In the gamut of human emotions that separates human beings from the lower rungs of animal evolution, none victimizes us more easily and inflicts its power more devastatingly than jealousy.
Viciously, it grasps us, choking off self worth, squeezing pride to death, and fills our heads with plumped up images of our lover hot in the arms of a guileless foe, whose every feature, every gesture we know better than ourselves. Precious intimacy dies, leaving us wilted, the laughingstock of our withered strength.
The symptoms seethe and blister into infectious contagions that kill marriages. Punishing His Wife is the story of a husband who, after three years of marriage, becomes bored with her 'conventional' lovemaking and tires of her nagging horror of oral sex. He seeks relief in bars and feels he's transcended the lower platitudes of guilt ... until he discovers his wife's interests have wandered beyond his bedroom door.
What ensues is a combat of will, until discovery leads to truth, and truth to freedom; freedom of the body, for her; a freedom from guilt, for him. Anyone who can admit to having suffered the embarrassment of jealousy, will benefit from turning the page.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
October 23rd... the Atkins' third year anniversary dinner was spread sumptuously over the fine Irish linen tablecloth.
Ted's favorite dish-pot roast-was succulent and finely seasoned with the right pinch of paprika. Garlic bread oozed butter, and the vintage zinfandel was just piquant enough, without the corky taste. The television set was a non-interruptive blackened box whose glass was streaked orange with flickers of candlelight reflecting off Polly Atkins' fine wedding crystal goblets.
She smiled coquettishly under a halo of honey curls, her aqua eyes sparkling as daintily she lifted a forkful of salad to her rouged lips. Times like these, savored moments of intimacy, she realized just how rich in love she was with her husband.
Setting down her fork and dabbing at rosebud lips with the corner of an Irish linen dinner napkin, she leaned over and kissed Ted fondly on the cheek as he reached for a second slice of the warm garlic bread. "I love you, Teddie," she purred.
Ted grinned, and kissed her lips, sweetened with wine. He gazed into her eyes, gray in candlelight, with butterfly eyelashes creating teasing shadows over her high cheekbones. The stirrings of love and sensuality which had first excited him, and had never once stopped titillating him, rippled through his six-foot-one inch frame. Statistics state that the third year of marriage is the hardest; it pleased him that he'd managed to beat the odds!
Polly's full, ripe figure nearly burst from the tight bodice of her black sheath, and the plunging v-shaped neckline showed more than just a casual view of her sun-bronzed breasts. The bumblebees of her puffy nipples stuck out from under the jersey obstinately ... nipples which had been first caressed by him and only him. That claim to her virginity filled him with a manliness Webster had no definition for-somewhere in between God and master.
"More carrots, honey?" she asked.
Ted nodded, watching the smooth undulations of her buttocks tightly cupped in the black sheath as she scraped back her chair and headed for the kitchen. As he listened to the clatter of lids being removed from pots, he dwelt on the warm wet passion his wife stored between her well-curved thighs. Tonight was going to be the night ... after three years a man deserved a fresh kind of passion, proof that a husband was foremost a man.
Tenderly, she placed a dish of steaming carrots, dripping with aujus, before her husband and slipped back to the table. "I hope I put enough dill in for you."
Ted studied his wife's butter-smeared, succulent lips in the candlelight, barely tasting the crunch of garlic bread. 'Thanks, sweetheart, but I'm full." He leaned over and kissed those ruby lips. "After three years, you've learned to make a mean pot roast." Cautious of over-eating, he wiped his mouth, folded his napkin, leaned back and patted his stomach.
"But we haven't had the chocolate mousse yet!" protested Polly with a teasing smile showing off pearly white teeth.
"Let's save it for tomorrow," he offered. Another sip of wine would satisfy course number one, then on to dessert! Making love on a full stomach robbed him of energy and tonight he needed to be hard and hearty!
"Just let me clear up these dishes and-"
He caught her arm. "Forget the dishes! I have a little surprise for our trip to Hawaii."
Catching her by the delicate wrist, he urged her away from the littered table and pulled her toward the sofa. From beneath the flounce, he hauled out a square box. "Open it."
Titters of exclamations bubbled from her rouged lips and, cheeks flushed in love and expectancy, she slid her polished nail under the cellophane tape and carefully unwrapped the box, cautious not to rip the wrapping paper. A polaroid camera sat inside.
"Oh, Teddie! How great, for Hawaii!"
A crooked smirk creased Ted's handsome face. "Thought I'd get it for you now so you could learn how to use the damned thing. You know how it is these days, buy something new and it doesn't work. What d'ya say we try 'er out tonight in celebration of our third wedding anniversary?"
Polly clapped her tiny hands together and bounced on the sofa in jubilation, her melon-like breasts jiggling with the movement. "That would be lovely!" she cooed, glancing sideways at the littered table and forcing herself, out of habit, to avoid throwing herself into housework and neglecting Ted, something he accused her of often these days. Tonight was Ted's night, anything he wanted!
The wine-encouraged visions flitting through Ted's burning brain caused him to feel a bit uneasy with himself. He liked sex, loved making it with his sexy wife ... but their marriage was growing stale. If only her lovemaking was as liberal as her portions of pot roast! Maybe the low-cut black sheath she'd bought for tonight was the devilish instigator, maybe it was the big three, but he couldn't shake the vision of her soft, tapered body spread out on the sofa while the camera winked at her creamy nudity. A strange tingling in his groin began at the thought, and a slight jerk of his penis told him he'd better start setting the mood.
First, the camera.
Ted plucked it out of his wife's admiring hands and fidgeted with it, familiarizing himself with the buttons, turning it over, wondering if this instrument were capable of his high hopes.
"Maybe we could take some nice photos for Linda back in Chicago," suggested Polly a bit tipsily. She settled back on the sofa, one lithe arm stretched over the back of the beige velour sofa, nestling her creamy back into the cushions.
"You got it!" Ted checked the camera to make certain the camera clerk had inserted the first free roll of film, and, satisfied, stepped back and hunched over to get his wife's voluptuous form well into the frame. "Smile, say cheese!"
She did and the first photograph spit out the front, developing in the open air.
"Looks good, hon ... wanna try another?"
Loving the attention, Polly dipped her chin as would a professional model and smiled into the lens.
Ted peered around the camera. "This time why don't you lift your dress a little?"
Polly's smile crimped. "But, honey?"
"This one's for me."
Well, this was Ted's night and after all, he'd seen more than her thigh! Gamely, she inched up the him of her skirt, showing off a rich expanse of creamy thigh.
Click....
"A little higher this time, this one wasn't very clear, guess I was shaking a little ... the wine, you know." He set the Polaroid down on the end table.
The pretty wife looked askance at her husband, and if it hadn't been for the extra glass of wine with that last slice of pot roast, she would never have consented to inching that black jersey up over her knees and a bit further north to uncover the black lacey strip of her garter belt.
Showing off that dimpled knee seemed to crowbar open the iron-tight moral code that Ted Atkins had come to associate with his pretty wife. "Promise me, Teddie," she started breathlessly, "you won't put it in our family album!"
"Promise," he grinned, holding his breath and snapping the shutter. The photograph rolled out and he sat beside her on the sofa watching the image darken. He found himself breathing shallowly as his blue eyes oogled the firm swell of her stockinged thighs decorated with black lace garters snaking down the creaminess. He could see little tufts of blonde pussy hairs sticking out around the dampened band of her bikini panties. The aching built steadily in his groin .. .a bulge tenting his gabardine pants. Embarrassed, he shot up from the sofa and backed off, hunching down, framing his wife's loveliness in the camera's eye.
"No, Teddie, please..." she whispered hoarsely, as if her mother were watching from a corner of the room and shaking a warning finger at her youngest daughter.
He ignored her. "Give me a cheesecake pose, honey. Put your legs up on the couch and lean back. Make yourself look like Marilyn Monroe. Stick your breasts out... wow! That's it!"
Click!
Ted Atkins licked his lips and caught the Polaroid film as it spit out from the end. His wide blue eyes popped wide as the image of his blonde haired wife draped in black on the beige sofa came into focus. The richness of her smooth cleavage was shadowed, the bumble bees of her nipples poking through the tight black jersey, winking at him. "By God, look at that, baby! Nice photo, huh?"
