into the air and carried her to the bed. He kissed her once, then laid her down.
"COME TO ME, DARLING," she said, opening her arms. "I WANT YOUR COCK." She looked at the stiff rod protruding from his crotch. "My, it's such a nice one. Give it to me ... please."
"Suck it a little," he said, nudging his hips forward so the head of his prick was only inches from her lips.
She raised up without hesitation and put her mouth over the bluish-red head. She sucked it briefly, then took her lips off it. She took it in both hands and pulled him closer, then touched the underside with the tip of her tongue. She ran up the entire length, then down again. She took his balls in her warm hands and fondled them briefly, then kissed the hairy sack. She then turned her head sideways and nibbled her way up the shaft until she once again reached the plum-like head. Playfully, she sunk her teeth into it, then released him.
"FUCK ME NOW," she said. She fell back on the bed and spread her legs wide. "COME, DAR LING, I WANT THAT NICE PRICK INSIDE ME BEFORE IT SPITS ALL OVER ME."
He groaned a little, disappointed that she had not sucked his cock a little longer. He moved between her legs and felt her fingers grasp his prick and guide it to her pussy. He felt the heat of her cunt, rising up to his cock until he thought she must be on fire. He pushed forward and felt the intense heat of her pussy surround his driving dick.
"OH, YES, DARLING ... FUCK ME," she sighed, "FUCK ME REAL NICE AND EASY."
"God, you're hot inside."
"You made me that way."
"I-I never thought when I came here that I'd...."
"Be fucking me an hour later?"
He murmured in the affirmative.
"Didn't you know when I met you at the door that having your cock was the only thing I had in mind?" she asked.
"The idea crossed my mind," he said, pumping his cock slowly in and out of her. "But you never can tell...."
She giggled a little then.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"Isn't this a lot better than selling insurance?"
Yes, he had to admit, it beat just about anything he could think of.
CHAPTER FOUR
Opening his eyes in the quiet darkness of the night, Dan Michaels was instantly awake and wondering how long he had been asleep. With the pleasant sensation of being completely relaxed, and having no feeling of weariness, he knew he had been sleeping for several hours and, while his mind gradually returned to awareness, he had no idea where he was. Then he remembered and he wondered if Shelly had been asleep all that time. He was glad he had awakened when he did and not slept until morning.
Shelly was curled up beside him, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of her chest as she slept soundly, and he lay still so as not to disturb her. He pushed the light blanket from him and looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. He recalled vaguely what had taken place that afternoon and early evening. He lay there thinking how it had all started and he shuddered inwardly when he realized he was in bed with another man's wife.
He lay there a few more moments, then carefully tried to ease himself from the bed. Shelly groaned sleepily, snuggled still closer, and threw one leg over him.
"Darling, what time is it?" she asked.
"It's almost midnight. I...."
"Mmmm, go back to sleep."
"I can't stay here. I have to go. I should have left long ago," he said, easing her leg away.
Teasing, she replied, "Oh, you don't have to go. Can't you stay? Just a little longer?"
He sighed. He had learned a little about Shelly during their bed session. He knew what turned her on. He said, "You want to fuck again, don't you?"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH FUCKING? SOMETIMES THAT'S ALL I THINK ABOUT. A NICE THICK COCK GOING IN AND OUT OF ME. MMMMMM...."
Dan pulled her to him and kissed her for a long time, all the while hating himself yet knowing he, too, wanted to fuck once more.
Sighing, he reached down and stroked one of her legs. Then his hands were once again going everywhere on her willing and eager body, thrilling her, maddening her, building her first, then enjoying her response.
Dan knew he should get out of there, get away from the danger of being in bed with someone else's wife, but he couldn't stop. Gently, he pushed her legs apart, caressing the inner thighs. She tipped her head far back on the pillow, savoring the moment of ecstasy she knew was soon to come. She clutched at his hard rod and put the head of it in the matted hair between her legs.
"Are you ready?" he asked, smiling because she was already becoming frantic.
"Oh, yes, darling! I'm always ready," she said, the strain of passion in her voice evident.
She tugged on his cock and pulled him close to her as her legs spread even wider.
"OH, DARLING, FUCK ME! PLEASE, FUCK ME!" she panted.
Their bodies exchanged electric shocks as the moment of entry grew near. She tugged at him, squeezing his throbbing prick and her cunt moved ever so slightly up to meet him. Carefully, she guided him, easing toward him at first, then slowly moving away, teasing both Dan and herself.
"OH, GOD, I LOVE COCK!" she blurted.
With a sudden lunge, he united them securely. Thunder and lightning exploded in their ecstasy-filled brains, roaring and flashing, taking them from the world of people and things, and gently laying them in the arms of the heaven that is sex.
It was three a.m. when Dan finally left Shelly and walked down the walk to his dew-laden car, anxiously looking up and down the rows of houses to see if anyone was still up. There were no lights on in any of the houses and no cars on the street.
Quietly, half amused, a smile crept across Shelly's lips as she watched from her darkened living room as Dan Michaels drove away. This, she thought, would be the beginning of something wonderful for her. This is what she was meant for. To be a woman, a complete, living, loving, passionate, sought-after woman above all else.
Gaily, she walked to her bedroom and flung herself onto the mussed bed. She was completely delighted with herself and felt no shame whatsoever.
She lay on the bed and spread her legs wide. Her hands went to her pussy. "COCK, COCK ... OH, HOW I LOVE COCK!" she muttered. "BIG PRICKS AND NICE THICK COCKS ... MMM!"
* * *
But if Shelly had vowed to launch herself into a career of bed sessions with a series of men, she was disappointed. After her first excursion outside the bonds of marital fidelity, she found she could not bring herself to carry out her vow, at least for some time. Dan Michaels had never called again nor did Tom mention him. Shelly puzzled over this but did not dare ask about the young insurance man because she had never mentioned that he had been to the house and therefore had no way of knowing him. It angered her, too, that her first lover did not attempt to get in touch with her the second time. Why, she wondered ? Surely, her charms were such that no man could partake but once and then forget her.
Cleverly, however, Shelly kept her inwardly roaring frustration in check, disguising her manner with outward displays of affection and contentment. She gave no evidence of being actually hostile toward Tom but they both were aware that a noticeable tension had developed between them even though Shelly tried desperately to ease it.
There were times, as they sat across the room from one another in the evenings, that the conversation would suddenly cease, and they would regard each other with silent curiosity. He wondered about her periods of silence, recalling that she had always been the talkative one, and she wondering if she could ever get him to perform in bed the way she liked.
Shelly busied herself with the house and children. She had to keep her mind from exploding because of her longing. She joined a woman's club, then became active in church affairs. She volunteered to do charity work and took part in various fund-raising drives. So active and forceful was she that she became head of the Wildwood Garden Club and followed this by organizing a campaign to elect a woman to the city council. The woman? Why, Shelly Wymore, of course.
Whenever she became involved in some function that would keep her away from home for the evening-she made it a practice of calling Tom at his office and informing him that she would be absent. These calls became more and more frequent.
And there were times when there was no call. Only a scribbled note pinned to the hall lamp telling Tom she would not be home that evening.
Shelly's activities became so demanding on her time now that trips out of town became necessary and Hannah was brought in to live in the Wymore house.
Because of Tom's silent nature, Shelly misjudged him. She assumed that he accepted her gadding about readily. It had never been his habit to question her about anything so she just took it for granted that he was content with his life and that she could continue to absent herself from home without complaint from him. She did not take into account that he was spending his evenings in loneliness, sitting in his chair, staring at the wall, wondering if this was what a marriage was all about. The children were in bed early and Hannah disappeared into her quarters as soon as they were tucked in. The loneliness was beginning to gnaw at Tom.
CHAPTER FIVE
Had Shelly seen Tom that night she would have been utterly shocked. Tom, not a teetotaler by any means, enjoyed his evening cocktail but always limited his intake to no more than two, maybe three at the very most. He had gone far beyond his limit this evening.
Tom Wymore was drunk!
He had eaten no dinner, leaving Hannah to puzzle over the empty chair at the table normally occupied by him. He had pleaded a headache and had taken refuge in his bedroom with the bottle of bourbon at his side.
After Hannah had completed her housework, she turned off all the lights and went upstairs.
At Tom's door, she paused. A sudden feeling went through her she could not explain. She was in her early forties; a feeling like this had not entered her mind for some time.
Tom's door was open and she could see him lying on top of the bed, fully dressed.
Quietly, she approached the bed where he lay, her heart pounding and her throat dry. She stood over him for a long time, studying his face, his body, and feeling a deep pity for this much maligned man. And feeling, too, a strange emotion that had become more and more prominent in her thoughts over the past few months. She did not want to admit what she felt but she could not deny them. Her emotions went far beyond that of pity.
Suddenly she realized she was sexually hungry for Tom!
Gulping noisily, she walked slowly to the door, listened for a moment, then closed it, locking it as she did so. Then she returned to the side of Tom's bed, switched off the small bedside lamp and sat on the bed beside him.
Her brain pounded and she felt afraid. There was also a slight feeling of shame in her. What if he awoke and saw her there? What would he think about her sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark?
Decent women did not entertain ideas like the ones racing through her brain at this moment. She alternated between hating herself, feeling sorry for Tom, and feeling shame creep through her. But the overpowering emotion within her was the deep longing for this sleeping man, to have him hold her, caress her, make love to her.
She could not seem to control the movements of her hands as they slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Nor could she control them when they moved to Tom's sleeping body and began to undo his clothes. He groaned but did not awaken.
In a few moments, she had wrestled him out of his shirt, pulled off his trousers, shoes, and socks, and he now lay, still snoring heavily, in nothing but his shorts. Carefully, she tugged at the waist band, sliding them, inch by inch, off his hips and down his legs, until she pulled them off completely. She was panting heavily now, seeing the man she wanted lying so peacefully asleep on his bed-and so naked. It had been a long time since she had seen a naked man. She let her eyes rove over him hungrily. His cock was soft and lay coiled in the thicket of his pubic hair. Impulsively, she bent over and kissed it. It sent a shiver through her to feel the silky skin on her lips. A shudder ran through her. She took the cock in her hand and fondled it lovingly, occasionally giving it a quick kiss.
She trembled violently as she felt his prick begin to get hard. Quickly, she stood up and removed the remainder of her own clothes.
Hannah was not unattractive. She was a bit on the heavy side, yet she was not flabby. Her breasts were huge, bulbous things that hung in front of her like two melons.
Quietly, she lay down beside him, feeling her breath come in short, excited gasps and her heart still pounding furiously. Slowly and carefully, she nuzzled up to him, tingling in every fibre of her body. She put one arm over his chest and ran her hand around behind his head. Carefully, she raised up, gazed down at him for a moment, then kissed him lightly on the mouth. He groaned and turned his head. She pulled him back and kissed him again, more demanding this time.
The fear that had been in her began to disappear now, replaced by the demands of her sex-starved body. She snuggled closer, electric shocks streaking through her as her body touched his. She pressed her huge breasts against him.
She stroked his chest lightly, then let her hand trail down his stomach, then farther down. She gasped then, swallowing hard as she felt his prick; it had risen to full hardness and felt hot in her hand. In her mind, she was certain that he was awake and enjoying the love play she was giving him and the thought thrilled her even more. He wanted her, she told herself. Otherwise, why would he become aroused?
The ache and longing in her cunt was almost unbearable, and yet she toyed with him. She marveled at the idea of a male body beside her, and she caressed him lovingly until she could stand it no longer. But Tom made no move to her, gave no response other than an occasional groan and his regular snoring.
She rose on the bed, straddled him carefully, and let herself down on his stiff prick, carefully guiding it to her hot pussy.
Tom roused slightly then, mumbled something, and reached out for her. In a light rhythmic motion, she worked herself up and down, felt him respond under her, then sat down firmly to impale herself on the muscled shaft she had longed so desperately for. She wanted to yell out in delight as the rigid staff slipped into her. A delicious thrill shot through her, and she fell on him, kissing him hungrily.
He returned her kisses, pulling her tight against him, moving his hips with hers, working in perfect harmony, receiving and giving, until the moment when the time for utter ecstasy was at hand.
With a shudder, she pressed her knees against his body, felt him quiver with her, then felt the warmness grow inside her as his hot fluid spurted from his cock. For Hannah, heaven had suddenly taken her in.
After long moments, when her panting had subsided somewhat, she withdrew his cock from her, kissed him once, then got off the bed. With a few quick motions, she pulled the bedclothes over him.
Smiling slightly, she gathered her clothes, and silently left the room. As she wiggled into her nightgown, she felt a deep satisfaction within her. She knew this would not be the last time for her and Tom to enjoy love. She felt he must have been awake, that he had been fully aware of who was in bed with him.
But when Hannah shook him awake the next morning, he gave no indication that he knew what had taken place the night before. The bottle, almost three-fourths empty, glistened sickeningly at him from the bed stand. He averted the questioning look on Hannah's face and closed his eyes, as though hoping the entire horror of the previous night's drinking would go away. He frowned, trying to recall if the sex session had been dreamt or real. He looked to the side of the bed where Shelly usually slept. It was empty. No doubt he had only had a rather vivid dream, he thought. He looked at the bottle and winced.
"Are you all right?" Hannah asked.
"Yes, yes! Leave me alone, will you ?" He waved his hand in a shooting motion. She backed quickly out, closing the door quietly behind her. Disappointment was in her. She was sure now that Tom had remembered nothing of what had taken place the night before.
Tom struggled to his feet. He made his way to the bathroom where he surv-eyed the bloodshot eyes that peered blearily back at him from the mirror. He felt worse than he ever had in his life.
Shaving was a chore. He tried to keep from looking at himself, but somehow, his eyes met, cascading more shame over his conscience. Getting drunk was a serious sin to him. After he had stroked off the stubble, he showered, put on fresh clothes, avoided Hannah on his way out the back door, and went to his office.
In his condition, the problems he had laid aside the day before now became magnified. He made mistakes. He was irritated with himself and snapped at those around him. All in all, it was not a good day for Tom.
Late that afternoon, after struggling through an almost impossible day, he called home. Hannah answered and he was surprised to hear that Shelly was home. Somehow, he had forgotten about her when he left that morning. He didn't know whether she had been home during the night or not, inasmuch as he hadn't seen her, he assumed she had been out.
"Where were you last night?" he asked, as Hannah turned the phone over to Shelly.
"I was right here, Tom. Of course, you wouldn't know. Really! How long has this drinking been going on?"
"It hasn't been going on. Last night was the first night. I guess I was just overly tired. You were home? Where? I didn't see you?"
"You didn't seem too tired to lift the bottle last night. Yes, I was home. I was in the spare room. You don't think I'd sleep in there with you and that ... that stench, do you? Honestly!"
Had Shelly turned around, she would have seen Hannah's face turn pale and her hand flutter to her mouth. Hannah had been sure Shelly was not home; she would not have done what she did if that were the case. Could she have slipped in without being heard? Could she have heard what was going on in Tom's room? Hardly, she told herself. Shelly was lying.
"Will you be home tonight, Shelly?" Tom asked pleasantly.
"Of course. And be on time, will you? I invited the Weldons over."
"Tonight?"
"Yes tonight. Eight o'clock," Shelly snapped. "And, Tom ... no drinking."
"You know I don't drink that much, Shelly. For heaven's sake. Why such a big issue over one night?"
"Well, just don't drink at all. It's not becoming to you. After all, you're a grown man, you know."
"Yes, dear," he replied resignedly.
Shelly's anger was a sham. In truth, she was delighted. Tom's drinking assuaged her conscience. It erased whatever feelings of guilt she might have had over her longing for sex with someone else.
The Weldons arrived promptly at eight and the evening, at least for Tom, was pleasant enough. For Shelly, it was an outright triumph. Bill Weldon was thirty-one, about six feet one, with jet-black hair that set off his well-tanned face. He had huge arms that seemed to ripple with every move he made. Shelly had become acquainted with Mrs. Weldon at one of her club meetings. Up to now, she had never seen Bill Weldon. When she opened the door to let them in, she knew immediately she must, above all things, possess this big, bull-like man.
Of course, Shelly dominated the conversation with news of her clubs and whatever else she could think of that involved Shelly Wymore. But Tom was accustomed to this and even if the Weldons may have been bored, they showed no signs of it. For Tom, it was good to have his Shelly home for an evening, and regardless of who or what she talked about, at least it was Shelly talking. Because he was sometimes exasperated over her or disappointed that she was not home with him did not mean that he was not deeply in love with her.
When the Weldons left, Tom put his arm around Shelly's shoulder as she came and sat on the arm of her chair.
"It was nice to have you home for a change," he said, patting her shoulder gently.
Shelly ignored his remark. Instead, she said, "The Weldons bore me. She and her kids. You'd think that's all there was in the world ... the Weldon children. And did you see that dress? It looked like something her grandmother handed down to her! Didn't you find them boring, darling? What sort of work does he do? Drafting or something? How dull. Tom, we should really avoid people like that. They have no position, no aims. I would have asked her back again but I don't think I could stand her. I wonder how she ever got into the club anyway?"
During a lull in the one-sided conversation, Tom said, "I thought they were very interesting. He was telling me about...."
"Interesting? Tom, you'll just have to get out more. I think you're beginning to stagnate."
"Well, I liked them," he said patiently. "Did they invite us to their house?"
"Oh, naturally. She'd like to have us over. Who wouldn't? I don't plan to go. After all, what can either of them do for us? They're going nowhere."
"Do they have to do something for us? Can't we just visit with people without trying to gain something?"
Shelly looked at him pityingly, as though she were observing the mentally retarded. "Tom, you don't have the right outlook at all. People like that are a waste of time. I don't care to hear about her stupid kids. Furthermore, what on earth do you find interesting about drafting? Sounds terribly dull to me." She paused to take a breath, then said, "I wish you wouldn't see him again, do you understand ?"
"He doesn't do drafting the way you think. He's a very good architect from what I hear. There's a difference, you know." He took his arm away and walked to the liquor cabinet. The clinking of glasses drew Shelly's attention, and she frowned as Tom brought out a bottle.