He passed it before his wife's gaping eyes. Polly gasped, never having seen herself look quite so sexy! Her cheeks rouged. "Teddie!" Her tiny hand flew to her mouth, but her eyes were glued to the image of her self. One lithe arm was stretched out along the back of the sofa, the other bent as her hand pulled up the hem of her skirt to show off the black garter belt. Her blonde head was thrown back provocatively, thrusting out her heavy breasts which strained alluringly against the tenacious black jersey. The light made a prism of her diamond earring, creating a blinking star in adoration of her sensuality. The glistening fullness of her lips shone wetly as she'd moistened them with the tip of her pink tongue.
"Jesus, baby, you're beautiful! Let's take some more!" Ted's voice was gravelly. The excited husband gesticulated wildly. "Lie down on your belly and pull the right shoulder strap down over your arm... just a little bit so I can see your tits!"
"Teddie, don't talk like that!" She tutted indignantly, but obediently flopped down on her belly and inched down the spaghetti strap until it draped down her dimpled elbow. A peek of oozing breast flesh focused in the camera's eye. She wiggled into position, the mound of her sensuality rubbing into the sofa cushions. A ripple of sensuality sparked through the modest wife, giving life to a tingling irritation in the heart of her loins and inner thighs. With an embarrassed flush, she felt the band of her bikini panties dampen.
How can I let him do this! her mind raged. But when she gazed up in the dim light at her husband's eager face, and her eyes dropped to the tent bulging in his pants, her desires flamed. My God, he's getting excited by this ... I'm dying of embarrassment and he's getting horny! Somehow that didn't make sense to Polly Atkins.
Sniffling indignantly, Polly positioned herself on her side so that the oozing breast flesh topped with a diamond chip nipple came clearly into view. Again she felt a ticklish excitation ripple up one thigh and down the other, centering in the heart of her womb. Her puckered nipples tingled tantalizingly, pressing against the black jersey.
"Please, make this the last one, hon!"
"If this is going to be the last one, let's make it right!" Setting down the camera, the excited husband knelt before his goose-bumped wife and pulled the spaghetti strap down further until her nipple winked over the wad of black jersey, like a little sun peeking up to the eastern skies. Next he pulled up the hem of her dress, the ticklish feel of his hot fingers touching her goose-bumped skin, making her shiver with delight. Compliantly she wiggled her hips, aiding him, until the black strip of her garter belt came into view ... and up further still until the pouting mound of Venus, swollen and damp, peered out between her sleek inner thighs. '
It had gone too far! What had been titillating was becoming unholy! Tutting in protest, Polly clamped her thighs together and stopped him.
"Don't be such a cold fish, Polly!" The wine and growing excitement bulging his loins had shed patience and chiseled his words.
Polly's glistening lips puckered poutingly and her blue eyes snapped dangerously at him. "I am not a cold fish! How dare you speak to me like that!" With her eyes boring coldly into his, she lifted up her hips and yanked at her dress until it was a black wad about her slender waist. She opened the vee of her thighs and braced one foot on the sofa so that the tempting mound of her sensuality was openly pouting before the camera. With a defiant sniff, she yanked down the spaghetti strap so that the full mound of her creamy breast hung ripely from her chest She heard Ted breathe sharply and shivered as she caught him gazing down with hungry eyes at the tender, scantily covered mound of her pussy. "This is the last one ... so help me God!"
"Sure, hon," he breathed. "We'll hit the sack after this one." He knelt on one knee and framed the tantalizing contrasts of oozing white flesh and black jersey, aiming precisely at the blonde pussy tufts peeking out around the legbands of her panties. He snapped off the picture and gulped in awe when the photograph developed magically in open air.
Holy shit! Ted's mouth watered from the sumptuous view of his worse than naked wife, her cat eyes gleaming hungry at him from the glossy photo.
Mustering up lost dignity, Polly sat upright on the sofa, smoothing down the wrinkled wad of her black jersey dress. Tears stung her eyes. She sniffed and sprang to her feet, shooting her husband an angry gaze as she caught him oogling the the photograph. With a flick of the head, she stomped off toward the bedroom, her polished pink toes digging into the thick hallway carpeting. A bit unsteadily, she turned into the bedroom and flicked on the night light.
She turned her back to the mirror as she stripped off the provocative gown and tossed it onto the back of the chair. She peeled off her bikini panties, the band moistened with unholy desire. Next came the black garter belt and dark stockings.
Why did men always have to treat women like sex objects? Wasn't pure love enough? A tingle of bitterness rippled through her at the speculation that her own loving husband had been trying to make a fool of her ... like a horny teenage boy in the backseat of his Daddy's car, testing a girl to see how far she'd go! With a sigh of defeat, she slipped between the cool sheets, her flushed cheek burning against the pillow slip.
In the hallway beyond, she heard Teddie flick off the lights and head toward the bedroom. If his lecherous behavior disgusted her, her own haunted her. She had allowed him to use her as an object and, like some cheap slut, had become excited by submission. The image of his tenting gabardine pants flickered before her closed eyes. Yes, Ted had wanted her, and his desire sparked her own.
But calling her a cold fish! How cruel!... especially after sweating over a hot stove all day, cooking up a feast for her king! Well, wasn't that the plight of women these days?
She felt his strong presence in the doorway. "Please come to bed, Teddie, it's late, you've got that board meeting tomorrow."
"Fuck the board meeting," he grumbled hoarsely, flicking on the overhead light.
Polly draped a lithe arm over her forehead, shading her eyes. The thump of his shoes announced his nightly strip, the whine of his pants zipper and rustle of clothes being flung recklessly over the chair back, whispering of inebriation. The bed dipped and she smelled the liquor on his breath as he positioned himself in a kneeling position.
A warm hand brushed over her fevered forehead, melting reserve and warming affections. Just one touch of his hand, that's all it took to make her feel womanly. God, she loved him! Slowly she lifted the arm from her forehead and blinked wide her periwinkle eyes.
His erect, blue veined cock stood out from a nest of bushy curls at the dominant vee of his loins. "I love you, honey, you're a sexy woman," he whispered hoarsely. Slowly, he slid the cool sheet down over her quivering body.
It came in a burst of emotion. "Ted, I love you so much!" It was a desperate whine meant to eradicate the guilt of repressed sensuality.
"Ohhhh... honnnn," he hummed, his fingers working at the drawstring of her diaphanous pink nightie. One slight tug and the fabric opened onto her lusciously creamy flesh. His warm hands roamed over the oozing mounds of her breasts, caressingly, lovingly, with an urgency that made her tingle. He tweaked her nipples until they stood out in diamond chips. Her beauty was flawless, her wide-eyed shyness alluring in a virginal way. She had been a virgin when he'd married her three years ago today; she had developed the bitterness and plaguing sense of boredom which was a cause of complaint amongst many of his male friends.
He licked the shell of her perfumed ear. "You're a great model, honey... Christ, I'd love to take pictures of you naked!"
Polly sucked in her breath. Those damned photographs! Was he in love with the slut with her breast hanging out and vagina exposed, or with his wife? Hot tears of self-denigration dampened her eyes and she threw her arms around his strong neck, pulling him close. She couldn't admit her arousal to having stripped nearly naked, spreading her legs like a harlot for the camera... what would Ted think of her then? She gripped him tightly around the neck and drew him close to her.
"Ted, make love to me!" she whined desperately. "Let's make love!"
Ted's mind, yet blinded by the image of his wife spread out on the sofa with the blonde fleece of her pubic curls peeking out around the leg bands of her panties and the sensual black garter belt, made his cock leap to a blood filled high.
Hovering over her quivering body, he hauled up the hem of her nightie and arched his groin above her belly button. He moved his hardened shaft up and down along her stomach, silken and soft. Ted groaned, feeling the heat of sexuality fire into a rage inside his lust-bloated penis.
He leaned back, making his penis hang over her breasts. For a delicious moment, the sex hungry husband shut his eyes and imagined seeing her glistening, wet lips clamped around the stalk of his hardened penis. Uncontrollably, he groaned and slid up on the bed until the mushroomed tip of his cock hovered about the taut line of her glistening lips. As he moved, it drubbed at her chin.
Maybe on their third anniversary she would relent.