"Care for a night cap, dear?" he asked, holding up the bottle.
"No, and you're not having one either, do you hear?"
Without a word, he replaced the glasses and the bottle, looked at Shelly with a hurt look in his eyes. He sighed, then left the room.
Fifteen minutes later she came into the bed room. She was undoing the zipper at the side of her dress as she came in. When she looked at Tom, she stopped and glared. Her face turned livid. "Tom!" she yelled.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his shorts with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. He smiled sheepishly at her and dropped the bottle into the wastebasket. "Night cap," he said simply, and fell back on the bed.
"Ooh, you're disgusting!" she hissed. She turned and stomped from the room.
Tom only groaned. He pulled his body across the bed and pulled the covers over him.
* * *
After a grueling day at the office, Tom returned home to find Shelly gone. A light dinner was all he could manage, and he found himself groping in the liquor cabinet shortly after. Then he switched on the television set and settled into his favorite chair. It was an action he was to repeat numerous times in the days ahead.
Shelly, in the meantime, had been busy, but her activities did not center around her club work. Since the night the Weldons had been over, she had made a visit to Mrs. Weldon and, without revealing her purpose, established where Bill Weldon worked, where he ate his lunch and what time he got off from work in the evening.
Shelly located Bill Weldon's office building easily enough. She waited outside until it was time for him to get off work. There was a small foyer in the three-story building and Shelly took her position just to the left of the one ancient elevator, a spot from which she could watch both the entrance and the elevator.
She had picked a perfect day for her accidental meeting. A light, cool drizzle was falling which would be her excuse for stepping out of the dampness and into the building where Bill Weldon worked. Once the casual meeting was accomplished, Shelly was sure the rest would be easy. She had seen how Bill had looked at her the night at her house, and she had made sure she had returned the obvious flirtation. This man, this huge, beautiful man, must be hers, she vowed, even if it was just for one night.
Each time the elevator came down, Shelly's heart beat faster. Then, when the time came when she knew Bill would be down, she stepped back into the rain to make it appear she had just arrived. She turned her back to the elevator but turned her head slightly so she could see who was coming out of the car.
Finally, after what seemed like hours to the impatient Shelly, Bill Weldon stepped from the elevator. He glanced her way, appraised her with a puzzled look, then came slowly up behind her.
"Well, hello, Mrs. Wymore," he said, smiling. "What are you doing in this part of town?"
Feigning surprise, Shelly moved a step away, frowning. Then, with a sudden smile, she said, "Why, if it isn't Bill Weldon. You startled me for a moment." She looked deep into his eyes, trying to convey the meaning of sex immediately to him. "Why, ah, I was looking for some things in one of the stores. It started to rain so I stepped in here to get away from the chill. It's so nasty out."
"I'm glad you did," he said.
"Do you work here?" she asked. She was smiling and there was an innocent look on her face.
"Sure do. Second floor. It's not much but we're growing and we hope to be in new offices some time next year."
"Gee, I didn't know I'd run into one of my neighbors here. It's rather a pleasant surprise."
"Do you have a ride or can I give you a lift home?"
"I, ah, have my car. Thanks anyway," Shelly replied. "But I was beginning to think longingly of a nice, cozy bar. This is the perfect day for a quiet hideaway. I don't suppose you'd be able to stop and have a drink with me?" The seductiveness in her eyes was on full force, and she held her breath for fear Bill would not take the bait she had so enticingly offered.
"Sure would," he smiled. "It's a beautiful thought. After a day up there," he jerked a thumb toward his office with a sign of distaste, "a good drink always sounds good."
He took her arm and together they walked down the crowded sidewalk. There was a bar in the next block called The Amber Inn and Bill suggested they go there, pointing out that it wasn't the fanciest place in town but that it was comfortable and secluded. "Might not look good if we're seen by too many people," Bill laughed, then winked. "You're pretty well known around town, you know."
"I'm seen with a lot of people," she said. "People are used to it."
The Amber Inn was crowded. There was no place at the bar for them to sit. Shelly noticed that most of the customers were men, although there were two women squeezed between a couple of burly men. Bill looked across the dimly-lit room, then eased Shelly to a booth almost at the rear. Most of the activity seemed to be around the bar and only two other couples were seated in the row of booths along the wall.
"There," Bill said, "you sit tight and I'll see if I can get us a couple of drinks. How about a Manhattan? That's a good drink for a day like this."
"A good choice," she smiled.
Shelly looked around the crowded room. She saw no one she knew. She pulled her raincoat from her shoulders and bunched it up on the seat beside her.
Bill was gone only a short time. When he came back he was holding both drinks in one hand. "Here," he said, "take one." Then he set his glass down, pulled off his topcoat and hung it on the hook at the end of the booth. He sat down beside her instead of across from her, then changed his mind and moved to the other side of the booth.
"What was that for?" she asked, "Two things. It looks better and, also, I want to look at you. Okay?"
Shelly was pleased with this comment and smiled as she nodded.
"Now, then, what shall we drink to first?" he asked, holding his drink up.
."How about drinking to the rain? Rain sometimes does a lot. of good."
"Fine. Here's to rain, a good drink in a friendly bar and, most of all, to good company," Bill laughed. When they had touched glasses, they both sipped lightly, then set their glasses down.
"That toast sounded like you're lonesome," Shelly said. She ran her fingers up and down the side of her glass slowly but did not look at him.
"Me? Lonesome?" he asked, seeming surprised. "Not on your life. What made you think that?"
"Your remark about good company, I guess."
"Well, it's true. I do like good company, especially beautiful women."
"Sometimes good company is hard to find."
"Now you sound lonesome. Better have another sip. Warm you up, make you feel better. Or is it the rain that makes you feel depressed?"
"I didn't know I was depressed, but you could be right about being lonesome." Obediently, she raised her glass, looking over the rim at him as she sipped slowly and deliberately. She observed his strong hands and his muscular shoulders and let the thrill pass through her unchecked.
When she casually looked away, she could see from the corner of her eye that he was appraising her closely. He appeared to like what he saw. She could see him watching the rise and fall of her breasts, which she made certain to push out even more as he looked. She was confident that he was interested in her in a way that was anything but that of a neighbor and casual friend. She turned and looked at him with an approving smile, letting him know she had seen him watching and letting him know, too, that she approved wholeheartedly.
"It's funny," he said, suddenly reaching out and taking one of her hands, "but we've lived so close for so long and never met before."
"Disappointed?"
"I sure am."
"Why?"
He looked at her with a knowing look. "I think you and I could make beautiful music together," he said. "Tell me, is there any reason why we can't go somewhere and make up for lost time?"
"You'd like to show me your etchings?" she laughed.
"Well, that's the general idea. How about it?"
Shelly knew the man-trap game well. Offer, offer, promise, promise, and then suddenly deny. The natural instinct of the female was more distinct in her than any two others, and she made the most of it. She knew her manner and her remarks would have the desired effect on Bill if he had intentions of taking her to bed. In a sudden fear of losing out altogether, she knew he would make his move, for an offended woman is not the type that gives a man her pleasures willingly.
"Let's go," he said suddenly. "I know a place."
Without another word, she got to her feet, handed her coat to him so he could help her into it, then stood waiting while he fumbled with his own coat. Had he looked at her at that moment, he would have seen the smile of a lioness, for Shelly's satisfaction was almost complete. The affair in bed with him was only an anticlimax to what she had come for. But of course, she would enjoy the anticlimax to its fullest for the heat of passion was already burning her face.
CHAPTER SIX
Hannah did not have to waken Tom this time. He awoke quite suddenly and had trouble establishing his whereabouts. Or the time of day. The house was quiet. He fumbled for his cigarette lighter, flipped it into flame, and squinted at his watch. It was 3:20 a.m. He had spent the better part of the night in his chair in front of the TV set, a set that now only hummed as it glared into the room with its chalk-white eye. He went to the window and looked out. He was surprised to see a light-colored car parked at the curb in front of his house.
He could see the outline of two occupants in the car and muffled voices seeped through the slightly open window. Carefully, he stepped closer to the opening so he could hear better. The sharp, unmistakable voice of Shelly stabbed into him through the early morning darkness.
"Drive carefully, darling," he heard her say. "Tomorrow? Fine. Don't make any noise when you drive away. Tom's asleep, and I wouldn't want him to wake up and see you. Night."
The car eased silently along, then purred into the night as Shelly made her way up the walk.
Tom was waiting for her at the door and when she opened it, he rammed at the light switch, throwing the entryway into blinding light.
"Just who the hell was that?" he yelled into her startled face.
"Th-that was Mr. Coleman," she lied, fighting nervousness.
"Do you realize it's after three in the morning? What kind of clubs meet at this hour?"
"Three o'clock? I didn't think it was that late. I guess we must have talked longer than we thought."
"Who's 'we'?"
"All the members of the club. Meeting lasted until after one and after that we just lost track of time, I guess."
"Where's your car? How come this, ah, Mr. What's-his-name has to bring you home?"
"My car wouldn't start so he offered to drop me off," she said. "And his name is Coleman."
"Who the hell cares?"
"Why, Tom, darling, you're jealous," she said, laughing nervously. She had never seen him so angry before.
"I suppose I am but who wouldn't be? I just want to know why some strange man has to bring my wife home at three in the morning, that's all. Furthermore, if his name is Coleman, then how is it you have to call him 'darling'? Kinda chummy, I'd say."
"It's just an expression, dear. It doesn't mean a thing."
Tom wanted to continue his probe of Shelly's nocturnal prowlings, but she didn't give him a chance. She turned abruptly and went to her bedroom.
The Wymore home, if it had ever had any happy moments, now had none. Tom found almost nightly solace in his liquor cabinet, and his bed, more often than not, was the leather chair in the living room. His life had turned into one of waiting. Waiting for the sound of Shelly's car, waiting for her to phone, waiting, during the long, lonesome nights, for the feel of her body crawling into bed with him. But Shelly had now almost completely denied him the pleasure of her body.
Shelly, in the meantime, her memory recalling the night with Bill Weldon, began to rekindle the fires of passion she had for men. But, for the time being, her thoughts were centered mainly on her strange-acting husband. She tried on numerous occasions to smooth over the rift she had caused in their troubled marital relationship. After all, Tom was a good provider and she hated to think of losing the security he provided. But Tom refused to carry on a conversation with her for any length of time. It was obvious, he had taken about all he could take.
It was maddening for Shelly. She would have preferred talking about their troubles, getting everything out in the open, but she was afraid to bring the matter up, for there were too many things she could not explain. She tried to question him about what was bothering him. She wanted Tom. She wanted him around to provide for her. Shelly was untrained for any kind of work; the thought of making a living on her own frightened her.
Then, as though turning a page in a book, a sudden change came over Tom. He went to bed, where he remained for two days and nights. He did not seek nor ask for liquor. On the morning of the third day, he arose early, cleaned up for the first time in days and came down the hall looking almost as good as the day he did when he married Shelly.
"I think I'll go to work today, Shelly," he said simply. Then, without another word, he left the house. Shelly was too surprised to say anything and merely stood in one spot and watched him as he drove away.
That evening, Tom ate his meal in silence. Shelly tried to talk to him, but he only looked at her and said nothing. When he was through eating, he went directly to his big chair and sat in the dark. He did not turn on the TV nor did he drink.
He seemed to be in a trance.
Tom did not alter his routine. If Shelly came home early, she was sure to find him sitting in his big chair. She made it a point to come in to see if he was all right. He never spoke to her and, in fact, did not as much as acknowledge her presence.
The high-backed chair hid him from view so it was always necessary for Shelly to come all the way into the room and around to the front of the chair to see if Tom was actually in it. She would look at him for a moment, hoping he might say something, then turn and leave .when' he remained silent.
One afternoon, some three weeks later, Shelly came home and, as was her custom, went directly to the living room. As she went past Tom's chair, her foot struck a hard object, sending it skittering across the floor and against a table leg.
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, ignoring the object she had kicked. Then, as she looked down at Tom, she knew she would get no answer-today or ever.
She took hold of his shoulder and shook lightly. A cold chill ran up her back. She reached for the light, snapped it on, and examined her hand. She had felt her fingers come away from his shoulder, wet and sticky. She bent over to look more closely.
Blood!
One glance at Tom and Shelly knew ... knew there would be no more Tom Wymore. Tom Wymore was dead!
A bullet hole in his right temple told her what he had done, and she realized now what it was that she had kicked across the floor. It was a small revolver, grim in appearance, lying against the table leg.
Shelly screamed, then screamed again. Like a heavy overcoat, her body crumpled to the floor in a faint.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Shelly lived the next few weeks of her life as though she were in a hypnotic trance. Many things happened that she remembered only vaguely. The funeral, talks with Tom's lawyers concerning his will, talks with Tom's father to determine what share she would receive from Wymore Enterprises and what income she would have.
Frank Wymore, Tom's father, was sympathetic, yet cool. He was understanding at times while at others, he was almost indifferent. He had no way of knowing the real reason for what Tom had done. Family affairs had never been discussed between him and his son.
After those first nightmarish weeks, Shelly confined herself almost completely to her home, going out only for a brief ride or to take care of the small errands that living made necessary.
She could have done better by Tom, she realized. Now he was gone ... gone forever. Where would she start now? How could she pick up the pieces and begin a new life? But it wasn't in Shelly to sit around home and stagnate.
A drink, perhaps? Maybe a drink would help. Yes, of course. It would lift her spirits. A drink with good company, she mused, recalling Bill Weldon's remark. A slight smile crept over her lips as she pulled her car into the parking lot of the Pirate's Den, a cocktail lounge a few blocks off the main street.
It was early afternoon and there were only three other cars in the huge parking lot. The air was warm and there was just the slightest hint of a breeze. It felt good, caressing her face as she walked briskly across the asphalt lot. It was fall and, while not all of the trees had shed their leaves, the feeling she had was as though it were spring. Leaves skittered across the pavement and there was the pungent smell of burning leaves in the air.
The sun had been so bright that when Shelly stepped into the dark interior of the Pirate's Den, she stood for a few moments trying to adjust her eyes. She had never been here before, so did not know in which direction the bar was. Then, as her eyes gradually became accustomed to the dimness, she could see the glistening glasses on the back bar and made her way carefully in that direction.
There were four customers, all men, seated at the bar, and they all studied her as she groped for one of the stools. The room smelled fresh and clean, and the deep carpet gave the feeling of luxury. It was one of the better bars in town. Shelly immediately felt that she belonged here.
Shelly ordered a Manhattan as she adjusted herself on the stool.
"Yes, ma'am," the bartender replied politely.
Shelly could feel all four of the men looking at her. She patted her hair lightly, put her purse beside her, and tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. This, she thought, is much better. No more sitting at home. No more wasting time on thoughts that were unpleasant to her. So, he's gone.
So what? Everyone has to live a life of his own and this was her type of life.
When the bartender had set her drink on the bar and returned with her change, Shelly said, "You must be Ray."
The bartender grinned broadly. "That's right. And who are you?"
"Shelly," she smiled.
"Glad to meet you, Shelly."
A cigarette lighter appeared suddenly from Ray's pocket as Shelly pulled out a cigarette. He held the light toward her.
"Thanks," she said, after she had taken her first deep drag.
"One of my many services," he grinned. He was a stout, dark man with huge brown eyes that seemed to warm up his entire face when he smiled. Black thatches of hair -rimmed his head but on top he was completely bald. He moved away, smiling.
Shelly sipped her drink. Then, when she felt its warm glow, she quickly took two or three sips. The men at the bar were seated in pairs, and the two nearest her glanced curiously and speculatively at her from time to time. Shelly did not look directly at them, but she could see them in the back bar mirror. One of the men got up and played some music on the juke box, looking hopefully toward Shelly, who made no sign of having noticed. She knew that sooner or later one of them would approach her.
When she had finished her drink, she held up her glass for the bartender to see. Ray nodded and immediately began mixing another drink.
"Take it out of here, Ray," one of the men said, throwing a dollar bill on the bar. "I'll have to ask her first," Ray said. "All right," the man said. He looked toward Shelly, a look of expectancy on his face.
Shelly studied both of the men nearest her and decided she wanted neither of them. They were both fat, gray-haired, and looked to be in their fifties-past their sexual prime.
When Ray put the drink down in front of her she had her money ready and pushed it toward him.
"The man down there would like to buy you a drink," Ray said, nodding toward the two men.
"No, thanks," Shelly said curtly. "Sorry."
Ray took her money and walked away.
By the time Shelly had finished her second drink, all of the men had gone. She felt disappointed. Only one pass out of four men. She got up from her stool and walked casually around the carpeted room. There were tables scattered throughout, and in one corner there was a small bandstand.
"Nice place," she said.
"Yeah," Ray replied. "Best place I ever worked in."
"It's big. Do you need all these tables?"
"Sure do. At night, especially on weekends, the place is packed. This is always a dead time of day. Maybe catch one or two afternoon drinkers. You new around here?"
"In here, yes. But I've lived here all my life."
"First time in here, eh?"
"Yes. I never got out much before," she said. She came back to the bar, took a sip from her drink, and rested her elbows on the bar.
"Before what?"
"Ah, before my husband...."
"Trouble, eh? What was it? Divorce?"
"N-no, he, ah, he's dead," she said softly.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
For a few moments, Shelly said nothing, only stared down at her drink.
"Well, maybe a couple of drinks will help. I know how you must feel. Sorry about that guy wanting to buy you a drink. That's why I asked you first. But the guy is all right. Just trying to be friendly, is all."
"Oh, I didn't mind. I just wasn't in the mood for talking."
"No, I don't suppose you would. Not after...."
"I'm getting over it," Shelly broke in.
"How long has it been?"
"Just about a month. Seems like yesterday, though."
"How'd it happen? Accident?"
"No, it wasn't an accident," she said softly, looking away. "It was ... well, I'd rather not say."
"Suit yourself," Ray said. He began to wipe the bar in front of her. "Tell me, what are you doing now. I mean, what are your plans and all that?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just living from day to day, trying to forget by having a little fun."
"Any plans for tonight?" he asked suddenly. "Oh, I don't mean with me. I meant, well, you're a good-looking doll, and I thought maybe if you were around tonight I could introduce you to someone. We get a lot of nice guys in here."
"I really don't know what I should do," she said. "I haven't been out for so long that maybe some nice man's company would do me some good. Yes, I believe you could introduce me to some decent fellow if you want to. But no funny stuff, if you understand what I mean."
"Yeah, I get you," Ray said. "How about if I buy you a drink?" Shelly nodded.
Ray brought her the drink, then busied himself with his other duties.
The drinks made Shelly feel warm, passionate and reckless. The soft music, the dark bar, the rich carpeting-all gave her a sensation that was delightfully and crazily luxurious. She sat quietly sipping on her drink, regarding herself in the back bar mirror, turning from side to side, admiring the beauty that nature had bestowed on her. Pleased, she smiled to herself. This, she thought, was the life for her. Housework, children, even husbands, were for the squares.
"The bartender said your name was Shelly," a voice said behind Shelly. Startled, she wheeled on her stool, and saw a smiling face. The face belonged to Brad Stanton.
Stanton was a tall, blond, angular man, even teeth, about thirty or thirty-two. Seeing her surprise, he smiled even wider. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just...."
"Where did you come from?" Shelly asked.
"I came in the side door," he said. "Ray was back there and I asked him who the doll was at the bar, meaning you, of course. He wanted to bring me over and introduce me to you, but I talked him out of it."
"Now that you're here, what do you want?" Shelly asked.
"Ray said I had his permission to buy you a drink. Do I need yours, too?"
Shelly looked at him for some moments, studying the twinkling eyes and the broad smile. She could not control her smile, and it spread over her face like a mask.
"All right," she laughed. "By the way, do you come here often?"
"Yes, I've been here a few times before," he said. "And my name is Brad ... Brad Stanton. I haven't seen you in here before."
"No, this is my first time. Nice place," Shelly said. She noticed Brad studying her intently. Inwardly, she was pleased that he had taken such a quick notice of her and her charms.
"You're a widow, I understand."
Shelly nodded. "And you?"
"Ah, well...."
"I thought so. Men like you just aren't running around loose and single. There's always a wife in the background."
"She's still upstate," he said. "I was transferred down here a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't been able to find a suitable place for us to live."
"In the meantime, you're on the loose. Right?"
"Sort of."
"Well, now that that's settled," she said, "what shall we talk about? The weather?"
"How about if we talk about you?"
"All right. My name is Shelly Wymore. I'm over twenty-one. This is my first time here and I have nothing to do for the rest of the evening. There, satisfied?"
"Wow, that was quick. I don't know what to ask you now."
"Ask me to have dinner with you," Shelly said boldly. Her eyes seemed to promise everything Brad read in, them, and she could see his hands tremble slightly as he raised his drink to his lips. He drank deeply, draining almost half the glass before he set it down and looked at her.
"All right, it's a date. How about right here? The food is very good and we won't have to drive anywhere. Okay?"
"If you say so," she shrugged. Inwardly, she was thrilled and a shiver suddenly shook her body. With a hasty motion of her arm, she put her glass down on the bar. "Tell me, does something like this make you feel a little nervous?"
"Yes, I suppose it does ... a little," he smiled.
Hours later, when they had finished their dinner, Brad suggested they go for a drive. Shelly agreed but asked to be taken home first.
Brad followed close behind, thinking that Shelly would try to lose him in traffic or somehow give him the slip. But Shelly had no such intentions. She looked through the rear view mirror regularly to make sure he was still behind her and smiled to herself when she saw his car almost clinging to her rear bumper. She drove her car straight into the open garage and Brad pulled up behind her.
"Would you like to come in a minute while I freshen up?" she asked.
"Okay," he said, half-surprised. He shut off the motor and lights and walked to her side.
Shelly smiled but the smile was more for herself than it was for Brad. Almost from the moment Brad had approached her at the bar, she knew she must have him alone that night. She now felt victory was hers and whether or not Brad wanted to take her to bed she knew he would be helpless to resist. She did not think about Tom. Now the all-consuming, burning greed for Brad's body was the only thing in her mind.
When they entered the house through the kitchen, Shelly did not turn on the light but went directly to the living room in the dark. Here she pulled off her coat, threw it across a chair, then turned on a small lamp.
"Drink?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, smiling.
While Shelly prepared the drinks, Brad looked around the room, surveying the tastefully decorated room. "Nice," he said. "Live here alone?"
"I do now," she said simply as she brought the drinks to the coffee table.
"How did your husband die?"
"He shot himself," she replied, matter-of-fact ly.
"Accidentally?"
"No, not all. It was very deliberate."
"I-I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. It happened that way and that's that. Right there in that chair," she said, pointing to the large leather chair in which Tom had ended his life.
Brad looked at the chair. He looked uncomfortable.
"Now, shall we talk about something more pleasant?" she asked. "Us, for instance?"
"Yes, I think that would be better."
She looked over the edge of the glass at him. There was a little smile playing at her lips. "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"Stay here with me all night," she said. "Simple as that."
She moved across the couch and encircled his neck and clung to him with all her strength. She pressed her breasts against his strong body and felt a gasp escape him.
"I-I don't know what to say," he managed at last.
"You said that once before." She put her mouth on his and swiped her tongue across his lips. "I need you, Brad. I need you so much...."
Brad was only semi-receptive. Although he was a handsome man who looked like the typical playboy, it was not his habit to take just anybody to bed. In fact, his two-timing had been confined to just two affairs. Now he was uneasy. This Shelly was coming on too strong. Women like her could mean trouble.
"I don't think we should be doing this," he said when Shelly's lips left his for a moment.
"Oh, come now, darling. I know what a man wants when he picks up a woman in a bar. You look at her and you say to yourself, 'Gee, but I'd like to get her in bed.' Well, here I am."
"God, but you come on strong."
"I know," she smiled. "I don't like to waste time." The liquor was making Shelly bolder than she'd ever been in her life. Then, too, the fact that she hadn't been to bed with a man for some time was working on her passion. She ran her hand down his chest and dropped it onto the hard lump in his pants. She squeezed it. "Don't tell me you don't want to put that thing to work." It annoyed her that he hadn't put his hands on her breasts, that he hadn't propositioned her sooner.
"Of course I do," he said.
She took the tab of his zipper and pulled it down, then dug in his shorts and took his rapidly stiffening cock out. She gripped it in her hand and made the head turn red. "I want that beautiful thing," she sighed. She kissed him and ran her tongue into his mouth. When she pulled away, she said, "UNDRESS ME, DARLING."
He turned her halfway around and ran her zipper down, then pulled her dress off her shoulders. Then he undid the snap of her bra to release the beautiful orbs it held. He turned her back around and put his head on her chest, taking one nipple into his mouth to suck and nip at it briefly. His free hand pushed at the material bunched at her waist and she raised slightly so he could push it over her hips. Then he peeled her panties off, trying to keep the titty in his mouth while he did so. She squirmed and twisted to accommodate what he was doing with her clothes, until finally, she was totally naked.
"KISS MY TITTIES WHILE I UNDRESS YOU," she said. She started to unbutton his shirt while his mouth went from one nipple to the other. She peeled his shirt off, then went immediately to his pants. He raised off the couch so she could pull them off his hips. Within moments, he, too, was naked.
"Shouldn't we go to the bedroom?" he asked.
"No! No ... I want it right here. I can't wait," she panted.
"You have a beautiful body."
"Then do something with it! Kiss me! Suck my titties!"
He moved his mouth across her nipples with an easy confidence. He sucked one, then the other while her hand jerked and pulled on his cock. He bent slightly and ran his tongue down as far as her navel. He swabbed across the little indentation, then moved back to her tits. She was panting and squirming, clutching at him hungrily.
"NOT NOW. I'VE GOT TO HAVE YOUR COCK IN ME FIRST."
"JUST A LITTLE."
"OH, PLEASE ... YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY."
He slid down on the couch a little and spread his legs. "Come on, baby, just suck me off a little first," he said. He put his hand around the back of her head and tugged at her.
"I-I don't want to. I want that nice cock of yours inside me ... please." She tried to get astraddle of him, but he pushed her leg back.
"Suck me first," he said. There was a firmness to his tone that made her stop writhing for a moment. He pushed at her body so that she slid off the couch. With an easy movement, he swung one leg over her head so that she was between his legs. He clamped her body between his thighs and moved his hips upward so that the head of his cock brushed her lips. "Come on, baby, you know you want to put it in your mouth. You know you do. Here, try it." He took hold of his cock and wiped the head of it across her lips.
The touch of the satiny head made her tremble. Yes, she would love to suck his cock, but why couldn't he fuck her first? God, they had all night.
She opened her mouth and touched the hot head with the tip of her tongue. She took the head between her lips, held it a little, then sunk part of the stiff shaft into her mouth. His hand clutched at her hair and pumped her head up and down. His hips moved in the same tempo, a slow fuck motion. The delight of what she was doing made him lay his head back on the couch and close his eyes.
"OH, YEAH ... THAT'S THE WAY TO DO IT, BABY. SUCK THAT COCK, SWEETHEART. SUCK IT NICE AND EASY."
"Ummmmmmm," she murmured with her mouth full of his hot, stiff prick.
She put her hands under his ass and felt his easy rhythm as his cock slid in and out of her mouth. She let it sink in until she thought she would gag. She fondled his balls with one hand while her other hand remained on the cheek of his ass. The saliva collected in her mouth and ran down his slickened shaft. She sucked furiously for a time, then suddenly took her mouth off his cock and hung over it, panting. She held the spit-silvered rod with one hand. "I-I've got to rest," she said. "My mouth is getting sore."
"I was almost ready to ... pop," he groaned.
"Oh, please don't," she said quickly. "Not in my mouth."
He sat up and put his arms around her shoulders. He reached between them and took hold of his cock. He felt for her lips and put the head of it against them. "Just a little more, baby." He twisted her lips open and tried to get his dick between them, but she resisted.
"Uh-uh," she murmured, trying to pull away.
"Yes," he said firmly.
"Just a little then," she said resignedly.
When she got his prick back in her mouth he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him, clamping her in a vise from which there was no escape for her. He began to move his hips again while holding her head on his cock. He could hear her snorting and slurping between his legs and he now took up most of the motion, ramming his hips upward, then back.
"COME ON, BABY ... COME ON ... JUST A LITTLE MORE AND I'M GOING TO FLOOD YOU WITH NICE, HOT JUICE," he clenched as the time for his climax drew near.
She did not try to pull away. She knew it was useless. But she was not entirely averse to sucking his cock. It was still thrilling to her, yet she felt she had lost control, and that was what bothered her more than anything. She had had men come in her mouth before so she was not revolted at the thought of having her mouth spurted full of hot slugs of jism. And when he saw that she was not resisting, he relieved some of the pressure on her so' she could move with more freedom, holding her lightly at the sides of her head as she brought him to his first blinding explosion. It came like a rushing river gone wild, the first charge splashing into her mouth with such volume that she stopped for a moment in disbelief. Then the following spurts came until her mouth could no longer hold it all and a little silver pendant streamed from the corner of her mouth. She held the head of his cock in her mouth for some time after he had completed his spasms, her nostrils flaring to draw in much-needed air.
His fingers were toying with her hair, alternately gripping and releasing. He was panting and moaning softly. There was an electric quiver to the lower part of his body.
When his fingers loosened in her hair, it was the signal for her to take her mouth off his spent prick and swallow. She had to swallow several times as the slimy liquid clung to her throat. Finally, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and fell across his thigh. "You were really loaded," she said softly. "It must have been a long time."
"I'll give all the credit to you," he said. "You really know how to suck a cock. God, I never had a blow-job like that before."
Shelly was not abashed by his crudeness. Rather, she was proud that she had pleased him, that she had done something sexual so much better than the other women he had known. Now, if she could only do as well in the fuck-session that lay ahead, she thought. With the compliment fresh in her mind, she vowed she would go all out to try.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The year that had passed since Tom's death seemed to have no effect on Shelly's beauty nor her desire to share her bed with a man. She now had exactly what she wanted-steady income from the insurance and Wymore Enterprises and all the freedom her passion-greedy heart desired.
She still maintained a facade of respectability, mostly during the day, with her activities in women's clubs, but she was watchful for the man who could thrill her, feed her ego and satisfy her ever-increasing hunger for sex.
And she had been quite successful in her conquests. Many men came and went, many men, but none stayed for longer than one night for that's all it required for Shelly to satisfy herself. Once they were out the door, Shelly never allowed them her company again, either as a casual date or in her bedroom. She appeared to be striving for some type of record although she had lost count long ago.
Ronald Henning had been her latest. Not the last, for she would continue with her man-trap game and sexual conquest for quite some time. However, Ronald Henning had brought out something entirely different in Shelly-the desire to hurt, to strike back at those who fell into her trap and hurt the woman, the anonymous wife, who was content with housework, children and all the other aspects of a respectable life.
This attitude was hard for even Shelly to explain. Perhaps it was gradually gnawing at her that others had something she had been unable to hold. Maybe sex no longer was the dominant factor. Maybe it never had been, for Shelly had always taken greater pleasure in the chase than in the actual sexual conclusion. It was as though she were standing on top of the world, shouting defiantly and triumphantly that she could get any man she wanted.
In order to avoid unfavorable public opinion, Shelly moved from the small town of Wildwood into Chicago. Here, where she was not known and could frequent many different bars, she again set out on her almost nightly patrols of the bars, seeking victims, flirting, teasing, going to bed.
Shelly was now almost forty and the years had done little to either her face or her figure. Nor had they dulled her craving for the seduction she carried out so capably. But the culmination of the chase-the sex act itself-was losing more and more of its flavor. Shelly was not too concerned over this development. She should have been. It cost her dearly.
Amos Beach, a rather plumpish, distinguished man in his late forties, sat down the bar from Shelly at the Hi-Lo Lounge. In the mirror on the back bar he watched Shelly as she sat alone, sipping a drink and drawing slowly on a cigarette. He noticed the long, slender fingers, the beautifully-molded features, the provocative lips and the haunting, mysterious eyes. The eyes seemed to be probing, seeking, dragging the area like a spider watching its net. Intrigued, Amos found himself completely enthralled by this woman who had the figure of a teenager.
Shelly knew Amos Beach was watching. She applied herself wholeheartedly to the process of seduction, rolling her eyes, working her mouth, pushing her chest forward. Graceful in her movements, she carefully baited the man-trap. She knew Amos Beach would soon be at her side.
Finishing her drink, Shelly carefully withdrew some money from her purse and laid it on the bar. In the mirror, she could see this strange, inquisitive little man watching her. She looked down at the single crumpled bill, frowned, withdrew it slightly, then shrugged and pushed it forward toward the bartender.
The bartender picked up her empty glass and went to the middle of the bar and began mixing her drink. When he returned, he jerked a thumb toward Amos Beach and said, "This one's on the gentleman down there."
Shelly looked appropriately puzzled for a moment, then turned slowly and smiled at the man who had bought the drink. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement and held her drink up in a brief salute.
There were three other couples at the bar and two men at the far end. Amos Beach did not take his eyes off Shelly. He watched her take a sip, then slowly slid off the stool and made his way to her side.
"Hello," he said casually, adjusting the stool while he put his drink and cigarettes on the bar. "Hello," Shelly said. "Thanks for the drink."
"Forget it."
"I just want to say I'm not in the habit of accepting drinks from strangers but tonight, well, I, ah...."
"I know," he said without looking at her. "You're lonesome. Right?"
"You mean it shows?"
"I can always tell. I've been watching you. You seem lost."
"Oh? I didn't mean to wear my troubles where they'd show."
"It's best not to," Amos said. "Better to get them off your chest sometimes." He spoke in a clipped, coarse manner, without a show of ex pression on his face. "What's your trouble? Husband?"
"Well, ah, sort of," Shelly lied. She frowned deeply as though pained by some imaginary marital discord.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said. "Married life gets to be a drag at times."
"It's not that. It's, well, I don't have a husband ... anymore."
"Oh ?" he said, brightening suddenly. He turned halfway around on his stool and looked at her for a long time.
"What happened?" he asked bluntly.
"He, ah, died...."
"Yeah? Gee, that's too bad. Just happened?"
"Not long ago," she said. She looked at her drink, bit her lip. There was a pained expression on her face, and she suddenly turned away.
"Aw, gee, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up nothin' that would bother you." Now his tone changed to one of genuine sorrow for the woman he thought he had offended. He patted her hand affectionately. Shelly looked down at his hand, noticed it a pudgy pink paw that hadn't as yet removed itself from hers. Amos Beach's hands did not excite her. She pictured what he would look like without his clothes on with his body white and flabby. She imagined what he would feel like as they lay naked together. The thought was not a pleasant one.
She could see him still looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned to look at him.
With a long lingering glance, she noticed that he was well dressed and evidently prosperous. She liked his friendly, ingratiating smile even though the thought of his naked body turned her off.
Amos was waiting with a hopeful, expectant smile, and when she did nothing but smile back at him, he pawed nervously at the pack of cigarettes on the bar and lit one. He offered her one. She shook her head, as though her grief wouldn't allow even this small vice.
When she felt she had waited an appropriate time, she reached over and patted his fat hand affectionately. "Thanks."
"That's okay, baby."
Shelly sipped her drink slowly, wondering about the fat little man beside her. A sudden shiver shook her body and, with a quick motion, she set her drink down and moved one of her legs so her knee touched his leg. He did not move but pressed his leg ever so lightly against her knee. Shelly could hear his breathing become heavier, and when she looked at him, she could see his eyes had turned bright and glassy.
So enthralled was she that she felt her own pulse beating faster. The power she had possessed all her life had not left her, and a feeling of deep satisfaction spread through her.