"Kiss me there, honey ... kiss me, Polly!" His warm, rubbery penis was a tongue's lick away from her ruby lips. She need only bend her neck an effortless inch to please him.
A shudder of revulsion quivered through Polly. "No, no, Teddie ... you know I don't like to do that!" She turned her face away, pursing her lips. The idea of taking his male instrument into her mouth and sucking on it, tasting the Ajax-like smell of his semen, revolted her to the core of her being. It was vile, disgusting, and mother certainly would never have conceded to such unfeminine acts!
"Not there," she whispered and slithered forward, her arms tight around his neck and pulling him downwards until he lay full length on the bed. "I... I know you want me to, but can't I make you happy my way?" she reasoned.
The image of his wife's delicate, soft, loving mouth clamped around his penis exploded in disappointment. The envisioned denouement of her cooing and squirm- ing as he spurt his white hot cum deep into her swanlike throat dissipated like morning fog, leaving a vacuum of desire to haunt him. In an otherwise fantastic relationship, her reluctance to please him orally caused a shivering schism to split the fulfillment between reality and desire. If only he could convince her of the beauty of the act... lips on penis, lips on vagina!
He squeezed her tight, feeling her warmth undulating, quivering against his nakedness. Her soft bowled belly and humping pelvis ground against his hardened penis until the frustrating image fled and he resorted to the missionary position.
'Teddie.. .oh, honey!" she moaned. "Please don't be angry with me... really, I'm not a cold fish. You know how I love to make love to you!"
"Hmmmm," he agreed. He held her closer to him, moving one warm hand down to cup the smooth satiny curves of her buttocks.
With a desperate lunge, she glued her lips to his, and stabbed the tip of her pink tongue between his pearly teeth ... in and out, in and out... in a parody of lovemaking. He stiffened as he felt her warm palm encircle the girth of his meaty cock and give it a salacious tug.
"I want to feel you inside me," she mewled hotly.
Her urgency made him quiver and Ted pressed his warm lips harder against hers to show his mutual need. She strained and pressed her body grinding and wriggling, and then opened her legs and thighs and positioned his mushroom tipped penis against the hairy mouth of her warm, hungry young pussy, the taut, hair-lined lips of her womanhood parting with the overwhelming need of having him deep inside her belly.
"Yes, Teddie ... there ... there!"
He lunged forward, his hips thrusting powerfully as he drove with maddened lust into her weeping hole, feeling her fevered cuntal walls grip him, milk him. Tonight she would be satisfied with nothing but all of him, and Ted was noted in his wife's grinding undulations a hint of whorishness ... he couldn't understand her sometimes, he realized in a burst of clarity. But how could he comprehend anything with the head of his cock shoved so far up into her pussy it struck home at the tip of her spongy cervix! He could feel her cuntal walls ripple, spasm. She held him captive within her belly, imprisoning him with her clasping, smoothly possessive cunt, and with her widespread legs spread wide as they would go; she locked her slender ankles around his back and drove him into her. He quickened his strokes, fucking into his wife with a crazed fury. The breath wheezed from his lungs.
Oh shit, it wouldn't take long tonight! He could feel it start, a pulling sensation deep in his balls, growing to an intolerable pressure that demanded release! Some nights they could make love for hours, but not tonight! He was going to cum damned soon and nothing could stop him!
"Teddie... Tedddeee! Oh, oh, oh, you feel so goood!" she grunted wantonly. The voracious wife whimpered and pleaded, kissing his neck, his shoulders, tasting the saltiness of his exertion. She babbled babyishly and he knew she was close to cumming. Her knees drew up as if on springs as she raised herself higher up " off the squeaking mattress. Her wetly squelching pussy bucked wildly back up against his pelvis, smacking into his groin.
"OOOOOhhhhh ... ohhh Teddeeee!" she cried in a tortured wail. "I'm ... I'm ... eiii eeeee iiiii!" With a devilish groan, Polly's hungry pussy wept with the joy of marital bliss!
That did it for Ted! His cum churned into a froth of lust, deep within his balls. It spurt through his swollen testicles and up through his hardened penile shaft, bursting through the eye to spate his wife's hungrily milking pussy. Again and again giant spurts of creamy seed flowed from him until at last he collapsed, a sweaty exhausted mass of male flesh; a sigh of loving contentment chorusing her mewlings of appreciation.
The euphoric cloud lifted after a moment and Ted rolled off his wife's trembling form. He kissed her warmly on the forehead, plumped up his pillow and curled up in a ball.
"I love you, honey," she whispered into the night.
A smile creased his lips. "I love you, too, sweetheart," he answered thickly. Tomorrow morning's board meeting flitted unrealistically through his mind, taking second place to something more urgent Polly was a damned good lay (why not? He'd been her teacher)... but her inhibition about oral sex was beginning to tug at the tight band of marital fulfillment that was his by rights. In the dim light of the moon stealing fugitively through the Venetian blinds, he gazed at her tenderly ... the soft skin, the full lips, slightly parted in sleep. Something had to crack that useless veneer of revulsion. Somehow she had to learn that mouth on penis was a beautiful act of love.
It was, after all, his right as a husband.
CHAPTER TWO
The board meeting of L&M Savings and Loan Association had adjourned as the clock struck twelve. The fifteen board members, comprised of senior members and the junior group including Ted Atkins, pushed back their upholstered chairs from the round executive table in the conference room and filtered out the door for a break. Briefcases under their arms, they headed for the sanctuary of dimly lit restaurants that catered to the lunch time executive crowd hungry for respite and thirsty for a drink and a healthy peek at a bit of thigh and cleavage to pry their minds loose from the wearisome routine of gray flannel existence.
Ted was down in the dumps. No, the insipid discussions of loan rates and complaints of governmental regulations did not distress him. His problem came in a fleshy package of blue eyes and honey hair and Victorian inhibitions!
Ted slipped into a booth in the Crow's Nest Restaurant, welcoming the atmosphere of privacy. A burning frustration and lack of fulfillment haunted him from last night's lovemaking. Ah, not that Polly wasn't a good lay ... Christ, he would have divorced her at last year's anniversary if she wasn't the type to spread her thighs at his beckoning. No, it was something about her attitude towards his sexuality that distressed him.
Ted plucked the menu from the polished fingertips of a pearly toothed waitress attired appropriately in a skinny leotard and fish net stockings, showing off the fine curves and bumps of her pulchritudinous body. A blue feathered headdress plumed from her blue black hair.
"Hi!" she grinned toothily. "The special of the day is Beef Bourginon, fine sirloin tips braised in a wine and mushroom sauce. Only $6.95."
Ted's blue eyes stared over the rim of the Crow's Nest menu, resting precisely on level with the nubs of nipples winking at him encouragingly. He gulped dryly, her voice a mile away.
"Or fresh fillet of sole with grapes and white wine sauce..." A crooked grin creased her lovely dimpled face and she cagily shifted her weight to the other high heeled foot. "Perhaps you'd like to think about your selection... ?"
"Oh, no..." he said straightening. As she pivoted her lissome body, his eyes fell on the pouting mound of Venus a hand's snatch away. The candlelight reflected the image in the crystal wine goblet, mockingly. "I'll ... I'll go for the meat. I mean the beef," he amended with a nervous cough.
Puckering her rosebud lips temptingly, she winked down at her red-faced customer, and plucking the menu from his fingertips, sashayed off. A pint of blood fled to Ted's pulsing groin from watching the half I moons of blue jersey slink between the tables. The image of her red painted lips lingered where savings percentages should have, and he failed to notice when George's eternally grinning face stared at him across the table.
"Don't mind if I join you, huh, Teddie?" George settled his ample buttocks on the empty chair across from his junior board member.
Had that voice belonged to anyone but the man who'd hired him, Teddie would have made a snap decision about the intruder. As it was, he smiled emptily I and said, "Oh, please be my guest, George."
The senior board member ordered from the menu, marveling at the remarkably high set of firm young breasts heaving before his eyes. When the waitress brought their wine and salads, George, a dapper man I for his fifty-seven years, leaned across the table, knife f and fork in hand. Conspiratorially, he eyed the junior I board member, winking. "God help the young stuff if old George could get it up again!" He tore open his Parkerhouse roll and buttered it lavishly. "I'll tell you, son, the biggest mistake I ever made was being monogamous." He shook his jowled cheeks. "Go for it, boy!"