For the next fifteen minutes they talked about many things, leaving the main subject of what both had come for un mentioned. It was a game, a game that went just so far before all preliminaries were taken care of. Eventually, if the man didn't bring up the subject of sex, the woman would have to. Shelly would have her way, of course, and she knew exactly how to handle it. It must not be too forward nor too innocent unless, of course, the man was too shy or the woman was overly desperate. Either way could frighten her prey from the web. Casually, carefully, she must creep ever closer to the entrapped male until, without either of them knowing exactly how it had come about, they would find themselves in bed together.
"Would you like to tell me about your husband?" Amos asked kindly.
"Oh, he was all right. Only thing wrong with him was that he wasn't a man."
"How do you mean that?"
"Well," she smiled, "there were a lot of things he couldn't take care of."
"Like you?"
"Mainly me," she said slowly and thoughtfully. "Do you need a lot of taking care of?"
"Sometimes."
"Is this one of those times ?"
"It could be," she teased.
When Shelly was satisfied she had had enough to drink, she suggested they go to another bar. Feigning slight drunkenness, she allowed Amos to take her by the arm and support her as they walked unsteadily out the door.
"Do you have a car?" she asked.
"Yeah, down this way."
"Do you think it would be a good idea to drive right now? I mean, we might get stopped. That wouldn't look good for you if your wife found out you were out with another woman."
Pleased over this considerate observation, Amos said, "You're right. What do you suggest? I sure don't need any more to drink."
"Isn't there some place we can go for awhile?" she asked. She put her hand to her head and clutched him as though she could barely walk another step.
"I suppose we could get a room and...."
"And sit and talk?" she asked laughingly.
"I think you know the score, baby. Come on."
She studied him for a moment, tottering back and forth. It would be fun to tease this fat little man. He probably didn't know the first thing about sex in the first place. In the second place, a man that looked like he did didn't deserve being in the same bed with her. She shrugged. "Why not? Might be better if we both sat it out for a while."
* * *
After they had found a small hotel and checked in, Shelly entered the room ahead of Amos and snapped on the bright overhead light. She whirled around in the center of the room, her arms spread wide, and giggled childishly. "Wheel" she shrilled. Then she took off her coat and threw it across the room to where Amos was standing, watching half amused. It had been quite a while since he'd had a doll like Shelly in bed. And then he'd had to pay her.
"Better cool the noise bit," he said. "They might toss us out of here."
"I've got to lie down," she giggled. "The room is spinning all over the place." She went to the bed and fell face down on it. She kicked her shoes off as she lay giggling and squirming. There was no sound from Amos, and after a few moments, she turned over to see what he was doing. She saw that he was removing his clothes.
"Oh, now," she said, sitting up and shaking a finger at him. "Not so fast."
"Yeah? I've got to be comfortable when I go to work."
"Just relax and stay over there and keep your clothes on," she said. "And keep the light on, too."
Amos said nothing. He only grinned and continued pulling at his clothing. When he had unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, he started to take off his pants.
Shelly watched, not knowing for sure how far she could tease him. She noticed little tufts of hair on his pink shoulders and in the small of his back. A large roll of fat overlapped his belt, and with his back to her, she saw his pants suddenly drop to his knees. Without a word, he reached for the light switch and plunged the room into almost total darkness.
Shelly started to get up, started to say something, but Amos was on the bed beside her, pushing her backwards, his strong arms holding her tight while his hands pawed at her breasts.
"W-wait a minute, mister," Shelly managed to stammer. "I didn't come up here for anything like this."
"Oh, come off the bullshit, baby," he panted. "Just relax. Come on, get some of these clothes off." He tugged at her blouse, then grabbed crudely at her legs, trying to run his hand under her skirt. He was heavy and powerful and Shelly, for the first time in her life, found herself unable to cope with the victim in her man-trap. She wanted to scream but thought better of it. To bring the police in on something like this would only cause a nasty scandal and, even if she wasn't known too well in Chicago, she had no desire to have her name in the papers. There would be questions, maybe even pictures. No, she thought, it would be better to try to shame this huge bulk of a man into giving up the struggle.
But Amos Beach was not to be denied. He clawed at her blouse, tearing the buttons loose when he couldn't unfasten them. He pulled at her skirt and pushed her flailing arms. Then, with one quick movement, he pulled the garment off. Just as quickly, he tore off her slip.
Shelly's intentions were to tease this big man, entice him, play with him, and then deny him. But she had picked the wrong victim, she now learned. Amos Beach was not one to be toyed with. He was determined to have her, even if it meant going to the dangerous point of rape. She had played her part too well and now, struggling desperately to free herself, she found herself becoming the unwilling sex partner, a role she had played so often in reverse.
She reached up, felt for his eyes, and rammed her thumbs into the sockets. With a scream of rage, he released her. Then, as though the entire building had suddenly crashed down on her, Shelly felt his powerful fists pounding into her face.
"Why you little bitch!" he growled. "You think you can play me along all evening, bring me up here, and then play hard to get? No way, baby. This is one guy you're not playing that old game on. If you're in the business, what the hell's wrong with you? You look like a whore and act like a whore, so what's with this bit? Is this some kind of new wrinkle you've thought up or what?"
She covered her face with her hands and felt two or three more blows hammer against her hands, then a vicious backhand caught her alongside the head, then another from the other side.
"Don't ... don't ... please don't," she whimpered. "Please!"
"All right, ' baby, that's better," he hissed roughly, pulling her hands away from her face.
"Y-yes," she whispered. "Yes...."
"Now get the rest of them damn clothes off," he growled. He tugged at her bra and panties, impatiently, roughly.
Still whimpering, Shelly pulled off the two garments and dropped them at the side of the bed. Then she lay back, quaking with fear. When his hand clasped one of her breasts, she trembled even more.
"Come here, you little she-devil. I told you to relax. What the hell is this? You want to screw or don't you?"
Again Shelly felt two blows hammer at her head, then the whole room seemed to crash down on her as another of his huge fists smashed against her jaw. The room whirled crazily, flashes of lightning streaked through her brain, and she felt herself slipping into semi-consciousness. She was brought back immediately, however, as he pried her legs apart.
She felt his breath hot on her breasts, kissing, licking, then moving downward on her stomach, then still farther down. She clutched at his hair, trying to pull him up, but he cuffed her hands away, intent on carrying out what he had started.
His face was hot and wet with perspiration. He slipped across her belly, his wide, wet tongue lashing across her flesh hungrily. He slipped down on the bed and put his hands under the cheeks of her ass and lifted her, then plunged his face into her crotch. He lapped across her hairy pussy until she could feel the wetness ooze down between her legs. He probed for the slit, found it. He rammed his face into it and licked at the tender hole.
He raised her up and ran his tongue down the crevice between her ass-cheeks until he came to the tight rosebud of her anus. He probed at the pinched ring until he got the tip of his tongue into it. He bent her legs backwards so that he could get his face deeper into the slightly-haired ravine.
She could hear him grunting and snorting, feel his hot tongue slip into her asshole, then plunge back and forth. She could feel his wet face on her inner thighs and wondered if his entire body was covered with sweat. She could do nothing but submit. She wanted to enjoy what he was doing; no one had ever probed her anus with his tongue before. But he had rocked her with fear and her body failed to respond.
He returned from her anal chamber and went back to licking her cunt. This, she could enjoy. He did it well. He flattened his big tongue and washed over the entire area, sometimes lashing into her with his tongue, then licking her pussylips gently. When he found her clitoris and administered a thorough licking to it, she felt her groin tingle with an oncoming climax. She began to move her hips in the same tempo as his licking.
He reached up and found her breasts. His hands were hard, pinching and squeezing until she hurt. She put her hands on his to ease his rough caress. He nudged her away and growled something unintelligible from the depths of her crotch.
When he was through and she lay limp and half sick with fear, he crawled up beside her and pulled her roughly to him. His fat bulk felt soft and clammy against her and she tried to pull away, thought better of it, and lay still.
"Did you like that?" he panted.
Shelly only groaned. She was too fear-stricken to reply. If he would only get it over with. Get on top of her and get his rocks off so she could get away. But her night of terror was not over yet.
"Now," he said, grasping her hair and pulling her head toward her, "let's see if you like the taste of your own cunt." With that, he pressed his face against hers. His tongue swiped across her lips. She could smell the pungence of her own pussy, taste the blandness of it. He pressed his tongue against her closed mouth, then pried her lips apart and plunged inside.
When he finally took his face away from hers, he said, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it? I always figure it turns a woman on when she gets a taste of her own cunt." He grunted several times which was meant as laughter. "How about you fixing me up with a little suck job?"
"Oh, no! Please ... no ... !"
"Yes, baby, yes," he grunted, thrusting her head downward.
"No," she protested, her lips crushed against his flabby stomach. "No, please. I've never done anything like that. I-I don't want to...."
"Then this is a good time to start," he panted gruffly. He pushed her head onto the lower part of his stomach. She was helpless. Her head and face ached from the beating he had given her. She couldn't resist this huge, powerful, sex-crazed man.
She could smell the sweat of his crotch. She saw his rather thin, reddish-looking cock protruding from the fat of his legs. She wanted to be sick. A harsh pull on her hair made her forget about protesting. He rammed his hips upward and smeared his cock across her face.
"Take it, sweetheart. Suck it for me," he said.
She closed her eyes and moved her face toward the revolting piece of flesh. When she felt its satiny head touch her lips, she opened her mouth and took it in. The skin was over the head, and she found no thrill in having it in her mouth. She moved her mouth up and down on it as he writhed and panted above her. She wished he would come quickly. But each time she felt the cock quiver in her mouth, he held her head so she couldn't move, prolonging his climax each time. She could hardly breathe. Then she wished she could stop breathing altogether. This was not the sex she enjoyed so much. This was raw lust.
His cock was small; she was able to take the entire length of it into her mouth without gagging. She sunk it deep into her throat and then sucked on it with a tight, drawing motion, trying to bring about his orgasm. She slid up to the head and sucked it until she thought she might hurt him. But he was beyond hurt. He was enjoying everything she was doing to him.
And then, with a grunt and a vicious grasping of her hair, he came. His huge bulk shook. He groaned, animal-like. He spurted several slugs into her mouth, then lay back, panting heavily.
Coughing and gagging, she wiped the perspiration from her face with the corner of the sheet. While she did so, she slipped the slight bit of his fluid into the sheet also. Then she fell onto the bed beside him, too weak to move.
"Come on, baby," he said softly, suddenly very pleasant as he had been in the bar, "now let's do it the normal way."
To resist, she knew would be useless. Resignedly, she lay back on the bed and spread her legs. Her entire crotch area felt cool and wet from his slobbering. She felt sick when his hot, sweaty face pressed against hers, demanding kisses, and almost vomited as his tongue again went into her mouth.
When Shelly awoke at three a.m. her head throbbed so badly she thought she would be sick. She lay still for a long time, listening for Amos' breathing, afraid to move for fear he would wake up. But she heard no breathing. Gingerly, she felt in the bed for his body. He was not there. She sat up. She felt her head almost split as the pain bit into her.
She groped for the bedside lamp, turned it on, and looked around the room. There was no sign of him. His clothes were gone and there was no sound in the room. Shakily, she got to her feet and made her way unsteadily to the bathroom.
When she looked in the mirror, she gasped with horror. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, there were large bruises on her jaw and cheeks, and her hair hung in ropelike strands down the side of her head. She hung onto the sink for support and studied the face she had admired so much all her life. Even her body bore bruises and teeth marks and she swallowed hard to keep from being sick. Wavering, she looked once again at her face.
"Well, Shelly," she muttered aloud through puffed lips, "you really picked the wrong guy tonight, didn't you?"
Then, when the full recollection of what had happened returned to her, she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited until her stomach ached with pain.
As she clung to the cold rim of the toilet bowl, thoughts flashed through her mind, pounding at her brain, destroying her reasoning. Then, after what seemed like hours, she painfully got to her feet and walked into the dingy little room where so much had happened to her. She avoided looking at the bed, averting her eyes as she passed. She walked directly to the window and looked down on the deserted street. She tried to recall where this hotel was located, tried to remember where she'd left her car. Across the way, a small neon sign glared back at her, intermittently blinking on and off, creating a picture of eeriness in the Chicago night.
She parted the dirty lace curtains and pulled at the window, but it did not move. She thought of breaking the glass and hurling herself down onto the sidewalk, five stories below. But she could not find the courage nor the strength. Instead, she stood for a long time, staring down at the street.
When she had washed her face and combed her hair, she found her torn clothing and tried to fit it to herself as best as she could. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped into the hall and walked to the elevator.
In the lobby, she overheard two men talking. One of them, upon seeing her, said, "Holy cow, look at the beat-up hooker!"
The other said, "Yeah, they all get to look pretty rough after a few years in the business."
A hooker? Did she really look like a whore, Shelly wondered. Oh, how awful! That was the one thing she never wanted to be tagged. Surely, she was too pretty to be classed as a common prostitute.
CHAPTER NINE
The first snows of winter swirled around Shelly's feet as she trudged toward the nearest bar. The sidewalks were crowded at this time of day as office workers poured out of the downtown buildings. Shelly clutched her coat tightly around her as she walked.
There had been no other men in her life since Amos Beach. He had taught her a lesson that momentarily quelled the sex urge in her. But now she was again feeling the need for a man, despite what Amos had done to her.
Her mirror shockingly told her she should be less fussy now, after four months of yearning to play her man-trap game. Dispirited from living alone with her memories, she could have walked through the streets of Wildwood and not been recognized as the once vivacious Shelly Wymore who had been so active in the city's affairs.
She took less time fixing her hair, daubed make-up on carelessly, and let her clothes become old and wrinkled. No longer were her eyes bright and sparkling, her figure had begun to bulge and the breasts she once bore so proudly, now sagged uninterestingly. The remarks the men had made when she left the hotel after the Amos Beach episode wore on her.
She no longer tried to frequent the better bars. Now she spent most of her time in the middle or lower class places. She felt more at ease in them, sensing she had lost considerable charm and beauty. Yet, in the lower class places, she had the feeling she was better than most of the women who went there.
Her path this day led her to a small bar called the Hideaway, and as was her custom, she entered and took a seat toward the end of the bar. Unlike other occasions and other bars, she saw there were more women here than men. There was one group of three, another of four.
Shelly glanced at them only casually, but when her drink was put in front of her one of the women came over and asked her to join the others. Introducing herself as Debbie Kent, the woman said, "Come on over, honey, it's no fun sitting here all by yourself. Come over and meet my girl friends."
Shelly -eyed the group for a moment, then shrugged. In that group she would be a standout. She said, "Okay. Why not?" She followed Debbie to the center of the bar where the group was gathered.
Introductions were made all around. One younger woman, who Shelly recalled as Peggy, was at the far edge of the group and before long, Shelly noticed she had started talking to a man seated next to her. The matter was of no importance to Shelly so she joined in the conversation with the remaining three.
Then suddenly, without warning, the man to whom Peggy had been talking, leaped from his stool, flashed a badge, and ordered all of them to follow him to the far side of the room. Here he informed them they were all under arrest. Furthermore, he stated, he was calling the station for a patrol wagon and they would all be taken to police headquarters to be booked.
"Booked? For what?" asked Shelly incredulously. "We haven't done anything."
"Look, sister, you know there's a law against soliciting so don't give me any bullshit," the cop snapped.
"Soliciting? Who's soliciting? I just came in for a drink," Shelly pleaded.
"That's right, officer," Debbie said. "She isn't in on this."
"Knock it off," the officer said gruffly. "You're not going to get her off that easy. You broads been causing us a lot of trouble down here. Half of you are dosed, you're rolling your tricks. I'm gonna teach you all a lesson. All of you whores should be run out of town if you can't play the game right."
"What's the matter, cop, didn't you get paid off this week?" one of the women asked.
The officer wheeled and glared at her. "You can knock that kind of shit off, too, if you know what's good for you."
"I'll sue you for false arrest," Shelly said calmly. "You can't take me in just because I happen to be with these women."
"Oh, you're so innocent, aren't you? I know you, lady. I've seen you working every bar around here. Why is it you prostitutes always scream when we pick you up? You know you ain't supposed to be working out in the open like you do."
"Prostitute?" Shelly said, aghast. "I beg your pardon."
"What'sa matter, lady, you find it tough comin' down from the big leagues ?" the officer snapped.
No amount of pleading would deter the officer in his judgment and, without arguing the point further, he went to the door to await the arrival of the wagon. However, to everyone's surprise, it was not a regular patrol wagon that drove up, but an ancient paddy wagon. Into this Black Maria, Shelly and four of the women were unceremoniously loaded.
"Don't worry, honey," Debbie said, "we'll get you out of this." Then, pausing a moment, she asked, "You got a record?"
"M-me? No, of course not. I've never been arrested in my life," Shelly replied.
Debbie looked at her for a moment, then burst into raucous laughter. "Hey, girls, Shelly here is clean. No record. How about that?"
"Christ, I've been hauled in a dozen times already," one of the others said.
Then they all laughed. Shelly did not see the humor in it and sat glumly among the four prostitutes.
"Peg, you're the one they're going to nail," said one of the women. "You had to put the make on a damn cop!"
"Hell, don't laugh," Peggy said. "This is the second time for me this month. If we get old Judge Holland he's liable to stick me over on California Street for thirty days and that's no bargain. All them damn queers over there. Bad enough I gotta peddle my ass on the street without having some Lezzie working on me."
"Oh, well, it's free room and board," Debbie said.
"I know what kind of free room and board that is," Peggy groused. "You gotta blow the damn guards just to get something decent to eat."
"What's indecent about a man's dick?" a voice came from the back.
Again they all laughed.
Shelly shuddered at the language and also the prospect of being sent to jail for something as disgraceful as soliciting. At least to her it was disgraceful. The others didn't seem to mind.
The degradation that followed nearly shattered what little remained of Shelly's dignity. She was booked, searched by a rough police matron, insulted, fingerprinted and, finally, put in a cell with two dozen other women. However, her stay, as well as that of the others, with the exception of Peggy, was short. Within two hours they were released with a severe reprimand.
But the thought of having her name on the police blotter plagued Shelly. She was indignant over the false charge, angry that her name might even appear in the paper.
"Well, dearie, now you know what it's like," Debbie laughed.
"Yeah," tittered one of the others as they walked down the steps of the station, "now you're an official pussy peddler just like the rest of us."
"Get away from me, you filthy pigs!" Shelly screamed. She stopped on the steps. "Go on, I don't want to be seen with any of you!"
"Get her," Debbie said.
"Yeah, what's she think she's got, a damn gold -lined cunt or somethin'?"
"I'm not one of you!" Shelly burst out.
"Oh, yeah? What are you? One of those innocent little housewives that go around giving it away? Just because you ain't ever been picked up before don't make you no saint," Debbie spat, turning to the others.
"Face it, baby, you're an ass peddler just like the rest of us."
Shelly glared at the group for a moment, then stalked stiffly away. Behind her, she could hear mumbling and light laughter among the girls. Her head was beginning to fill up with thoughts that disturbed her. "Go around giving it away" haunted her. The words burned into her brain. Am I really a ... prostitute? It's a need ... a woman's natural need, she told herself. Is being promiscuous the same as being a prostitute? Why aren't men called whores? They go around crawling into bed with anyone that will let them and no one thinks too much about it. Why are women singled out and called evil names when they fulfill a natural desire?
Puzzled, Shelly struggled for the answer. The emptiness in her heart echoed through her, then closed in to smother her in sleep.
In the brightness of the early morning sun, the stark realization of what she had heard the previous day hammered at her brain, beating a harsh headache into her troubled mind. She groaned, rolled over, and fumbled for a cigarette. She took one, rolled it slowly in her fingers, studied it, then put it down.
For a long time she lay in bed, head throbbing, as she thought of how her life of pleasure had been so cruelly analyzed and judged by the women at the bar. Finally, after almost two hours of torment, she arose, slipped into her housecoat, and went to the kitchen to make some coffee.
Indifferently stabbing the scoop into the coffee can, Shelly was still thinking about the awful word she had been called when she happened to look down to the street where she saw the mailman making his way toward her building.
For some years her mail had meant nothing to her. No one wrote to her, and the only mail she ever received was an occasional bill from one of the department stores where she carried a small charge account. Also, she received a check from Wymore Enterprises and one from the insurance company.
For some unexplainable reason, her eyes remained on the mailman and, for just a moment, a pang of loneliness ran through her. If only someone would write, she thought. If only she would get a letter of some kind from someone-anyone. She shrugged, sighed, and went on with her coffee making.
When she had finished her second cup and tried her first cigarette, she thought once again of the mailman. Maybe, just maybe, there would be something in her mail box today. She got up and went to the first floor vestibule where the mail boxes were.
Before she had inserted the key, she could see the white envelope in the box. A little puzzled, she took the letter and carefully read the return address. Elton and Honeycutt, Attorneys at Law. The address was Wildwood, and Shelly recognized it immediately as the law firm that had handled her late husband's estate.
Elated, she clutched the letter to her and almost ran back to her apartment. Once inside, she tore at the letter, happily thinking the contents would be pleasant-perhaps a check.
Her joy was short-lived, however. In terse, business-like language, the letter informed her that payments from Wymore Enterprises would cease with the enclosed check. The reason given was that, prior to his death, the elder Wymore had gone bankrupt which would, naturally, bring all cash payments to her to an end.
Shelly read the letter over and over, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it against the wall. She stood in the center of the room in a state of shock. She had had no idea that Wymore Enterprises was in trouble. But then how could she? She had never kept in touch, never once written to Tom's father. She had been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking the payments would go on for the rest of her life. Such a thing as bankruptcy had never entered her mind.
Slowly, the full realization hit her. She walked across the room and picked up the bottle from the table.
CHAPTER TEN
So comfortable and secure had Shelly been over the past few years that she had given little thought that one day she might have to worry about such a lowly thing as employment. The letter from the law firm had a definite sobering effect on her at first then, after due consideration of this predicament, she went into a mild form of shock.
Now in her forties, she realized suddenly how inept she was. She possessed no skills whatsoever. Although she had been somewhat of a leader in civic affairs, these accomplishments were now long in the past. Also, she realized what she had learned along these lines stood her in a very poor economic situation. Employers just did not hire garden club leaders or anything even remotely connected with clubs.
Shelly shuddered at the thought of the type of job she might have to take-clerk behind a laundry counter, clerk in a dime store, housework. She couldn't even qualify as a typist. The future suddenly terrified her. Surely, she thought, a woman of her background would not have to begin at the bottom of the ladder at her age. Unfortunately for her, employers were not impressed with her background, her past position or who she had been once. They viewed her applications with a critical eye, rejecting her at every turn-that is, for the positions she applied for, for she answered only those ads which appealed to her. Consequently, after two months of searching, she was still without employment.
The constant rejections caused her to turn more and more to her bottle for solace.
She was out of sorts this evening, as she had been since awakening from an early afternoon nap. A walk along the street and an inspection of what the day had to offer had been most disappointing. She had seen, in that brief excursion, all that the day had to offer in the way of employment and she freshly resolved that tomorrow would be different. She began to think of the business world as absurd and stupid. Somehow, she was going to change it.
She didn't bother to analyze the impulse that turned her out of her apartment and down the street toward the nearest bar; often she would do that, give way to an impulse without asking herself where it was leading her. Most of the time, she knew, however, that a bar led to the most gratifying of her wants-the company of a man.
As she entered the bar, she couldn't help surveying the interior for likely-looking prospects. She was in the habit of doing this most openly now. Disappointed that there was no one she might become interested in, she took a seat at the bar.
Halfway through her first drink, Shelly became aware that someone-a man-had come in. He had seated himself at the bar and was just raising his drink to his mouth when Shelly happened to notice him. A sudden thrill ran through her. The man was strikingly handsome and dressed so neatly that she knew he must be someone of importance. Probably an executive of some sort, she thought. And now, as her interest came alive, she was wishing she had taken the time to change into something more fashionable than the plain black dress she was wearing.
To increase the thrill raging inside her, she noticed the man was now regarding her with considerable interest through the back bar mirror. But she managed to outwardly ignore him. His bigness and handsomeness had made their impression on her. And now, after making sure he had noticed her, her interest in him gradually forced her to turn and cast a slightly flirtatious look in his direction.
When she had finished her drink and the man still made no move to strike up a conversation, Shelly decided to take matters into her own hands. If nothing else, she reasoned, this man would furnish her with a few drinks, something she now needed more and more because of her dwindling finances. So she walked up to him and smiled.
"Hello," she said shyly. "Please don't think I'm being forward, but aren't you from Wildwood?" She was sure he wasn't.
"No, ma'am, I'm not," he said, smiling.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You look just like someone I used to know."
"Yeah, I know. I've been told that before."
Shelly studied him for some moments. She didn't know if he was sincere or just teasing her. "Well, you do have that sort of face," she said slowly, still feigning some distant recognition.
"It must be a pretty common face," he said, still smiling. "Everybody thinks I'm somebody else."
"I think it's a nice face," she said brazenly. "Well, I've managed to get along with it for some years," he said. "Won't you sit down?" Shelly sat down.
He grinned broadly. Shelly wasn't sure whether it was because of her sudden move or whether it was out of genuine pleasure at having female company. She didn't worry about it. She was seated next to a man-a very handsome man and beginning to feel the warm glow that alcohol gave her.
"My name is Ted Kingswood," he said. He looked at her questioningly.
"Shelly," she said. "The last name is unimportant."
"That depends, if it's your name, that's one thing. If it's also your husband's, well...."
"It belongs to me now. I don't have a husband."
"Nice to know you, Shelly," he smiled.
He looked at her for some time without saying anything. She was looking in the mirror and when his glance turned into a stare and moved over her body, she felt so excited a shiver ran through her, causing her to tremble slightly.
"You come here often?" he asked.
"Not very," she replied. She -eyed him now in a direct way, her thoughts weighing an impulse to reach out and touch him, an urge so overpowering she had to turn away briefly.
"You said you weren't married, didn't you?" he asked.
"That's right. My husband is dead-shot himself," she said abruptly.
Ted frowned. "A man doesn't do a thing like that without good reason."
She shrugged. "Who knows what his reasons were?"
There was an abrupt wariness in him that would have taken a sharper eye than Shelly's to detect. His face set itself seriously to mask his true thoughts. "That's one of the tough ones to figure," he said. "We never get a victim's firsthand account of whether it was right or wrong. As for me, I'm not that curious that I want to find out-not that way."
Shelly tossed her head impatiently. "Who's ever to know? We who are left behind can only guess at what the true reason was." She gave him an appealing look.
He sat there eyeing her gravely a long moment and, in the end, lifted his shoulders and said, "That's something for which I have no answers."
She nodded mutely and turned away. Then she turned back to him, smiled slightly, and asked, "Why are we talking about such a morbid subject, anyway? I'm sure your wife would make a more interesting subject."
He tilted his head in a slow nod without saying anything for a considerable interval. Then, abruptly, he said, "This means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Sitting here, talking to someone."
Puzzled, she replied, "I-I suppose you're right, but I didn't think it showed."
"It shows," he said simply.
Gladness touched her features now, and all at once she reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm glad you're willing to listen to me."
"It's not what I had in mind for this evening, but as long as you're happy, I guess that's what counts."
A faint alarm touched her glance, then faded. "I didn't mean to be a bore," she said.
"You're not a bore. If I didn't think you wanted to talk about it, I would have changed the subject."
"You think I want to talk about something like that?"
"You must. You brought it up," he told her.
She caught her breath and one hand drifted to her throat as she swallowed hard. She hadn't realized it until he had told her that she had on numerous occasions brought up Tom's death and the manner in which he had died.
"Sometimes they say people talk about unpleasant things because of a guilt feeling," he went on. "It could be that you feel responsible for your husband's suicide." He didn't move and now she felt the weight of his steady glance, and a tide of color rushed to her cheeks.
"Wh-why, that's preposterous!" she exclaimed. "Tom and I were very devoted." The lie made her blush even more.
His brows lifted in a polite query. "Really?" There was an accusing implication to his oneword question.
"Of course!" she shot. "You're making it sound as though I were to blame for his ... his suicide. Why ... why I wasn't home enough to even bother him! What he did was his business!" Too late, she realized what she had said and immediately worried about the effect it would have on Ted Kingswood.
The barest trace of a smile crossed his lips. "Oh?"
His manner had now become thoroughly irritating to Shelly and she tried desperately to control herself. This man-this dreadfully handsome, irritating man-was not at all what she had expected. She stole a quick glance at him. "Doesn't matter," she said lamely. "That's all in the past. I should know better than to even bring it up."
"Do you feel you had a part in killing him?" he asked.
She did not answer immediately. She was trembling and she feared her answer would betray her innermost feelings. "So you believe it, too," she said softly.
"Believe what?"
"That I killed him."
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to."
He smiled, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter now, Shelly. It's finished. There's only one thing you can do now."
"Do? What on earth can I do now"!" For an instant she appeared startled. Then her eyes took on a chilled, disdainful look. "Like you said, it's all over-finished. I can't do anything about what's already happened."
"Have you ever thought about telling someone the whole story-the truth about yourself?"
"No, I haven't because there's nothing to tell," she said irritably. Then, staring at him, her eyes afire, she asked, "Say, what are you anyway?
A priest or something?"
"No, I just thought I might be able to help you."
"Well, I don't need any help," she clipped. "I'm perfectly happy the way I am."
"Your discussion with me indicates you aren't," he said calmly. "I think you need to get your troubles out in the open."
"I didn't think I had any troubles until you brought it up. Now it looks like I've got troubles I didn't even know I had. You sound like a psychiatrist."
"I am," he said slowly, a slight grin forming on his lips.
"I might have known," Shelly said with exasperation.
"And I know your other problem, too," Ted said. He seemed to be toying with her now, smug in his manner, not interested in her as a companion for the evening.
"Other problem? What other problem?"
"The reason you're here, in this bar. Why you came over to talk to me."
Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. She wondered if he could really read what she thought she had carefully concealed-her want for a man.
"I don't understand you," was the best she could manage.
"I think you do," he said, his manner still smug. "And I'm not your boy. I don't know if you're a, well...."
"A prostitute?" she cut in. "Why don't you say it?"
"Well, whatever you had in mind, you can count me out. I'm not interested in anybody but my wife. Sure, we can sit here and talk and have a few drinks, but that's all I care about. When I go, I go alone. Clear?"
It was all too clear to Shelly. Now her dejection hit the depths. Not only was she rejected by the business world, but now she had been rejected in the one business she knew so well. The realization crept slowly over her that she was no longer desirable. To Shelly, it was a terrible blow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After Ted Kingswood had gone, which was shortly after he had rejected Shelly's charms, Shelly sat alone for the better part of an hour. Even the bartender, who couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Shelly and Ted, did not offer to talk to her.
Shelly's bewilderment and hurt was so strong in her that she felt numb, completely worn out. Finally, when her thinking got her nowhere, she picked up her purse, then hesitated, not knowing whether to leave and be lonesome at home or stay and be just as lonesome in a public place.
Presently, however, she went out, hoping the change out in the fresh air would help her desperate condition. She remembered that walking had always improved her frame of mind and she was off briskly down the sidewalk, ignoring the inviting bars along the way. Her mind was reacting to Ted's comments and the more she thought of them, the faster she walked.
After an hour, weary and still in a bad mental state, she retraced her steps, and returned home. She felt hungry and remembered some of the leftovers in the refrigerator.
But in the end, she simply couldn't face the thought of food and wearily took the chair at the dining room table to sit staring blankly at the flowered design of the wallpaper. Ted Kingswood's comments kept coming back to her. The smugness on his face had shown so plainly and she couldn't forget it. And now, for the first time since Tom's death, she began to face herself for what she really was and what she might have been responsible for.
Thinking back on what Ted had told her she began to see a logic in his remarks that had escaped her prior to this time. She had always been on the defensive before, not allowing herself to think she was to blame for everything that had happened.
She had put those ideas aside in the past, but Ted's quick judgment, the remarks of others in the past, now came back to haunt her. Against all this she had been able to place her instinctive liking for the things that made her happy-the company of men-in a bind, self-analytical appraisal that told her she was doing the right thing.
Gradually, her viewpoint began to change as she thought in this vein. At the very least, she was beginning to accept some of the blame, if only a minute part. And with this small self-indictment building inside her, she realized with a sudden, deep-striking regret how unfair her treatment of Tom had been. She could make out nothing through the fog of confusion beyond that faintest possibility that she had done him a real wrong.
Once she realized how wrong she had been in condemning everyone but herself, she became alarmed. She was once remembering Tom, his quiet ways, his content with life as he wanted to live it. She thought, too, of the girls in the bar who had labeled her as a prostitute. She did not let herself believe she was qualified for this title, even though twinges of conscience were nipping at her mind.
The encounter with her innermost feelings and the acceptance of some bare facts spread a warm glow through her, and the sting of the accusation began to lessen. A quick drink might even remove the hurt completely, she reasoned, and went to the cupboard for her bottle.
But the feeling of guilt did not disappear under her alcoholic balm. Instead, it had the reverse effect. Her thoughts stayed with and about Tom. Up until this evening, she had felt very little remorse over what he had done. But now, with the aid of numerous drinks, she was brought back to reality with a particularly vicious jolt o: her conscience. She was startled over what had crept into her mind. A voice, faint and indistinct, whispered, "You killed your husband ... you killed your husband ... you killed...."
"No, no, no!" she screamed. "I didn't kill him! I didn't kill him. I didn't ... I didn't...."
But the voice, louder now, repeated the ghastly accusation over and over, and she answered with screams and poundings on the table until her hands and arms ached.
Then, suddenly, her mind brought something into sharp focus. The day-long confusion of her thoughts melted before a swift and terrible certainty; and she was afraid-so afraid, she shook with the fear.
At once, in its entirety, she saw this act of Tom's for what it was-murder. Murder at her hands. The next instant she was gasping, "I did kill him! It was my fault!"
She was not hysterical now, but calm and somewhat bewildered. She stared wide-eyed at herself in the mirror across the room. The calmness of her admission caused a strange look to come over her face, twisting her features into varying contortions that even she did not recognize as having been there ever before. Her calmness seemed to drain away the fear that had risen in her and now a sensation of mild anger began to appear. Nor could she seem to summon more than a surface anger-an anger against herself.
The fury, the raging fire inside her, lay strangely quiet, blanketed by her feeling of utter helplessness and how completely she had deceived herself over the years.
If only she had faced herself at the beginning, admitted she was wrong, she might not have found herself living in such utter loneliness.
She moved closer to the window so she could watch the street below, the cars moving slowly and the people seeming to be going faster than the cars. She watched until the darkness had swallowed every moving shape and after that she sat unmoving, listening until even the sounds were gone.
Only when the stillness was complete, when not a sound came to her, did a real anger begin to stir in Shelly. It mounted to a pitch that finally made her leap from her chair and start running around the room, calling Tom's name. It was the sound of her voice that sobered her finally to the realization of how futile her action was. She stopped and stood staring into the blackness, breathing heavily, thinking now of the things she should have done and how contemptible and loathsome her life had been.
She turned finally and walked back to the table, the dim light from the street below guiding her. She now knew how deeply engrossed in herself she had been all her life and that she had, somehow, lost all sense of direction. She hadn't the beginning of an idea which way she should turn to get herself back on the right track. She was completely and utterly lost.
She turned to her bed to find the inner peace she most desperately needed. But she slept little, tossing most of the night. When she awakened completely in the morning, she sat up and slowly shook her head. She hated to face a new day.
But she knew she would have to face the day and face it with a new outlook. Her head throbbed and her body ached. She turned toward the mirror and looked at herself. Her face seemed swollen, and her eyes were reddish and puffed; her hair hung in ragged strands, the gray seeming to have increased overnight. The thought of getting out of bed revolted her, and yet she knew it had to be done.
She went to the bathroom and put herself back in shape. Now she was at least halfway ready to meet the new day, refreshed from her shower and cosmetic maintenance. She told herself something favorable would turn up.