The perky waitress, plumed headdress wafting in the air conditioning, rolled up the waitress' cart and setting the choice of house dressings in the middle of the white linen table, pivoted and leaned over without bending her knees to retrieve the pepper grinder from the bottom shelf. The sleekness of her fishnet stockinged thighs shot up to the crevice of her scantily covered buttocks.
George licked his lips and winked at Teddie who flushed the color of the red velvet draperies separating their booth from the one beyond. Daintily, the waitress sat the steaming beef bourgeon before Ted and the filet of sole before his partner.
"Anything else I can get you boys?" she twinkled.
Was it his imagination, or was she staring at him? Ted blinked up into a pair of disarmingly dark eyes dancing with candlelight. "No," he answered tightly. "Everything's fine...."
"You sure, honey?" she purred, her perfume heady in his nostrils.
His eyes lingered on the glistening line of her laxly parted lips, puckered and ready. An electrical shock shot from his libido to his groin, and he asked himself, dicing up a morsel of juicy meat, did that deliriously scented young thing suck her boyfriend's penis? Did she take him in her warm mouth and milk him with her lips, until the white hot sperm shot deep within her throat, bathing her tonsils in sexual cream?
"My name's Jody, if you need anything," she rasped sweetly, disappearing once more.
"I think she likes you, Ted," the older man jibed, his green eyes snapping with envy of youth.
"Don't be silly," retorted Ted, straightening. "She's after a tip ... and besides," he defended, "I'm a married man."
"All the better. Monogamy's for the birds. It makes the bitches think they can have anything their own way. Buy me a color TV for the kitchen, they whine. You buy 'em a color tv for the kitchen ... and you think that makes the sex any better?" grumbled the aging man. His jowls bounced with negativity as he raised a fish flake to his mouth.
"I'm happy with Polly." The beef tasted acrid in his mouth, as if he were swallowing his own lie. "We just celebrated our third wedding anniversary last night." It was a statement, not an ebullience.
George stared off into space, cogitating. "As I recall, it was about the third year when Dorothy and I started sleeping in twin beds. Ah, you remember the fad years back before the movies showed couples in double beds together ... Ozzie and Harriet, Desi and Lucie, none of 'em slept in double beds, no neither could we." George swallowed noisily and washed the buttery fish down with a hefty swig of wine. "Gets worse after that, huh!" Here he threw back his head. "Wait till they hit menopause!
"If they think you're an evil sonofabitch for wanting to have oral sex, wait till they start crying every time you look at a younger woman. That's when they start spending your money, hairdressers, face lifts ...
Christ all mighty, Ted, get it while you can!"
Ted, absentmindedly masticating on the winy beef, glared hopelessly into George's face. Was that the fate of his marriage with Polly? Had they reached the peak of happiness and was the rest a downhill avalanche of depression, despair and God help him-sexual frustration?
Ted contemplated the wisdom of George's observations now as he joined, the throng of gray suited men spilling out the L&M Savings and Loan Association's sliding glass door and headed for his car in the parking lot behind the mammoth concrete and glass edifice.
His polished wing tips' leather soles scuffed along the sidewalk with a dejection all their own,. Spontaneously, they pivoted, and with new life strode past the ticket machine and headed around the block for the Crow's Nest.
A husband had a right to stop off for a drink now and then, didn't he? If he didn't start asserting his domain as the dominant partner, he'd end up a pansy-ass. Christ, I might even turn gay! he shivered, throwing himself onto the bar stool closest to the waitress' station and barking out an order for a Tanqueray tonic. "And don't squeeze the lime!"
The cooling gin slipped down his throat easily, leaving a cleansing piney taste. Now that his eyeballs had adjusted to the lack of light, and his ears to the tattoo beat of disco belching from the neon lit jukebox which transformed the afternoon luncheon spa to an alcoholics' paradise, he glanced around the room.
He found her. The blue-black hair shimmering in the unreal lights of fluorescent neon ringing the dance floor beyond. The blue feather plume danced recklessly as she giggled over a table of three men, one of whom had slipped his arm around her slender waist, pulling her down to hid lap. Feeling a bit the spy, Ted swung around, minding his own business and ruminating over the wisdom of telephoning Polly to hint he might be a little late for dinner.
The second drink was his dinner, that and a crock of cheese and salty crackers which the bartender slid in front of him from the other end of the mahogany bar. He buttered a cracker with a lavish layer of cheese and was washing it down his throat, when she sauntered up to fill a drink order. He gulped quickly, swallowing the dry, tasteless mass.
"Lookie who's here!" the waitress chimed in a silvery tone. "John, buy this man a drink on me!"
Ted stiffened. Number one, he'd never had a woman buy him a drink before; and, number two, her stockinged thigh was rubbing against his gabardine one ... by accident?
If the second drink created the indecision of telephoning home, the third drink obliterated any remembrance of having raised the question. Ted began to feel the lightheaded euphoria of independence and fell into an easy conversation with the bartender and the cocktail hour waitress. He started to feel like the Northwest University fraternity boy again, flirting with the uneducated barmaids in the local pubs, and it wasn't unpleasant! By the fourth drink, he'd melded, become one with the bar stool, the wall pay telephone an impossible journey to the east!
The after work drinking crowd, had long since dissipated, and-the hard core evening set had settled in, crowding the disco floor and yelping with Thursday night anticipation of the weekend to come.
Her breath was like a firebrand on his cheek when she sashayed up to him and whispered hotly in his ear: "I'm off in half an hour ... wanna get together?"
Ted blinked.
"Just give me a sec to peel out of this leotard, and then we can go to my place!" Her perfume intoxicated what remained of reason, and memories of cold leftovers from an anniversary dinner sitting uneaten on an unattended plate failed to leak through the clouds of euphoria.
Ted studied the misshapen wedge of lime lying lifelessly in the bottom of his drink glass and slipped off the bar stool for the first time in three hours. Jody stood beside him, dressed in shimmering black satin pants that molded every luscious curve of her five foot four inch lissome frame, with a red v-neck sweater fuzzy against his hand as she slipped her arm through his and headed for the door.
The night air was invigorating. Her high heels clicked crisply on the sidewalk and his leather soles shuffled along in a harmony toward his Datsun 280Z parked behind the L&M Savings and Loan Association.
Half an hour later he was pulling into another parking lot in front of a new condominium on the east side of town, and crawling into an elevator. The night air, the drive, and awakening senses snapped the inebriated executive back to his rational sense. Wild- eyed, he grabbed the support bar as the elevator jerked upward and its doors swooshed open on the fourth floor.
"I... I think I'd better...."
"Ah, come on." Jody pressed him against the apartment door where the numbers 37 dripped like melted butter before his drunken eyes. She was kissing him madly on the neck now, while her free hand dipped into her handbag for the key. "You can't go home on Jody now, not when she's all hot for you!" she cooed.
Numb, Ted staggered, gripping the doorknob for support. He literally fell into her living room when she turned the key in the lock and nudged open the door. Jody shut the door. He was alone, in a strange apartment with ... with a slinky hipped woman he didn't know!
The studio apartment was dominated by a bed shoved against the wall and gaily covered with a red satin coverlet with matching pillows. He sat down on the mattress, staring weakly up at the beautiful, dimpled face of the nineteen year-old. He had to admit she. was a gorgeous young thing... the type of girl he would have welcomed meeting before he'd married Polly. She exuded pure feline sex, and he had to admit it would be a change of pace to take her in his arms, kiss her, love her up a bit, nothing more. He wouldn't penetrate her or anything intimate like that, but just to touch those firm, upthrust mounds peeping out from the stretchy knit of her sweater, to press his liquor-sweet lips to her cherry-red lips, that would be nice, yes, very nice!
Inside his pants, his cock jerked into an instant erection as if it were alive and free of his will. He tried to will it limp, to wipe clean the lewd thoughts twirling inside his gin-sodden head, but it throbbed and pulsed and drew blood from his senses. With a stab of remembrance, Polly's innocent face flashed before his mind's eye; guiltily, his eyes averted Polly's and fastened on the skyline in the distance from which he struggled to pick out the mammoth outline of L&M Savings and Loan Association. He needed a point of reference.