Yes, she decided, today would be a step in a different and, she hoped, better direction.
When it was quarter to nine, she got ready to leave. Today she would make an extra effort to find a job. She smiled at her own image in the mirror as she fluffed her hair before stepping out into the hall.
Outside, she breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, such as it was in Chicago, and set off on her quest to find some type of employment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shelly was filled with pleasurable desire as she walked briskly down the crowded sidewalk. Her decision to organize herself better gave her a feeling of newness, of suddenly living in a different world, and she immediately felt better as these thoughts coursed through her. Her mind was relieved and, gradually, she felt almost bouyant.
Shelly looked more like her old self this morning. Her hair was done the way she had done it many years before, loosely, and showing its gentle curl with deep coils circling her head high in front and low at the back. She was wearing a small blue hat tilted sharply forward, and she was dressed better than she had been in many years. She had color in her cheeks, aided by a dab of rouge, and her eyes were alive, almost merry, not showing their deep hurt of yesterday. She wasn't letting her worry tear her apart as it had threatened to last night.
Close ahead, she saw a man coming her way who looked familiar. For a moment, she could not recall where she had seen him before but did not give the matter much concern as she and the man neared each other. Then the man turned sharply and made his way toward a small restaurant.
Then she recognized him. It was Ted Kingswood.
He paused before the restaurant door, and was reaching for it when he saw Shelly.
Shelly's glance swung his way and came acutely alive.
He let his hand fall and turned slightly, facing her. Shelly's eyes veiled over as she took in the move and understood that he recognized her. He looked away momentarily, then let his eyes bore into her as a slight, knowing smile crossed his lips. He nodded curtly, then looked away and indolently pushed the restaurant door open, as though in a gesture letting her know she was extremely unimportant to him. And that he knew exactly what she was.
The realization of the meaning in his look infuriated Shelly. She had an almost irresistible urge to follow him into the restaurant and slap his smug face. But she walked on, the embarrassment of this chance meeting causing the anger to burn in her as it had the night before. But she realized that by making an issue of this thing between them, she would only increase the uneasiness in her and, she thought with horror, only whet Kingswood's appetite to further devour her. Nor did she feel comfortable about his, or anyone else's curiosity about her.
She tried to regain her composure, for she knew that anger would not help her in achieving what she had set out to do ... find a job.
Methodically, Shelly made the contacts she had planned, was interviewed countless times, and at the end of the day she had agreed to take a job as a cashier in a medium-sized restaurant in the downtown area. Although she had no experience, the owner had agreed to give her a chance.
"I'll let you work a couple shifts," he said, "and we'll see how you make out. There's really not much to it, but you do have to be able to make change accurately and quickly."
"Oh, I can do that easily enough," Shelly said. "I've been handling money all my life." She laughed lightly at this and smiled in return.
The restaurant owner, Ira Williams, was a small man, standing barely five-foot-three. A bushy black shock of hair sat almost defiantly atop his head, showing premature streaks of gray that made him look both older and more belligerent than he was, for he hadn't yet reached thirty-eight and was ordinarily mild-mannered.
"Handling money is one thing," he said, "but making correct change is another." His manner had changed to one of apprehension, and he looked like he might change his mind.
"Oh, I'm sure I won't make any mistakes," Shelly assured him. "I'll be very careful."
"I hope so," Ira said, half to Shelly and half to himself.
Elated, Shelly thanked Mr. Williams, then rushed home to prepare for the next day's work. The thought of going to work both pleased and troubled her. She was happy that she would have an income but worried that she might not be able to perform her duties as expected. She was disturbed, too, that she had finally been reduced to the role of employee.
Elation and pleasure over being employed, unfortunately, were not enough. Somewhere, ability entered into the picture. Although she was adept at handling money in and out of her own purse, Shelly soon found it was quite another thing to make change, quickly and accurately, while customer after customer pushed money at her. She made mistakes, she flustered easily and she found that eight hours on her feet were quite different from eight hours sitting at home or at a bar.
Nor did her incapabilities go unnoticed by Ira Williams. Time after time, shaking his head, he had to correct the errors of his novice cashier. Along with being mild-mannered, one of Mr. Williams' virtues was patience. He seemed to be determined to correct Shelly's mistakes even if it meant an almost continual turmoil around the cash register. He would step in, inform her patiently where she had erred, then go ahead with his other duties.
Then, after a month, Shelly improved. This gave her confidence. It also brought a new friendliness from Ira.
Along with her confidence, Shelly also acquired a touch of bravado and daring. She noticed whenever the register did not check out right, nothing was said. Most of the time it came up short, very seldom over.
This small failing on her part and the apparent indifference of Mr. Williams began to disturb her. The gentle nip of larceny entered Shelly's heart. She wondered if the small shortages were to increase, what Ira's reaction would be. Certainly, she reasoned, if a small shortage brought nothing but a mild comment from him, a slightly larger one would bring nothing more.
Her wages could be supplemented with a small dip into the till. She told herself this was not wrong. She was entitled to it. After all, eight hours on one's feet was worth a little extra. With her past history of numerous errors, Ira would not suspect that she was actually taking money.
But then another thought struck her. Why risk being accused of errors at all? Surely, with the countless items not accounted for with guest checks, she could slip small amounts into her pocket without in the least jeopardizing her job. Candy, gum, cigarettes and the many other items in her charge could be sold and the money pocketed without being noticed.
This, then, was her plan, and each day she brought home the money she had managed to pilfer. It did not disturb her. Furthermore, the mild little Ira Williams had it coming, she told herself. Not once had he as much as made one suggestive remark to her. Instead, he seemed almost to ignore her. No matter how flirtatiously she looked at him, no matter how many openings she left him, he brushed them aside, seeming not to notice.
This, as much as anything else, was the reason Shelly had decided on taking money out of the till. She did not feel guilty about it. She felt she had a right to take money and she justified her action to somehow hurt Ira Williams for ignoring her. He had rejected her feminine offerings-he must be made to pay. It was as simple as that to Shelly.
But as clever as Shelly was with her petty pilferings, she was not clever enough. She underestimated the detective qualities of Ira Williams. She suddenly found herself in his office, answering his calm but demanding questions. While Ira talked, that mood of Shelly's, that same feeling of frustration and helplessness and impotent anger, was beginning to settle heavily through her once again.
Ira was angry, too, and his voice rose higher and higher, when suddenly he began swearing-a strident, low-voiced cursing that had all the venom in it the small man could command. He came up to Shelly, went silent for a moment, then all at once took the cigar from his mouth, tore it savagely in two, and hurled it on the floor.
"You stupid bitch! You goddamned stupid bitch!" he yelled. "I put up with all your mistakes, try to help you earn an honest living, and what do you do? The goddamn gall of it!"
"Mr. Williams, I-I didn't...."
Ira's face was livid. He held up his hand as Shelly tried to speak. "Cut it out! I don't want to hear anything you have to say ... !"
"But you're trying to say...."
"What the hell else would I be trying to say? Christ, first you try to put the make on me, and when that doesn't work, you start clouting the till! Jesus, you must think I'm awfully stupid!"
Oddly now, a keen relief was crowding Shelly, a feeling that after all that had happened, Ira had noticed her efforts to make him. Even though she was guilty of everything he was telling her, she had allowed herself to become inwardly angry. It was not an anger stemming from his words but, rather, anger with herself for being caught.
When Ira saw this change come over her, his eyes went wide with wonder. A subtle change rode through him; he was suddenly calm as he breathed heavily. "Now, do you have anything you want to say?"
"No, not really. You seem to have your mind made up about what I am. What could I say to change your mind?"
Ira turned brusquely away. "Oh, forget it!"
"I couldn't possibly forget it," she purred, trying to agitate the little man still more.
"You may not forget what I've told you, but you can sure as hell forget about working here! I've had it with you!"
"You're firing me, Mr. Williams? For what reason, may I ask?"
Ira glared at her. "You know as well as I do that I can't discharge you for stealing unless I have witnesses. Let's just say you didn't work out."
Shelly smiled, knowing Ira spoke the truth about firing her for theft. It was a difficult charge to prove. If it couldn't be proved, Ira would be wide open for a lawsuit.
In the end, Shelly and Ira parted company without further unpleasantness. Ira promised he would not mention what she had done to any prospective employers, which Shelly knew was a lie.
At the door, she turned, smiled, and said, "And I won't tell anyone you tried to make a pass at me. Well, maybe if someone asks me, I might mention it."
"Get the hell out of here, you bitch!" Ira screamed after her. The realization of what Shelly could do angered Ira still more, but there was nothing he could do about it.
On her way out of the restaurant, Shelly stopped one of the waitresses, brought her close, and said loud enough for some of the nearest customers to hear, "Better watch that little boss of yours, honey. He just offered to get a room so he and I could have a party. Can you imagine?"
"Wh-what?" the waitress stammered.
"That's right. I'm quitting. I don't like to work in a place where you have to be afraid of the boss and his damned hot pants!" She gave the girl a somewhat hurt look, then strode out.
It was a thing that pleased her, although some strange inner prompting kept telling her that she was as wrong about this as she had been about almost everything else in life. No matter, she told herself, it was what she had wanted to do and that was the most important thing-to do what one wanted. It was the creed by which she lived.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
That night, in her apartment, Shelly sat alone, almost brooding, yet inwardly pleased that she had been able to discharge some of her own personal venom on Ira Williams. It served him right for ignoring the gift of her body, a body she had now covered only with a light, filmy negligee. It was her costume for drinking and thinking, and she took delight when the alcohol warmed her, in caressing and stroking the curves of her hips and lifting and fondling her breasts.
A low murmur of voices drifted to her from some other apartment. The sound made her lonely. She thought idly of taking a walk, but the idea died almost at once without stirring more than a remote emotion in her. She doubted if she could be good company for anyone. Her bottle would serve to ease her loneliness.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on her door. Shelly's eyes went wide with excitement; any kind of company was welcome. She stared at the door, puzzled as to who might be calling on her. It was most unusual for anyone to knock on her door. Even solicitors were not allowed in the building. The knock came again.
"Wh-who is it?" she called out.
There was no reply. The knock was repeated.
She got to her feet, looking at the door a moment, then started toward it. She was surprised that she staggered slightly. She called out, "Just a minute. I'm coming." She pulled her thin robe tighter around herself.
The rapping stopped now. Shelly grasped the knob and opened the door cautiously. Almost immediately she recognized the aroma of a familiar cigar. The rank fragrance of Ira Williams' long, black cigar filled the doorway as he stood smiling in the dim light.
"Mister Williams!" Shelly exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
Ira only smiled, then moved slightly forward. Shelly moved back a step, half afraid and half puzzled as to why this little man was at her door.
"May I come in?" he asked pleasantly. "Y-yes, of course." She shrugged stiffly and moved aside.
When Ira was inside, Shelly closed the door. She was uneasy over his being there. She walked across the room and sank into her chair. She kept her eyes on the little man. There was a question in her eyes and Ira was quick to answer it.
"I just came up to let you know everything was all right," he said. His face showed first concern over her uneasiness, then faint amusement. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."
Shelly did not answer immediately but looked at Ira, studying both his face and his words. His smile broadened into a grin.
"Is a person's fright a laughing matter to you?" she snapped icily.
"Not at all," Ira said soberly, "but I was thinking about our ... our little disagreement at the restaurant and it just struck me as ridiculous that we should part that way."
"If you thought it was ridiculous, why did you talk to me the way you did? After all, you called me some pretty nasty things."
"I'm sorry," Ira said.
"But why did you?" Shelly persisted. She knew she was being unreasonable in pursuing this point, but she felt unreasonable anger, an anger that was as hot as it was humiliating.
Ira's face changed subtly, and he reached in his breast pocket for a fresh cigar. "Now calm down," he said, seeing the anger rise in her. "The whole affair is over, and I'm sorry that it happened in the first place. I'm sorry about our little disagreement, too."
"It was more than a little disagreement," Shelly said.
"All right, all right," he said, a little edge to his voice. For a moment they stared at each other, Shelly with a quiet malevolence. Slowly, he laid down his cigar and rose and came across to her. Facing her, he spread his legs and put his hands on his hips. To Shelly, he was a far cry from the type of man she liked. Yet, he was a man, and he was in her apartment. The thought had a calming effect on her.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked.
"Sure," he grinned.
As she stood by the table, mixing two drinks, she asked over her shoulder, "You're here for something, I presume. I mean other than to apologize, aren't you?"
"No, that's about it," he drawled.
"Nonsense," Shelly said as she handed him his drink.
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't come up here just to say you're sorry," she said evenly. "There must be another reason."
"Well, to tell you the truth...."
"That's what I want-the truth." She was hoping he would admit he had come to see her just for herself, but he disappointed her with his reply. "I thought the truth might be a refreshing change."
"Well, I was thinking over the argument we had after Wilma, the waitress, told me what you told her on your way out and I thought I'd better have a little talk with you to find out what you meant by it."
She smiled at him. "That worries you, doesn't it?"
"In a way ... yes. Especially when it isn't true. Frankly, I was a little put out, maybe even a little scared that you might start spreading it around in the wrong places, if you know what I mean."
"Of course you must mean if your wife found out you were trying to lay some of the help, huh?"
He nodded. "That's right," he said firmly.
She studied him. He looked back at her, then leaned back in his chair and cuddled his cigar.
"To tell you the truth, I hadn't given it a thought," she said.
"And that's a crock, too," he said quickly.
"No, I wouldn't do a thing like that," she said. She was concerned now that Ira was here merely to smooth over the rift that had occurred between them. Then, when he was certain of her behavior, he would leave-leave her to her terrible loneliness. She would have to avoid this at all costs, she told herself. No, he wasn't the sexiest thing in the world, but he was here and he was a man.
She moved closer to his chair and tried one of her better smiles on him. Hesitantly, he tried to form a smile, made it look more like a wince, then a sickly grin.
"How's your drink? Ready for another?" Shelly asked.
He grinned up at her and extended his empty glass. Then he got to his feet and stood before her, inches away. The nearness excited him and Shelly smiled inwardly as she heard his breath suck in.
The room was almost completely dark, the only light coming from a small lamp in the dining cove. Shelly had a sudden moment of panic, realizing that just a short time ago this man-this little, ridiculous looking man-had been in the mood to kill her. The panic seemed to be contagious, for Ira moved back a step, grinning nervously, and walked around the room.
"Nice little place," he said.
"It suits me," she said, "but it gets awfully lonesome sometimes."
"Lonesome? You, lonesome? That's hard to believe."
An impish smile played on her lips. Her mantrap was working. She could envision her prey entering its outer reaches. "Why, of course, I get lonesome," she purred. "I'm all alone so much that sometimes I don't know what to do."
Ira hesitated a moment, wondering if she was going to say more. When he saw she was looking to him for comment, he said, "I should think you'd have a lot of friends to spend your time with. Don't you have anyone special?"
"A man, you mean? No, no one special. It's been a long time...." her voice trailed away. She hoped the implication would find its mark. "How about you, Mr. Williams? Does your wife approve of you being in another woman's apartment?"
Ira's face flushed. "I know I shouldn't be here, but, well, I just had to get things straight between us."
"No, not really," she purred. She could see immediately that Ira Williams was the type who was deathly afraid of his wife and it pleased her to know this.
"You know, Shelly, there is one more thing I'd like to bring up as long as I'm here," he said. "Don't think I'm some kind of dummy who doesn't know what's going on. When you gave me those openings at the restaurant, I wanted to take you up on them but I was afraid. I've never fooled around at work."
She smiled. "Then you did want me?"
Ira's face flushed even more. He moved toward her and took her hands in his. "I'm not at work now," he choked. "I want you. I want you so bad I'm willing to hurt someone else to have you. You don't know how many times I wanted to call you into my office and ... and, well, you know."
"That would have been uncomfortable," she smiled. "You don't even have a couch in your office."
"It wouldn't have mattered," he gushed. "Nothing would have mattered if I could have had you." He slopped some of his drink into his mouth, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "God, you don't know how you can get to a guy!"
Shelly had an impulsive moment of affection for him, a moment she fought with. She wanted to kiss him then, hug him ... and let him make love to her. But a wild and untamable desire stirred within her, and she instinctively withdrew her emotions, deciding, instead, to toy with her victim just a little longer.
"You shouldn't feel that way, Mr. Williams," she said. "It isn't right for you to feel that way about any other woman."
"Yes ... yes, it is," he said quickly, looking steadily at her. "I'm human, Shelly, and I know what I'm saying. I want you."
"You're sure ... Ira?"
"You know I am," he said excitedly.
He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. Shelly melted willingly against him.
Although pleased that she was once again in the arms of a man, Shelly experienced a moment when she felt like laughing. Ira was a little shorter than she was. She snuggled against him but found it difficult because of his bulky little body.
"Shelly ... Shelly...." he panted. "I want you ... I want you so much ... tonight ... now...."
"Yes ... yes, Ira...."
He pushed her gently away, then took her arm and led her toward the bedroom. She did not resist, walking willingly beside him, her arm around his fat body.
The excitement rose in him as his hand caressed her body through the thin negligee. Once in the bedroom, he turned her toward him and pulled her tight against him by holding the cheeks of her ass. His little hard-on pressed into her.
"Oooohhh," she tittered, "you are ready, aren't you?"
"Baby...." he murmured. Then his hands dropped to her ass and he yanked her, almost viciously,, and ground his hips against her. As her arms snaked around his neck, her negligee fell open, exposing her breasts. He immediately dropped his face to one nipple and engulfed it with wet lips. The nipples stood erect and his tongue encircled them and Shelly gasped with delight.
"Ooooohhh, Ira ... ooohhh ... you're so wonderful...."
Roughly, he pawed at her shoulders to pull the robe from her, then pushed her back toward the bed. She fell on her back, legs apart, and he was between them in an instant, clutching at his clothes, tearing at them in his lustful frenzy.
"Oooohhh, baby, wait a minute," Shelly said. "Take it easy. Here, let me help you with those clothes." She pushed at his shoulders and rolled him off her.
"I-I'm sorry," he panted. He began to undress as quickly as he could while Shelly tried to help.
"My, you are a hot little number, aren't you?" she said, looking down at his cock.
"Don't call me little," he snapped.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way." She took hold of his stiff little prick and pumped her hand up and down on it for a few seconds.
Then they were back on the bed again, both naked. His hands moved over her, stroking the length of her legs, going from one tittie to the other, then down her belly to feel the soft skin there. He made his fingers dance over the tender skin of her inner thighs, kissing her delicately now that he knew she was his, arousing her to an incredible degree of passion. She whimpered as his lips, hot and demanding, slid down her body. He flattened his tongue and made a wet streak from her tits to her belly button, then went lower and licked across the hair of her cunt.
She quivered as his large, wet tongue moistened her crotch. "Oooohhh, Ira ... Ira ... please do that some more...." She slid her body down on the bed in a gesture of complete surrender. He crawled up on her again, found her face, then brought his fat, wet lips to hers. The odor of her own pussy was on them and she licked them hungrily, thrilling to the taste as well as the aroma. They pushed their mouths together savagely, grinding their lips in feverish compulsion. And beyond the limits of his raging awareness-it seemed he felt her breasts working purposefully against him, rolling and pushing-he felt her fingers kneading the flesh of his back.
He was grunting and moaning and snorting unintelligibly, slavoring over her, licking, kissing and snatching at her titties with his pudgy hands. His hips were moving up and down and his slightly-wetted cock was jabbing into the hair of her cunt with anxious, urgent nudges.
"I WANT YOU TO KISS ME SOME MORE ... , DOWN THERE," she panted.
"Yes, yes ... I will," he murmured between quick suckings on her nipples. "Such a body ... such a beautiful body...." He moved lower on her belly and his fat body pressed her into the mattress. He was ecstatic. Shelly was the kind of woman a man would be more than happy tohave in bed. A doll, a clawing, passionate, living doll, and he had her all to himself. He could kiss and lick her all he wanted, something he had wanted to do each time he saw her in his restaurant.
She threw her legs out wide and took his arms and pushed them under her legs so that his hands could cup the cheeks of her ass. Then, when he was in position, she hung her legs over his rounded shoulders and pushed his head into her quivering nest. The sweet-smelling hole was like a tonic to him, enlivening him even more, and he pressed his face into it and smeared it up and down so that her pussy juices were left on his forehead, his cheeks and his nose. He seemed beside himself as he washed her open pussy across his face, sometimes pressing his nose into the tender membranes and licking furiously at the crevice below.
"Oooohhh, dearrrrr ... Oh, my God-dddd!" she quavered.
"Umhmmmm ... umhmmmm," he snorted in reply.
He pried her legs even farther upward so that the small brown hole between her ass-cheeks lay exposed before him. He did not hesitate. He lashed at it with his flat tongue, then poked at it with the tip. He smeared his saliva across it and ran his tongue up and down the entire ravine that led from her cunt to her asshole.
Suddenly, the sexual frenzy she had tried halfway to hold in check, rampaged, and Shelly knew it was time for her to take his cock into her. She tugged at his shoulders, trying to pull him atop her. Her body came alive beneath his licking, surging, quivering, blatantly crowding at his. Her hands swept over his pudgy body, squeezing his arms, and rocked her hips against his face.
Ira was on his knees, head lowered into her crotch, eating and lapping at it like a starved animal. Moans of delight escaped him as he feasted on her body. But even as much as he was enjoying himself, he felt his own need rise. Suddenly, he moved over her, cock in hand, and stabbed at the pucker of her anus. His prick was small and pointed; it slipped into her asshole without difficulty.
"OH, IRA ... DARLING ... NO!" she panted. "NOT IN THERE."
"Just a little ... please," he grunted. He moved forward into the spit-covered hole, and sunk the entire shaft of his cock into it.
Although Shelly wanted to complain, wanted his prick in her pussy, she could not help but respond to this wild, sexy little man. His cock felt good in her. There was no pain, no uncomfortable feeling. She felt it sliding easily in and out. Deftly, her body enveloped his, and they began the wild, impassioned motions of love. She closed herself on him ferociously, trying to respond to his lunges in and out of her. She gripped , her legs and held them down so that he would have better access to her asshole.
"MORE ... MORE...." she panted. "ALL OF IT ... ALL OF IT ... MORE...."
He slammed against her, his flesh slapping against her body as his bulk jiggled and jounced from his efforts. He was grunting with every stroke. He stopped for a moment and lowered his face to hers. His tongue washed across her lips, and she licked hungrily across his face to taste her own cunt juice. She took hold of his ears and held his face still so she could swipe her tongue across it.
Ira headed for his orgasm with a whimper that sounded almost as though he were in pain. He tore his face out of her hands and pushed himself up on stiff arms.
"I'M ... I'M GOING TO...." he clenched.
Suddenly, her body shot upward in a stabbing surge, and Ira felt the pain of her nails rake his back.
"BA-A-A-ABY!" she screamed. "YES! YES! NOW!"
"SHEL ... SHEL-LEEE," he whined. "FUCK, BABY ... FUCK!"
"YES, YES, YES!"
"FUCK ME IN THE ASSHOLE!"
"RIGHT IN YOUR ASSHOLE!"
"SHOOT IT IN ME!"
"YES! NOW!" he groaned as the first spasm captured his rocking body.
The hot lava from his cock spurted into her rectal cavity and she screamed with delight as it scalded her interior. He rammed forward with each spurt, sending a new stream each time. There was a slight bubbling sound as the hot juice filled her channel and sought escape around his cock-base.
Once more the nails ripped his back. She sank her teeth into his shoulder.
At that moment, Ira Williams was to discover the essential meaning of sex. In that moment of pleasurable agony, he was indoctrinated into the fiery, passionate life in bed with a true woman-a wild, untamed widow.
For a long time afterwards, they lay motionless, saying nothing. Two anonymous bits of spent, perspiring, panting hulks of flesh, trembling involuntarily from their frantic exertions.
Shelly had never realized how much pleasure there could be in getting fucked in the ass. She was surprised she had been able to achieve a climax. But then she realized that her body was one complete sex machine and would respond to sex in any form.
Blindly groping through a dazzling snowstorm of glittering, golden snowflakes, Shelly fought to retain the delicious moments of her latest conquest. Then suddenly, the golden flakes were gone. And she was paralyzed by the darkness-and the stillness. From somewhere deep inside her, she heard the alien voice of loneliness calling out to her, eagerly beckoning her to its bosom.
Ira Williams was gone. She was alone once again.
She felt the bed shake and discovered to her dismay, that it was from her own sobbing. Then, after long hours of agony, she slept.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, as Shelly sat alone in her big chair, she raised her hands in a gesture of inarticulate and unknowing pleading. "This isn't life, to be alone, in agony all the time," she sadly said out loud. "This isn't the real thing. I'm on a bridge looking down at the water. I'm dry and comfortable, but I have a terrible longing to swim, to plunge into the water, and get it over with."
Breathing deeply, partially from the excitement of her thought, partially from the embarrassment of what she was about to do, she fought for composure. It was, after all, a reasonable thought. She disregarded what some people would think.
But this was not an ordinary situation, she assured herself, and extreme measures were a necessity.
She wanted to tell herself that the idea had come to her on a sudden impulse but she knew better. She wanted to tell herself that it would pass, that it wasn't right. But in the dark reaches of her mind she knew what she planned was no fleeting thing, that she had thought of it, perhaps unwittingly at times, for many years.
She smiled. She did so because her mind finally accepted the idea. And conscience be hanged.
She got up and walked quickly to the phone, dialed a number, then waited for her party to answer.
"Hello, this is Mr. Williams," she heard a voice say.
"This is Shelly."
"Oh, hello," he said coolly. "What can I do for you?"
"Darl ... Ira, I've got something I'd like to talk to you about," she said softly. "It's important."
Uneasily, Ira asked, "What is it?"
"It's something we can't talk about on the phone, Ira. I have to see you in person. Can you come up to my place tonight?"
"I-I don't know. I, ah...."
"Good. I'll expect you around seven," she said curtly.
"Golly, Shelly, I don't know," he evaded. "I'm pretty busy and...."
"Ira," she said firmly. "I have to see you. I'll be waiting for you at seven."
He sighed heavily into the phone, as though he'd been selected for the guillotine. "I-I'll try I don't know if I can make it right at seven. You know how this business is."
"If you're a little late, it won't matter," she told him. "Just so you're here. Okay?"
A vivid flush covered Shelly's face after she had hung up. She was excited over having a man visit her once again, yet she was ashamed over what she was about to embark on.
Ira Williams has plenty of money, she thought, and he likes sex as well as the next man. In fact, the fat little thing is pretty good at it, considering the equipment he has. He was married, per haps happily so, and he would be unable to refuse her offer of love for pay.
"Ira ... honey," she purred that evening a she sat beside him on the sofa, "you do care for me, don't you?"
"Why, ah, of course I do. You know that."
"Then why don't you kiss me? You've been her a whole fifteen minutes already and you haven' even touched me," she pouted.
"You said you wanted to see me about, some thing important," he said. "What is it?"
"Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to be with you, that's all. How about a drink?"
Ira looked at her, a slight look of annoyance on his face. And there was a look of mild apprehension there, too. He had the sinking feeling he had fallen into a trap from which there would be no easy escape.
Appropriately, Shelly had attired herself in nothing more than her filmy negligee, and she made certain the lighting in the room was just enough so he could see her figure beneath it.
When she returned with the drinks, she coiled up on the sofa next to him, her knees exposed and one arm around his neck. "Now, how about another kiss?"
He leaned over and kissed her quickly, but reluctantly, then gulped two big swallows from his glass.
"Darling, you're sweet," Shelly purred. "Please love me tonight like you did last night."
"I-I can't," he stammered. "Not tonight. No more ... ever."
Shelly couldn't believe what she had heard. She felt a quick twinge in her stomach, as though an icicle had been dropped into it. "Oh, come now, you can't mean that," she said, smiling weakly.
"Yes, I do," he told her firmly, wiggling away. "I'm not in the habit of doing things like, ah, well, what we did last night. It was just an impulse or whatever you want to call it. I was ashamed of myself afterward."
Not conceding defeat, Shelly moved her hands gracefully and stroked the inside of his thigh. She felt him tense, then tremble slightly and his breath sucked in noisily.
"You can't mean what you're saying," she said softly. "You know you enjoyed every moment of it. You'll enjoy it just as much tonight. You know you will, darling."
"No!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to ... to fool around anymore. It isn't fair."
"Fair to who? Your wife?" she snapped, sarcasm etching her voice.
Ira started, as though he'd been slapped. All the desire he might have had for Shelly suddenly drained out of him. He didn't want her anymore. He cursed himself for having been weak in the first place. He squirmed uneasily and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.
When she saw she had struck a vital spot, Shelly pressed her attack. "If you love me ... tonight ... there's no reason why your wife should ever find out about us." She ran her forefinger around his ear, then tried to pull him toward her. She moved a bare knee against his leg.
"And ... and if I don't?" he asked hopelessly.
"Well, darling," she purred, "you wouldn't want me to do such a nasty thing as calling your wife and telling her where you spent the evening, would you? And I can tell her to look at your back. She'll wonder where the scratches came from."
"You ... you wouldn't!" he exclaimed. He looked at her and a feeling of deep loathing came into his eyes.
"I didn't say I would, but you have to be nice to me so I don't. You know, I'd hate myself if I had to do such a thing." She smirked a little and continued toying with his thigh. "Am I so hard to take?" She touched the little lump in his crotch where his limp cock lay. "You don't want to be mean to that, do you?"
"Stop it!"
"What's the matter, afraid it might get hard and then you won't be able to control yourself?" she chided. She pinched his cock again.
"I'm not interested in anything like that tonight," he said lamely, as he fought against getting a hard-on.
"Come on, honey, let's be friendly. There's no need for us to argue over such a silly thing as a little sex. Frankly, you turned me on, which surprised me; I didn't think you'd be that good. But you were terrific."
A grimace contorted Ira's face as he felt her fingers tighten once more on his cock, which had now responded by swelling slightly. He wanted to get away from Shelly, yet when she purred in his ear and toyed with his dick, he felt he might concede and take her to bed once more. A look of helplessness spread over his face. He was losing the battle.
"How about a drink so you can relax a little?" she asked.
He handed her his glass. Maybe liquor would help-one way or the other. He would either be able to resist her or he would be able to carry out what she asked without his conscience tearing him up. Mild-mannered as he was, a stabbing surge of hatred went through him and made him think of violence he did not believe was there.
Shelly, on the other hand, instead of feeling depressed over her forceful actions, had a lifting exhilarating sensation spread through her. Once more she had been the winner. She knew Ira was wilting. After all, he had done what she had expected him to do. It was the honorable thing for a man, she knew, and she knew he was satisfied with his initial rejection of her to salve his conscience. She understood. Once the few scattered clouds of bitterness passed, giving way to passion, he would love her all the more.
Shelly was a far superior bed partner than his wife, Ira realized ruefully. Angrily, bitterly, cursing the complicated fates that rule life, he tore at his clothes in a desperate move to show Shelly he would comply with her wishes-but against his will.
Shelly's body would be the instrument by which he would relieve his bottled-up frustration. She wanted to be fucked, so he would fuck her, violently, crudely. He would pound her desires unmercifully, make her plead for him to stop. Yes, he vowed, he would give her a fucking she wouldn't easily forget-like a hammering, unfeeling pile driver!
Unfortunately, the enthusiasm Ira Williams had for his planned act of crude, violent sex did not coincide with his anatomy. He hadn't taken into consideration that the tool he intended to pile drive into Shelly was more like a tack hammer.
And it was Shelly who unthinkingly brought this shortcoming to his attention more forcibly than he had realized himself.
"More! More!" she screamed. "Honey, I want all of it!"
"Damn you!" he exploded as he panted over her. "You're so fuckin' big you can't feel anything anymore!"
"More, lover! More!" she repeated. "Come on!"
"God damn you!" he shot. "What the hell more do you want?"
She collapsed under him, breathing hard. "You're so little," she said disgustedly. "I can hardly feel you."
"If your goddamn cunt wasn't all stretched out of shape maybe you'd have some feeling in the damn thing!"
She started her motions again, driving her hips up to him and clutching at his ass to press him tighter against her. "Fuck me, damn you! Don't stop now! Come on, baby ... fuck!"
This exchange of words in the midst of their rough sexual union did not improve Ira's condition. Instead, he found himself losing some of his passion as well as noticing a slow, gradual diminishing of his small cock.
"Jesus Christ!" she cried. "Don't lose it now!"
"You're not helping any," he protested, driving his sweaty body into hers.
Doggedly, Ira plunged on, trying to satisfy himself before she stripped all emotion from him. Her body was trembling uncontrollably beneath him and he drove viciously at her, driving her down each time she rose to meet him.
Then, with a panting grunt, he shot his wad into her.
Dazedly, she realized what had happened. "No, darling, not yet!" she screamed, but too late. "No, no, no!" She drove up in frenzied frustration, digging her nails vengefully into his back. "One minute more! Just one minute!" Shj was wild with fury, but there was nothing she could do. It was over.
"It was horrible!" she said finally, collapsing helplessly beneath his weight. "God, it's bad enough that you have such a tiny prick, but to come before I was ready...."
Stiff with anger, Ira rolled off her. On one hand, he felt embarrassed that he had been unable to hurt her, yet he was pleased that he had left her wanting.
Afterward, both still smarting and sullen, they lay motionless on the bed. Shelly's brain was filled with anger and frustration while Ira was being swept by a feeling of shame.
Finally, after an interminable span of silence, Shelly turned to him and said, "Would you like to try again?" There was a pleading, almost despairing tone to her voice.
"Not me. I've had it," he clipped.
Shelly was thinking of two things. First, she knew she could not afford to have her unwilling bed partner too angry with her, lest he flatly refuse to have anything further to do with her despite her threat to talk to his wife. Second, she still had a strong yearning to be sexually satisfied, regardless of how he felt about it.
"It was just a thought, darling," she said softly. She raised herself and peered down into his perspiring face. "Just to be nice to you."
"Nice to me? You've got to be kidding!"
"If you do, you won't have to come back tomorrow. Don't you think that's considerate of me?"
He glared up at her. "I hadn't planned on coming back tomorrow anyway. Or the next day, either."
"Now, now, that's no way to talk. If you want, we can make up a schedule when you're supposed to be here and when you can go home to your wife. That way...."
"Schedule? Jesus Christ, you must be out of your mind!"
"Don't be angry, dear. You know you ,like being here and you know, too, that I want you here. I think it's a very sensible arrangement."
He took his eyes off her and stared up at the ceiling. He felt helpless again. His mind whirled. What kind of woman had he gotten mixed up with, anyway? he wondered.
"And if I decide I've had enough?" he asked softly, without looking at her.
"Let's not even talk about that," she said. "I don't want you to be bitter, darling, so I won't even mention it."
"You're trying to blackmail me," he said weakly. "But I'm not going to let you control me like a puppet, dangle me around like a toy. I have other obligations, you know."
Shelly's eyes brightened at the opening his words had left. "Speaking of obligations," she said. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about and...."
His head jerked around so suddenly that she stopped talking. He glared at her angrily. "Do I understand what you're getting at? Are you hinting that I have some kind of obligation to you?"
Shelly turned away in feigned shyness. "Well, a woman has to live, you know. And now that I'm not working...."
"Yeah, I get it now," he said. "You worked this all out just to get me to keep you up, didn't you?"
"I didn't say you had to keep me," she replied softly. "That is, not entirely, but it does take a little to keep food in the house and, well, maybe a few other little things."
Disgustedly, he stared at her, half afraid to believe what he had heard. "Boy, you really believe in making that old box of yours pay off, don't you? Here you are getting fucked and you want to fuck me right back. Great!"
"I think it's a nice arrangement."
He sighed deeply and shook his head. "God, how did I ever get mixed up with a goddamn prostitute and a blackmailer at the same time?"