Jody snickered. "Teddie's got a great big hard-on, don't you Teddie?" she teased, smiling at the obvious bulge in his gabardine pants with the dime-sized wet spot a quarter-inch to the right of the zipper.
Having never heard a female talk in such blatantly sexual terms, Ted blushed, "Please... don't make fun of me!"
Jody bounced up and down, her heavy, braless breasts jiggling in mockery. "You're going to fuck me, you gorgeous hunk of male! I adore men in three piece suits." She came to him in a waft of perfumed air, an aphrodisiac to his senses. Her breath was like a firebrand on his cheek. Lightly, she touched his knee, her fingers nearly burning the cloth. Higher, higher still, she reached, her fingers walking like little soldiers to the battlefield of his married libido! Her fingertips touched the bulging protuberance down between his legs!
"Ohhh Gawd!" she managed in a strangled breath, almost leaping from the bed in a spasmed reaction. His testicles ached with the need of release, the sperm churned in his balls, and try though he may, he couldn't pry himself loose of her caresses. Too gentle, too tenderly feminine, too insistently needful. Now her tongue tip trailed hotly over his stubbled cheek, searching, licking for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub and soothe the aching load in his testicles.
"Don't be afraid of Jody," she pleaded innocently. "It's only physical. What do I care if you're married?" she cooed, twirling the gold band with a free finger in mockery of his defense. "You want to shove your big hard cock up my pussy, and I want to feel you inside of me.
"I want to feel you inside of me?" Weren't those the very words Polly had chosen last night, he thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of his gut.
"I... I love my wife," he managed in a weak voice.
"Of course, she cooks for you, washes your underwear ... that's why husbands love their wives, isn't it? But when you need sex," she spat the last word, "you come to Jody."
"No, it's not right!" She had him pinned to the mat-, tress with the lithe one hundred and seven pounds of unflawed flesh, or he would have dove for the door and emotional freedom.
"Sometimes it's good," she purred, licking the shell of his buzzing ear, "to make love to a stranger and get all the good things wives don't give you."
She's wrong! That's not what marriage is all about! his tortured mind screamed. With a burst of adrenalin power, he wrenched himself out of her clutches, off the bed. His heart hammered and he knew his prick was still rock hard and seeping embarrassing testimonials to his arousal. He had to get hold of himself!
Jody's raspy voice whispered, "Teddie...."
He pivoted, garnering the bravery to reject her; his hands balled up into fists, but his words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his blue eyes bulged.
She stood there, stripped naked. The lovely nineteen year old had slipped out of her black satin pants and yanked her sweater over the haloes of blue-black hair, shimmering in the dim light. She wore neither panties nor brassiere, and as he gawked mesmerized at her white sculpted, youthful perfection, the image of pulchritudinous grace that would have made Nabokov's mouth water, he felt a bit of spittle drool from the corner of his mouth.
She smiled sweetly at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue sticking between her cherry-red, glossy lips, full and puckered and suggestive of anatomical parts he'd dare not think of. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were there before him, the black down glistening deliciously in the pale glow of the lamp light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, tipped with strawberry nipples, jutted out like strawberries and cream. Her long, slender thighs trembled and quivered with desire-for him.
"Well, honey? You like Jody better now?"
Ted gulped, his eyes watering.
"Would Teddie like to kiss me here?" His eyes followed her tiny hands, heading south for the black triangle, and when she said "here", her small fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pouting lips of her pink pussy and slowly, slowly spread them apart, showing the tiny bud of her throbbing clitoris. Back and forth, around and around, she stroked the growing nub, her eyes never leaving his bulging ones.
"Does your wife let you kiss her there?" she taunted, reading the message of rapacious desire in his eyes with the accuracy of a witch. "Do you two ever do it to each other ... suck each other until you cum?" And still she stroked herself. "Does she suck your cock for you?"
How could she know all that! His mind raged. First George, now this little slut! Christ, was his frustration that obvious?
The lust maddening sight was too much for Ted. The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy made his prick leap for joy. "Jody, please, you're awfully tempting, but please...." he begged, his throat bone dry and aching with longing.
"Let me kiss your cock for you, Ted. I want to lick it and milk it with my lips, make those wiggly little veins bulge, and taste you.- I love to suck cock!" She refused to shut up, even against his protestations. Her words branded his libido with sizzling desire... with the big scarlet S for sex!
He couldn't say no, couldn't step outside that door if his marriage depended upon it! Polly had denied him oral love and was he to be eternally cheated of the soft down of a woman's pussy opening fishlike to his mouth, frothing with desire? A pain stabbed his heart. If only Polly could understand that simple, human fact of love. This woman wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock ... Oh Gawd, he'd cum in his undershorts if she didn't shut up!
"... lick your balls and stab my tongue right up your ass..." were the words that burned his mind when finally, after a siege of mental inquiry, his senses returned to focus, on the naked young woman masturbating herself an arm's reach away.
God help him-he had to have her! Forget Polly, forget cold pot roast, he had to have her! The steaming heat in his genitals fairly scorched a hole in his shorts. Ah, to suck and be sucked! Yes!
In a burst of freedom, he tore off his pants and kicked them free. He hadn't time to strip off his socks. His shirt came next, until he stood before her, his thick, bursting cock standing out from the nest of brown curls.
"Ooohhh!" she cooed, rolling her eyes in appreciation. "You've got a pretty cock-all hard and hot!" She collapsed down on the satin coverlet, the perfect color compliment to the alabaster of her flawless flesh and the jet black of her hair. The very movement was sensuous and promising. "Let me suck you first!"
Ted's stocking feet padded to the bed and the squeak of springs announced his arrival as he collapsed a willing victim in her arms and turned himself over to the vixen of the Crow's Nest. Next thing he knew, he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, with Jody's fingers scratching over his burgeoning cock, her expert lips kissing his hairy legs, his belly, and inner thighs, dipping into his navel for a licking tease.
"Oh, Gawd, that feels good!" he groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling sperm down in his testicles' wells for another scalding moment.
The blue-black head plunged obediently, eagerly, and a scream tore from Ted's overworked lungs as he felt the incredible hot moistness of her soft lips closing butter-like over the sensitive, seeping head of his cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circles around the mushroomed head. Sighing, enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Ted moved toward her and with a grunt of a dog about to devour a bone, buried his face in her sweet-smelling cunt.
A sudden jerk of contracted muscled spasmed in the excited nineteen-year-old seductress. In a wormish maneuver, she pressed closer to his mouth. The complete willingness, the blatant sensuality of her panther-like movements, overwhelmed the married man and blotted out all misgivings.
Jody tasted the piquancy of his secretions, licking up the pearly drops of pre-cum hungrily, twirling her soft tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him in earnest, with the full expense of a woman who enjoyed pleasing men.
In pure adoration, and a smattering of curiosity, Ted managed to pull his drink sodden head off the mattress and out from between her legs just long enough to watch her lipstick rimmed lips ripple up and down his blue, veiny shaft, watching the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she sawed the length of his penis. The sight was adulterously erotic! His loins tensed and jerked upwards into her pretty young face, all the fleshy length disappearing with each thrust forward so that only a fraction of an inch showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips.
With a groan of submission, he returned to her soft, hair fringed pussy and drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his hungry mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in her soft-rimmed cunt. He held her tightly to his licking orifice with both hands encasing her buttocks, thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the sweet tasting folds. He heard her gasp and nibble more frenziedly. Her pussy contracted and opened around his mouth like a feeding fish, and then he moved his hands down and opened the petals of her pussy wider. He began to curl and flick his tongue at the velvety dampness of her cuntal walls. He sucked and licked and groaned and moaned while she swayed rhythmically above him. She was a sex-crazed woman, out of control, her cunt flowering wider and her secretions spating her thighs.
He sensed her muscles cord as he worked, plunging for her clitoris, sucking and biting tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she writhed and churned madly above him. He sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking like a milking machine at his penis as she bucked and writhed and arched her back and head in a quaking of body and spirit. Her breasts danced joyously as she sucked voraciously, her mouth creating a pumping pressure that untapped the reservoir of his churning semen.
And then it happened.
"UUUUMMMM!" came the tortured cry of her climax and the pungent milk of her orgasm flooded his mouth, his throat, dribbled down his chin and drenched the satin coverlet steaming with their lust.