Shelly hung her head, stung slightly by his words. "You didn't mention love," she said soft ly. "Don't you have even a little feeling for me? I do for you."
"Shit! The only thing you have feeling for is cock and money!" he snapped. "How many other guys are you putting the screws to?"
She touched his arm lightly with her fingers. "There are no others, darling. You're the only man who's ever come up here. So you see, I'm not really all that bad."
"Just an innocent, all-American woman, eh?"
"Well, no matter how you look at it or what you call it, I still have to live and I'm willing to go to bed with you any time you want. You seemed anxious enough to go to bed with me that first night. Why can't you be just as anxious to do it every so often ? As for the money, why don't we just call it a loan each time you ... ?"
"Hell, yes, let's call it a loan," he said. "Of course, you didn't say anything about repayment. How about if we call it rent instead? You know, equipment rental." He put one pudgy hand between her legs and gave her pussy a tweak. "And if you're going to rent that thing out, I think you should make the most of it. Would you like to have me send you some other customers?"
"You make me sound like a professional."
"Well, what the hell do you think you are? You sell your ass and you become a whore. It's as simple as that."
"I don't like that word."
"You're the one who decided to wear the label."
"It's not like that at all. It's not as though I was having dozens of men use me every week and paying me for it. That's what a prostitute does."
"One or a dozen, what's the difference?" he asked. "I should think you'd want a lot of guys dicking you. As goddamn hot as you are, I don't see how one man could keep your old cunt satisfied!"
"Please don't talk like that to me," she said in a hurt voice. "There's no need for vulgarity." Then, warming to the original plan, she said, "Let's just call it a little arrangement between us as I mentioned earlier. No one else has to know. And I promise, I won't do anything foolish if you can't make it when you're supposed to."
Resignedly, knowing there was no way out for him, he asked, "All right, how much would you say this arrangement is worth per night? Are you going to go by street prices or just what you think your pussy is worth at the time?"
"Must you be so nasty?" she asked.
"No, I don't have to be, but it makes me feel better."
"As to what kind of money arrangement we have, well, I'll leave that up to you."
"How the hell would I know what a whore charges? I never knew one until you came along!"
"Please don't start that again," she said coldly. "I don't like it."
"Well, let's see, good ass, I understand, goes for about a hundred a night. But that's prime stuff. You know, chicks in their twenties with figures that haven't sagged all out of shape. A woman gets up in her forties, the price comes down and...."
"You should know what it takes to live," she broke in.
"You mean you really do want me to keep you up all the way?" he asked, frowning. He was hoping a twenty here and there might keep her quiet.
"It doesn't take much to keep me up. Just the rent and a little food and...." ... " a little booze," he cut in, looking toward the glass on the night stand.
She shrugged. "Well, yes," she said. Then, brightening, she added, "But it's for you, too, dear."
"Wow."
"I'm sure you won't mind a little liquor now and then. After all, we have to have something to drink, don't we? And, please, dear, don't be so bitter."
"I'm overjoyed," he grumped.
She ran her index finger around on his chest, then down onto his belly. "Why don't you make love to me one more time?" she asked.
"Those rocks in your head are beginning to rattle," he said. "How the hell could I after what you've just hung on me?"
She snuggled a little closer. She took one breast and held the nipple against his lips. He turned away.
"All right," she said. "Let's rest a little."
"By the way, when am I booked again?" he asked.
Shelly ignored the sarcastic remark. Instead, she cuddled even closer. She ran her hand down between his legs and took hold of his limp cock. She flipped it back and forth so the head slapped against his thighs. It may be sooner than you think, she mused to herself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The arrangement between Shelly and Ira Williams went on for several weeks, with the fat little man dutifully calling on Shelly at regular intervals to satisfy her sexual demands and to donate liberally for the privilege. He was annoyed, but there was nothing he could do. Each time he protested, Shelly threatened to expose his extra curricular activities to his wife. Whether she would actually carry out this threat or not, he did not know, but he couldn't afford to take the chance. In the meantime, he was being-sapped physically as well as financially.
Normally, Ira would have sexual relations with his wife two or three times a week. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it had kept both of them satisfied for many years. But now, with Shelly's constant demands on his body, he was forced to curtail his sexual activities at home to once every couple of weeks. His wife wondered about it and questioned him. He could offer no excuse except that he was getting older. He didn't know whether she believed him or not. He did know, however, that something had to be done, else his long-time marriage would be in jeopardy. There was too much at stake to lose everything now.
Ira thought of a plan. He was almost sure it would work. He would need help. In desperation, he dialed the number of an acquaintance of his.
* * *
Ken Riley had blond hair cut in a mod cut and wore a dark charcoal suit and white silk tie that looked almost iridescent, under his bronze face. He stood about six-two and had the appearance of having worked out with weights or exercised diligently for years. He could be described as perfect-his nose, his lips, his eyes, his hair-so perfect that he looked almost unreal. Not that he was soft looking. On the contrary, he gave the appearance of being tough and wiry.
There was nothing halfway about Ken. He was a study of sharp, defined lines and colors. When he wore a color there was no mistaking what it was supposed to be. It stood out on him. The same as his features. When he smiled there was no mistaking that he took genuine pleasure in the act, and when he wanted to display his displeasure or anger there was no question about his emotions.
Right now Ken Riley was smiling as he looked into the puzzled face of Shelly Wymore. She stood in the doorway of her apartment, door partially open, and wondered who this tall, handsome man was who had knocked on her door.
"Yes?" she asked.
Calculating but smiling eyes studied her for a moment. "Ira told me to come and see you," Ken smiled.
"Come and see me about what?"
"He told me all about you," Ken said. "I think you know what I mean."
"Ira told you? Now, what on earth could Ira have told you about me?" She asked the question but it was more a stall for time. Then her heart sunk. Had Ira contrived something to cause her trouble? "Are you a policeman?" she asked shakily.
Ken Riley kept his smile in place. "No, I'm not. Just a friend of Ira's."
"Wh-what do you want?" she asked. She gripped the door a little tighter. Her knees felt a little weak. Her mind spun, failing to remind her that Ira had said something about sending others to her place.
"May I come in?" Ken asked. He took a step forward.
Shelly instinctively moved back.
Ken Riley stepped into the room, still smiling, and studied the look on her face. He was still smiling warmly as he pushed the door shut behind him.
"You didn't say what you wanted," Shelly said, her voice quavering slightly.
"Please don't be scared," he said softly. He offered his hand but Shelly ignored it. "I'm a friend of Ira's. You can call him if you like."
Shelly was studying him, surveying him from head to foot, and trying to figure out why he was here. Although puzzled by his presence, she found Ken Riley a pleasant object to look at. After all, he was a very handsome specimen. And on that subject she considered herself an expert. It did not take her long to see the sexual possibilities this young stud offered.
In the dim light, Shelly didn't look her age. Her dress, although a simple little strapless affair without ruffles or lace or other decoration, looked as though it had been put together in a minute; but it had probably taken weeks of thought because, as Ken continued to study it; he realized that it was full of subtle little touches which emphasized the still-lovely figure of the woman wearing it.
To Ken, she looked like a woman in her thirties, and he watched her breasts rise and fall with her deep breaths as she stood before him. He became fascinated with them. His eyes took in their roundness and he smiled approvingly.
Shelly merely stood there watching him, uncertain as to what she should do. She knew he was letting his eyes rove over her and the look on his face showed his approval. She clutched tightly around herself with both arms, suddenly aware that she should at least try to make a pretense of mild indignation. She turned and walked to the table for a cigarette. Whatever her thoughts had been, they were suddenly and very abruptly washed from her mind by a wave of sexual hunger. Her fingers trembled as she lit her cigarette.
Ken noticed her shakiness. "Here," he said as he glided to her side. A lighter snapped into flame in his bronze hand.
She drew smoke, then exhaled it. "Thanks," she said.
She noticed his hand, strong and masculine, and her heart lurched crazily in her. She moved to the couch and indicated a chair to Ken with the sweep of her hand. She looked at him and a brief smile twitched her lips. She felt her knees go weak. Her heart pounded harder because it seemed to her the warm, measuring look, the look of open invitation she'd seen so many times before, was on his face. There was no mistaking why this handsome young man was here. She sunk into the cushions and gave her dress a slight tug up ward to expose more of her leg.
"So you're a friend of Ira's, huh?" she asked. He nodded.
"And just what did you have in mind by coming here?" She asked the question even though she already knew the answer. "Did he send you for something?"
He grinned broadly. "He thought you might like a change."
Their eyes met and locked for a long minute. Finally, she was forced to look away. She looked down at her cigarette. It had gone out.
Ken stood up suddenly and slipped out of his coat. He hung it over the back of the chair in front of the desk. Then he loosened his tie and laid it over the coat. He stood with his back to her and unbuttoned his shirt. Without turning around, he asked, "Are you getting ready?"
Shelly had already begun to quiver. She knew why Ken Riley had come to her place and she had already accepted the fact that she would go to bed with him. How could she pass up such a virile young man? When he turned around, bare to the waist, she had to close her eyes in a moment of ecstatic emotion at the sight of him. Her entire body trembled and she felt a twinge between her legs.
"I asked you a question," he said.
She recalled his question vividly. She wanted to tell him she had been ready all her life. She had an urge to tear off her clothing and fall on the floor in front of him and feel his strong body atop hers. But she only looked at him dumbly.
"You should be getting undressed," he said. He unbuckled his belt. "Or do you want me to help you?"
Shelly swallowed hard. She reached behind her and ran the zipper down her back, then stood up and slipped out of her dress. She moved hypnotically. She stared at Ken who was stepping out of his trousers. She watched as he slid his shorts down and gasped when she saw his half hard cock hang in a graceful arc away from his body. She reached behind her and undid her bra and shook it off her arms, then slipped her hands under the elastic band of her panties and peeled them off.
"I want you right where you are," he said, coming closer. He put his arms around her and pressed his strong, warm body against hers.
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Shelly managed at last. "What would you have done had I screamed?"
"I knew you wouldn't," he said softly. "Why would you want to scream? You knew why I came."
She gulped. She found trouble explaining to herself what had come over her. She had not been able to play her little man-trap game. He had merely flaunted his body at her and she had capitulated immediately. Was her passion so overpowering that a man merely had to look at her to have her body? Did she have that certain look about her that told men she was willing and al ways ready to go to bed? But what was the use in trying to analyze herself? She wanted sex. She had already agreed to sell it to Ira Williams so why not sell it to any man who had the price? And this young man-Oh, God, what a man!-even if he gave her nothing but his gorgeous body she was ready and willing.
He eased her away from him for a moment. He adjusted his long, thick and hot cock so that it lay against her belly, then pulled her hard against him by taking hold of the cheeks of her ass. Then he kissed her tenderly.
After a long time, after he had kissed her mouth and her nipples briefly, he looked down at her and asked, "DO YOU BLOW?"
She swallowed before answering. "UMMMM, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU LIKE."
"Sit down," he ordered.
She sat on the couch.
He came forward and held his cock in front of her face. He touched her lips with it. She closed her eyes and he put the head of his hot prick first on one eyelid, then the other. He moved it down her face until it was once again barely touching her lips.
Instinctively, she reached out and put her hands on his hips. He had a fresh, clean odor and she could hardly wait to get his beautiful cock in her mouth. She tremored and swallowed noisily. This was so different. She had always been in command before, now she was obeying the man. It thrilled her.
"SUCK IT NOW," he said evenly. And she did.
He moved his hips very little. He held her head in a gentle grip and felt it move back and forth on his dick. He pushed it deep into her throat, then moved slowly backward until she had to lean toward him to keep it in her mouth. He moved a little farther back, causing her to reach out even farther for him. She fell to her knees and crawled after him as he slowly moved across the room toward the bedroom.
At the side of the bed, he sat down while she still held his cock in her mouth. He took her head gently in his muscular hands and moved it away. Her lips were wet and shiny, her face flushed. She stared at the thick, shiny shaft that stood between his legs like a small totem pole. There was a look of hunger in her eyes, as though she wanted to suck it some more.
"NOW I'M GOING TO FUCK YOU," he said. He reached down and pulled her onto the bed.
She lay back in a hypnotic trance, waiting for the long slippery prick to pierce her. She wanted to reach down and open her cuntlips for him, but he nudged her away. She did not insist. He was the master. She would do exactly what he wanted.
Then he fucked her.
Ken Riley was a gentleman; he left three ten-dollar bills on the dresser when he had completed his session with Shelly.
* * *
In the cold light of a new day, Shelly found herself shrinking and disgusted with herself. And weary, a weary, tired, worn-out feeling that crept over and dominated her thinking. She had taken the step she had planned and now she found it hard to believe and accept. She was weary, too, from the desperate, fearsome tension that lack of money brought. What her two customers had left would soon be gone. She would have to get more and there was only one way she could get it.
So, she thought, she had been reduced to the age-old art of prostitution. There was no denying it any longer. She could perform a service for a fee. It was as simple as that.
But then, in her weariness, she didn't really care. Her life of mechanical sensuality flashed before her. There was no tenderness in her heart now and she wondered if there ever had been.
She thought of people. They were all alike, she decided. They all wanted something from other people. If they were women, they wanted something from men, and if they were men, they wanted something from women. It was a dreary thought. For the sake of a thrill, a woman had to give her body to the man who wanted to be thrilled. For a moment, she felt she didn't care if she saw another man for the rest of her life. But then, wasn't she, too, getting a thrill in return? And weren't men willing to give her money, support her, for sharing in this thrill? Of course! Why, she told herself, the whole thing was ridiculous. A woman could be paid for something she enjoyed as much, even more so in some instances, than a man and, yet, he was willing to give her additional enjoyment by leaving money.
It was all very logical to some but when she thought it out deeply, it didn't seem to make much sense. Maybe it was a bit unfair and illogical, perhaps even downright foolish.
Her inner consciousness found her thoughts in poor taste, even humiliating, but she ignored it. And, although she cringed at the thought of what her title would be, she nevertheless found it an acceptable way of life. At least, in her present state of mind. She had taken the plunge by forcing Ira Williams to pay her for her body which, in turn, brought the handsome Ken Riley into her bed. Even if she stopped with these two, her label as a prostitute would remain. What was the difference, she asked herself, one time or a thousand?
It was pleasant in a way. It was almost enjoyment, now that she accepted the fact of what she was and what she would continue to be. It had a narcotic effect on her. It was gratifying and she was lulled away by it, passing into a sort of stupor, not really caring for anything else.
Money, money, money, she thought. And sex, sex and more sex to go with it. She saw herself walking through a forest of male organs, hard and erect, each one different in its own way, but each one thrilling and exciting. The very thought of it brought a blush to her cheeks, but it was not from embarrassment but, rather, from the sheer pleasure and wantonness of it.
She had a sudden revulsion for anything decent. It did not fit into her pattern of life. She hated the chaste, the pure, clean little housewives for the simple reason that they were clean and chaste. They, too, could be classified as prostitutes, she told herself. No, they didn't sell their bodies on the open market for a stipulated fee. They sold their bodies for homes and furniture and toasters and clothes. The title of "Mrs." went with this private and exclusive sex.
Sex, in Shelly's eyes, was a natural, vital and very satisfying function, not a commodity to be sold or offered or withheld at the slightest whim of the female. The female should enjoy it as much as the male. It was a delightful act of extreme pleasure for both parties. It was his. It was hers. No strings or conditions attached. She had already told herself that when she sold her body she would enjoy it-and let the man know she was enjoying it. Otherwise the whole idea would be a fraud.
Now that she had made up her mind about what she was going to do, she decided there was no use in prolonging it. Perhaps it was because she feared she might change her mind if she devoted too much time thinking about it. Deep down, she had the sudden realization that this is what she had wanted to do for a long time and she realized, too, that she had always felt the very word to describe women such as herself had always been so repugnant to her. She had known what she was but had always refused to accept it. The simple act of accepting a fee for her body finally toppled her over the brink.
Inside herself, she was curious. She wondered how she would go about actually soliciting. But then she realized she had been doing it all her life. There was no need to alter her methods from those she had practiced in the past. The only difference now would be the asking for money. The thought disturbed her. She recalled the incident in the bar when she had been picked up with the other prostitutes and wished she could consult with Debbie or Peg to learn some of the details of how it should be done. But again, the womanly instinct in her quelled her uneasiness, making her feel inwardly relaxed and reassured, for she knew she could solve this problem the same as she had the many other problems that had confronted her throughout life.
She walked across the room and stood in front of the mirror. She slowly undid her negligee and let it slip to the floor. She studied her body carefully, noting that her once proud breasts had sagged somewhat and there was a slight bulge around her middle. It was not severe, yet took something away from the desirability men had seen in her. She frowned; that would drop the market value of her body somewhat.
She leaned forward and studied her face. A little network of lines had formed at the corners of her eyes and there were small pouches beneath them. She could not pass for a woman in her late thirties, anymore. The telltale streaks of gray in her hair could be dyed, she mused, fluffing her hair with both hands. She put her fingers on her belly and felt the skin. It was no longer tight and firm, but hung loose and slightly flabby. Then she ran her fingers across her pussy and wondered if this once intensely erotic part of her body had lost any of its allure. She patted it affectionately, realizing the passion still raged in her. She dabbed lightly at her clitoris and felt an immediate response. She smiled. Her most important commodity was still in excellent working condition.
Yes, she would take this new way of life and march through it without breaking stride. She would tame it to her whims and desires.
She was a whore now; a real whore, not a self-deceiving, pretending one anymore. Now she could actually make a business of seeking the one pleasure she loved most in life. The forest of male organs loomed in her mind again. An electrifying thrill shot through her.
Shelly threw back her head and laughed with a feeling of freedom she had never known before.
It would soon be dark. The loneliness of her room was beginning to close in on her. She looked wistfully at the approaching gloom through her window. Then she turned back to the mirror and studied her body briefly. With a smile, she patted her pussy with one hand and said, "COME ON, BABY, LET'S GO TO WORK." And that's what she did ....