Her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his face. She screamed out her orgasm, never ceasing the milking, sucking pressure on his deep-thrust cock. She snaked her heels against his shoulders and rubbed her gyrating cunt in an uncontrollable surge of torment. Then-Ted Atkins felt the eruption of scalding fire leap along the length of his blood-fed penis. He gasped in agony, and his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded the gates of his testicles, rushing into the girl's maddeningly bobbing mouth with gush after gush of boiling sperm that bloated her rouged cheeks and forced her to swallow to keep from drowning. As quickly as it had erupted, it abated-after one final spurt. Now he lay back, half conscious, staring at the ceiling, with the taste of a nineteen-year-old's pussy ripe in his mouth.
And still Jody sucked at his juices, milking every last drop of the hot gushing male nectar until his penis jerked softly and plopped silently from the sperm filled cavern of her mouth. The cock slid from her laxly parted lips then, in one last swallow, and she cradled her face to his sperm sticky groin.
"You like that, honey?" she cooed, with evidence of his pleasure dripping from her dimpled chin.
He could only groan in appreciation. He knew that Polly would be maddened with jealousy and pain if she could see him now; yet guilt refused to settle in. A satisfied, shameless feeling of dominance and control overtook him, that and the knowledge that his desire for oral sex had been justifiable and gratifying.
Polly ... his wife ... gold bands... fidelity. An association of guilt-associating images popped into his mind, working at his self-conscience. Ted lay there, breathing in the musk of the young beauty's bodily perfumes and the scent of her love juices drying on his stubbled chin.
Jody's left leg bent, knee drawing up, and he sensed her stirring on the bed. She kneed her way around until they were face-to-face. She grinned a pearly smile down at him and kissed him on the mouth. The taste of his own semen piqued on his taste buds. "You don't want to go home now, do you? We haven't even started yet!"
His tongue ran dryly over his lips. Between his hirsute thighs, his penis leapt enthusiastically. "No ... I'm not ready to go home yet," he conceded, cuddling her in the crook of his arm.
CHAPTER THREE
The October morn was crisp as a bite into a cold green apple. Polly Atkins sat at her kitchen table, nursing a cup of black coffee. One trembling hand held close the gaping neck of her chenille robe, her bare heels hooked on the rungs of the chair. She stared unblinking at a bird chirping from the elm tree next to the clothesline. Orange leaves flitted in butterfly swirls to the frozen, brown grass hardened with the morning's frozen dew.
A pang of misery rippled through her body. The acrid, unsweetened coffee puddling masochistically in her belly. The coffee cup rattled as it settled on the saucer; she clutched the lapels of her robe tighter, shivering against the cold knowledge that Ted had not come home until the Friday morning sky had turned pink.
A night out with the boys . .. that she could understand. He'd been concerned about the outcome of the board meeting, anxious for his promotion to come through. But to not show up until five o'clock in the morning... with ... with the smell of a woman on his genitals!
Polly buried her face in her trembling, sweaty palms and gave in to emotion, her body wracking like so much flotsam in the open sea. For the nth time she scrutinized the details of her assumption, and for the hundredth time came up with the same conclusion: Ted was cheating on her!
Anxious to re-create their lovemaking of the night before, Polly had dressed for dinner and set the table with their wedding china and crystal. The previous night-their anniversary, she recalled with a tremor, had been so precious-she'd wanted it to last forever, wanted to freeze time into an eternity of marital bliss. She waited, watched the evening news with Walter Cronkite, sipped at a glass of wine while she tucked her stockinged feet under her... and waited. A peek at the steaming pot roast and she splashed in a half cup of wine to retain the juices. Ted never liked his meat dry, she sniffed, the unsettling feeling that would last the night descending upon her.
By nine o'clock, she'd slipped out of her lounging robe and into a nightgown, guessing Ted had gone out for an after-work drink with his friends. But why hadn't he telephoned? Another glass of wine, and Polly carefully covered the night's dinner in Tupperware bowls and padded barefoot and dejected to bed.
She lay staring at the ceiling, punching the bed pillow and counting sheep until she heard the car motor die in the drive. The digital clock never lied and it was precisely four fifty-two when she heard him take off his shoes in the kitchen (he had a habit of letting them thump to the floor), and pad in his stocking feet into the hall and to the bathroom.
Polly feigned sleep, lost in a troubled, agonized hell of depression and suspicion. She shivered under the covers, waiting for him to crawl in bed beside her and cradle her in his arms reassuringly. It was Ted's habit to awaken her when he came home after a night of drinking with the boys, giving his wife that kind of affirmation of affection that separates bad marriages from good ones.
Clumsily he'd opened the bedroom door and thrown himself into bed. No kisses, no hugs tonight... just snoring and neglect. As Polly rolled over onto her side to cuddle against his back, the smell of femininity stung her nostrils-that unmistakable sweetness of perfume, mingled with the piquant scent of sex!
No! Her mind raged. Not Ted! We made love so beautifully last night... he's never-Polly rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, splashed now with pink strands of an awakening morn. Five o'clock and smelling of perfume. The evidence declared the case closed.
His snores were deep and troubled. Now Polly's curious hand stole around her husband's heaving body to the warm vee of his loins. Her tiny hand trembled as it delicately touched the withered tube of his penis- sticky and warm! A woman has a way of knowing things, and Polly Atkins knew her husband had been with another woman!
Why? The question lingered. Why? Hadn't last night's lovemaking been extraordinarily intimate? Oh, sure, he'd wanted her to use her mouth on his thing- but that was nothing new. If anything, it had become a joke between them. Now Polly's chin trembled and the tears spilled. Was that what their relationship had become after three years of marriage? A joke?
She must get hold of herself and be realistic. Polly sniffed and gulped down her coffee, squared her chin and stomped off for the bathroom. Determinedly, she stripped off her robe, telling herself she was a beautiful woman who did not deserve to be hurt, and stepped under the needle spray of the shower.
Two avenues lay open to her at the crossroads of indecision: One, succumb to hurt and harbor bitterness, leading, inevitably, to divorce; or two, get to the bottom of the issue and salve the wound before it became infectious.
It was around one o'clock that afternoon when Polly drove her Volkswagen Rabbit into Myra's circular drive. The maple leaves were rich in oranges and reds, swirling in whispering circles at Polly's feet as she made her way toward Myra's front door.
Myra, she mused, stilling her nervousness, had put her psychology degree from Northwestern to good use. The two story brick house with sun porch and quarter acre back yard hadn't fallen into her hands out of luck. Five times married, she managed to put the alimony to good use in terms of investments. Her motto was "... it's as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one...
She was attired in a brightly colored day dress of rustling silk when she answered Polly's timid knock. Her greeting was ebullient as ever, lusty and honest.
"Good to see you, Polly." She cupped her college mate's shivering shoulders and stood back for a scrutinizing look. Tiny crows feet around dull eyes refused to be compensated for no matter how artfully applied the makeup. The cold, trembling hands clutched her warm ones in testimony of unspoken despair. Myra cocked her head, haloed in Titian curls the color of falling maple eaves. "You don't look so good, hon. What's the matter? You and Teddie boy split up?" Myra was one for hitting the nail on the head, no matter whose thumbs got in the way.
Polly clutched her purse to her chest nervously; her chin trembled dangerously. She sniffed, raising dampening eyes to Myra's critical ones.
"Nobody ever comes to see me unless they're about to split with their husband," she bemoaned in a husky voice that hinted at late nights and cigarettes. "Can't imagine why," she snickered, leading her guest into the sunken living room and indicating with a curt gesture for Polly to have a seat on the white velour sofa next to the fireplace now roaring warmly on the chill afternoon.
"Care for a drink?" Myra was at the bar, splashing gin and tonic into two tumblers and dumping in ice cubes. A twirl of the swivel stick and the cool drink was thrust into Polly's hand.
Polly first looked at the glass, beaded with cold dew. She didn't care for alcohol, but she knew that refusing would offend Myra who always enjoyed a drinking partner. Then she looked into the orange leaping flames of the stone fireplace and thought how warm and secure it was. Not at all like the ache permeating her being. She shivered, wanting to die. A warm hand on her arm brought her back to reality abruptly.
Polly bolted, hearing the other's voice coming as from out of a void: "Tell me about it, that's why you came."
Polly sniffed and raised her head. "I'm sorry, Myra. I'm just not myself today."
"Then who are you? Some lovelorn virgin pining over Sir Galahad?" she tutted. "Come on, I know you better than that. Out with it!"
"I... I can't talk about it," she choked, touching her hand to her forehead.
"Of course you can. Take a sip of that drink and loosen up a bit. Nothing and I mean nothing, can be that bad!" she said proudly, settling back on the sofa beside her guest and slipping one elegant arm along the back of the sofa while the other hand clutched her drink. "Take it from the horse's mouth, you can get through it, if you'll face it, and you can't face it if you don't get it off your chest where you can look at the problem objectively." Her gold bangles jiggled as she spoke, her throaty voice convincing and meaningful. "Anyway, there's nothing you could say about men that would surprise or amuse me," she put in with a snicker. ".. .and it's Ted you've come to discuss, who else?"
Polly's eyes pried loose from a burning log about to flake into hot ashes, and flashed a questioning look at Myra. She noted the little age lines around the eyes, the slight pucker of the upper lip, relenting to premature aging, and wondered that if men could do that to a woman ... was Ted worth the trouble?
"How did you know ... that... that I was having marital problems?" Her voice was tight. The dam broke, and from her anguished soul came the loathsome details of Ted's infidelity. She left out the more embarrassing details of her search for evidence, and wept hot salty tears.
When her eyes lifted to Myra's, she noted a little smirk. Polly blinked, baffled, eyes questioning silently.
"Oh, my dear girl!" boomed Myra, taking a hefty swallow of her drink. "This happened once and you're ready for the nunnery?" she guffawed. 'Take a look at my gallery of husbands, sweetheart!" She pointed to the curving stairway where hung the framed portraits of her five husbands, ascending the staircase in order of succession.
In a rustle of silk, Myra leapt from the sofa, threw back her head and assuming the theatrical pose that was Myra Belfry, flung herself at the bottom stair and jabbed a finger at the first portrait.
"Meet husband number one ... oil tycoon, Houston born, first mistress discovered after two months of marriage, divorced two months later. Took my diamonds before the court settled the estate." On to the next.
"Meet Lloyd, Polly." Polly stared into the bland face of a Nordic looking man with a square jaw and squinty eyes. "Found Lloyd on the chopping block with the maid ... lovely, huh? Had her skirt wadded up to her waist, eating his dinner!"
Myra threw back her head and ascended two steps: "Husband number three, Charles Osgood III. Cute huh?" she squinted, curling her upper lip. 'Turned gay the first year of marriage, but left me a house in Pugent Sound ... which compensated nicely, so my lawyer thought." Myra dragged heavily on her drink. "Number four. This one left me no settlement. In fact, he owes me money. I don't know what happened to him ... think he's running a disco somewhere in Greece. And the latest, I'm awaiting the papers from my lawyer now. Handsome, don't you think? Twenty-five years old and poor as a church mouse."
Polly blinked and squinted at the drawn face of a new wave rock and roll star. The photograph, judging from the red lights, had been taken in a rock club.
"Or shall I say was poor until I poured my money into promotion for his group ... and I'm getting fifty-two percent of the profits while he's out fucking groupies and snorting cocaine." A tone of bitterness sang in her voice. "Nice group of men, wouldn't you say, Polly?"
Polly was aghast. She nodded dumbly, wondering if a woman could possibly have loved that many men in so short a time.
"I can see the question in your eyes, honey," smirked Myra knowingly. "You're wondering if I ever loved any of them, right?" without waiting for the predictably nod of Polly's blonde head, the other woman headed for the bar and splashed a heavy handed dose of gin into her empty glass. A quick swirl of the swizzle stick and she glanced at Polly's bewildered expression. "Truth of the matter is, it's that chumpy rock star I was most stuck on. That boy knew how to love ... oh, the long nights of torrid lovemaking!" she quipped whimsically, staring out the plate glass window with a far away glint in her eye.
Embarrassed by these admissions of intimacy, Polly stared down into her drink. Compared to Myra's unhappiness, Ted's one night of infidelity could hardly be considered tragic.
"So..." Myra, swung around in a rustle of silk. "What's the problem between you and Ted. Sex? Another woman?"
"H-how could you tell?" Polly's voice was small and tight.
"It's written all over your face! Look at you..." she gesticulated, "you're all humped over and withdrawn, feeling sorry for yourself when you should be getting at the meat of the problem..."
Polly choked and sipped eagerly at her drink, appreciating the numbing affect on her raw emotional state. 'That's the problem," she conceded, cheeks burning. "I don't understand why he would be with another woman after ... after we had such a wonderful anniversary together! I mean, we love each other, physically. " The word stuck in her throat.
"Sex ... ah, do you give him what he wants?" Polly's eyes burned into Myra's. "Wh-what do you mean?"
Myra shooed a hand in the air. "Oh, come now. How old are we now, Polly? Twenty-eight? Do you ever initiate lovemaking? Do you go down on him ... lavish him with kisses between his legs, make him feel like the dominant being men crave to be?"
She watched the rouged cheeks burn to crimson. Polly stared down at her drink and with a desperate movement, threw back her head and emptied it.
"So that's it, the old you-won't-love-me-if-I'm lewd theme, huh?" Myra chuckled lewdly. "Ah, how well I know that game! Why do you think Charlie boy turned gay?" A pause, then: "Well, maybe that didn't have much to do with it. But I'll tell you one thing, Polly. It took that rock n' roller to open my legs." Myra took a seat beside Polly on the sofa and thrust one bare leg over the other, studying her ex-college mate intently.
Polly sat staring off into space, rehashing mentally the confessions of a woman who'd known five husbands. Certainly Myra had the edge over her when it came to understanding men.
"What it comes down to, sweetheart, is that you've got to learn to be open about your sexuality if you're going to please Ted. I remember Ted from college ... the football hero, the macho type, right? Always anxious for a little peek of leg..."
Polly winced. "Please, Myra, not now." She touched her hand to her fevered forehead, every truthful word hammering away at her female ego.
"If s true and you know it! So he's been a good hus- band for three years, but if you don't give him a bit of variety in bed-get kinky now and then, he's going to get bored."
"You make it sound so-so animalistic, Myra!" charged Polly, the nerves in the back of her neck tightening painfully.
"We are animalistic..: half our bodies are tied up in sex and giving birth! Every cell of our bodies are connected to the inevitability of spreading our legs for a man."
"But I'm a wife, not just his lover!" charged the other.
"Bullshit," poo-hooed Myra. "That's a social discipline, not an instinctive function. For godsakes, you majored in sociology, you should know."
"But what am I going to do?" wailed Polly.
"Tell me..." Myra's voice was conspiratorial. "Does he have oral sex with you?"
Polly's blonde head swung around, defiantly. "Of course not!" she snapped, her teeth showing under a curled lip.
"That's the problem... you've got to let him express himself with you-totally. I mean," and here she gesticulated with her elegant fingers tipped in cherry red, the gold bangles tinkling on her arms, ".. .if he wants to kiss your pussy, you've got to let him... if he wants to tie you to the bedpost and whip you with a belt, give it a try. What have you got to lose? Believe me, honey," she urged, reading the incredulity of her friend's wide-eyed expression, "if that's what he wants now and then he'll go out of the house to find it."
That was too much for Polly! She cupped her trembling hands over her ears and shook her blonde curls, clenching her teeth. Anything to shut out the filth spewing frjom Myra's mouth. When at last she released them she wished she hadn't.
"What about masturbation, do you feel comfortable enough with yourself to make yourself orgasm?"
"Oh, come now, Myra!" Anger percolated in Polly's veins. "I'm not a sex crazed slut who can't wait for her husband to make love to her!"
Myra leaned back comfortably on the sofa. "I suggest you try it. You can't make Ted feel like a man if you can't make! yourself feel like a woman!" The ice cubes rattled in her glass as she clinked it down on the glass topped end table and shot up from the sofa, returning moments later with an armful of magazines which she plunked down on the end table in front of her guest. "I got these at the institute. Dr. Dearborn gave them to me for lesson number one on becoming a woman. You've I got to learn to feel free with yourself and masturbation. Take these home and peruse them ... they will cure you. It did me."
Polly rolled her wide blue eyes at the ceiling, the tears now dried and where pain once stung, disbelief and a strangely growing curiosity took place. Out of the corner of one eye, she felt Myra's studying her expression, waiting for her, to-open the first glossy magazine whose front cover was written in big white letters: Sexology Institute of America.
When the distressed wife refused to flip open the cover, Myra grew impatient. She plucked the heavy glossy magazines from the table and thrust them into Polly's arms. "Here, take these home with you... and give me a call tomorrow."
Ungracious, wouldn't it be to refuse after Myra had opened herself to help out a depressed school chum? "I am sorry if I'm been poor company, Myra... it's been really sweet of you to help me out." With the magazines weighting her arms, she followed Myra to the door.
By the time she nosed into 2895 Elmworth Street, the heavy weight of her depression had lifted considerably. Yes, she thought dizzily, the affects of alcohol in the afternoon dulling her senses, I was right in going to visit Myra. She's experienced with men and she certainly has a good attitude about herself... something I need. Maybe I have grown too dependent on Ted. Still the idea of masturbation and letting Ted tie her to the bedpost seemed impossibly out of reach for a woman of her moral stature. Maybe that moral stature, she thought, plunking the unopened magazines down on the sofa, is building a wall between Ted and me. Oh, God, life is so complicated!
Without a second thought, she headed for the refrigerator and poured a glass of chilled Chablis. The first sip made her shiver and, instinctively, she turned up the thermostat and shed her sweater. The morning dishes sat in the sink, but that bothered her little as she curled up on the sofa and sipped her wine, watching through the living room plate glass window her industrious neighbor Harry raking leaves against the October breezes in a battle of man against nature.
Institute of Sexology, she muttered aloud, heading for the refrigerator for a refill of Chablis. Leave it to Myra! She sipped of her wine, her eyes stealing curiously down at the magazines. She began to wonder, disinterestedly at first and then with growing curiosity, what the magazines were about. Probably one of those cheap advertising gimmicks-mail in a matchbook cover and ten dollars.
The wine was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. The depression of Ted's negligence had waned to a dull throb of irritation, and she felt a resurgence of independence that follows disappointment in a love mate. An irrational desire to see what panacea Myra had predicted for her marital problems, overwhelmed her. , Impulsively, stifling a drunken giggle, Polly reached out and flipped open the unrevealing cover to the Sexology Institute Manual of Female Development, as it read on the spine.
Her first reaction was one of shocked horror. She blinked and squinted, her eyes fixed on the full-color glossy plates of blatant carnality which lay in the warm bowl of her belly. Polly's brain began to spin with the combination of startlement and alcohol.
Dear God, she thought . . . this is common pornography, filthy stuff Ted is always peeking at in the book stores!
The first glossy page she'd a sweet-looking brunette straddling a dark haired man; both of them were naked as jay birds, with their genitals openly exposed to the camera's eye, and his penis ... his thing was pushed halfway up into her vagina!
Polly wanted to rip the magazine to shreds, but a curious perversity caused her to grip it more tightly while her eyes remained fixed on every lewd detail.
How could any woman consent to pose before a photographer in that compromising posture? A heaviness gathered in her belly then, recalling the titillating embarrassment of having posed for Ted. Polly swallowed hard, studying the sheer ecstasy on the young girl's face. Lids drooped, mouth parted and moist, tip of her tongue showing, caught up in the sexual frenzy of the moment, of the feeling of a man's hardened shaft boring deep into her cuntal hole!
Polly's wide blue eyes lifted from the page. It was this lewdness, this oneness of sexuality Ted had been aiming for their anniversary night! If she hadn't stopped him, it might have come to this. Which meant, she reasoned breathlessly, that Ted wanted his wife to act precisely like this tramp in the photograph!
Staring into the pretty girl's lust contorted face, Polly felt a shortness of breath, a fluttering in her lower belly. The inside of her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips several times.
Her trembling fingers flipped the page and the second two-page spread sprang to view. She sucked in her breath, a spiral of unwanted warmth spearing its way upward through her warmly secreting loins, into her empty belly toward the ruby crests of her melon-like breasts. A man, a faceless man in his shameless posture, was kneeling nakedly on his haunches while he crouched between the widespread thighs of a buxom blonde. His long, lizard-like tongue curled out to flick at the swollen naked genitals and the oily nub of the girl's clitoris!
"Oh, oh, Gawd!" wailed Polly, physically stricken by the turpitude of such animalistic behavior. The more terrifying the sight, the more transfixed our response ... and so it happened with Polly Atkins. Her periwinkle eyes were glued to the photograph, at the man, at his tongue licking the swollen pink flanges of her vagina. Perverted ! Sick! That's what Ted's been wanting to do to me for three years! The photos had a natural progression and it seemed obvious the next would be the reversal.
Polly gulped. A wave of shame flowed through her quivering body, rouging her cheeks to crimson. These disgustingly behaved people were drawing her into their lasciviousness, infecting her soul with perversity. The lusty smirks on their faces, the contortion of ecstasy, was beginning to affect her. A froth began to dampen the crotchband of her panties ... Now she wished Ted were here to cool her arousal flamed by the wine and the thought of lovemaking.
She moaned aloud, working up the courage to thrust the magazine to the floor and be rid of the evil demons jumping out from the pages to stab tiny pitchforks of lust into her loins!
A flip of the page. "Oh, no!" she groaned. Just as she'd feared-a woman (what difference did the color of hair make now?) with her parted lips ovaled around the blood fed length of a man's penis! Oh, and the girl was loving it, reveling in her filth like a child licking an ice cream cone! The girl had her head buried in the naked man's loins, just as Ted had for so long wanted her to do to him! A low moan of despair tore from Polly's throat. She pushed the magazine off her lap and sat slumped on the sofa's cushions. She trembled, opening and closing her legs in a futile effort to end the tingling, flowing excitement the lewd photographs had fanned between her silken thighs.
Oh, Ted, why aren't you here now! I want you, Teddie, I want you deep inside me, honey! Sooo baddd!
Her breathing became shallow, her nipples puckered into diamond chips. In a wail of very real despair, the incited young wife leapt from the sofa and tore down the hall to the bedroom where she slammed the door and threw herself onto the bed in a frenzy of hysteria. The burning ache in her belly would not stop, even though she'd left the wicked photographs face down on the living room carpet.
"What about masturbation..." came Myra's voice from the deep recesses of her libido. "Do you feel comfortable enough with yourself to make yourself orgasm?"
And her rebuttal (weak in retrospect) had been: "Come now, Myra .. . I'm not a sex crazed slut who can't wait for her husband to make love to her!"
Strange how time doth change things....
In one swift motion, the beautiful young housewife kicked off her shoes, and tore at the zipper of her dress. She peeled off her lacey brassiere, marveling at the firmness of her breasts in the full length mirror, and stripped off her stockings, leaving her garter belt to make a lacey crisscross over the soft bowl of her belly. A low, deep moan tore from her throat as she tore at her flimsy bikini panties.
Her liquor-fogged, passion-drenched mind refused to admit to the evil she had been led to believe came from masturbation. A red hot urgency replaced reason, blotting out everything but the intense desire and need for release.
Cooing, throwing back her head in slow, rotating circles, she massaged with polished fingertips the smooth flat whiteness of her stomach, around and around, raising up to pass over her swollen breasts with their strawberry tipped nipples. She sensed the love juices gathering in her womb. With a will of its own, her hand moved lower and she arched her back, raising her hips high off the bed, her fingers passing through the downy fleece of her blonde pubic curls and intensifying to a damning crescendo the sexual frenzy within her.
A groan of desire bubbled from her laxly parted lips, as the young housewife moved her hand warm downward between her now widespread thighs, wet with the secretions of her passion. She wormed her finger into the moist flesh experimentally, marveling at the feel of the soft, warm lips of her pussy. Funny, she had never touched herself before down there, at least in an appreciative manner. The feeling sparked by her own fevered fingers was so very, damnably good!
Gently, she manipulated the soft hair-lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with warm, rushing blood, and her clitoris became rigid and tingling. Her index finger touched the trembling nub of flesh, making her gasp with the delight as she felt her release cumming. Her hips thrashed the bed and the air, her eyes fluttered open and shut. She licked her lips and cooed back into the pillow where just last night Ted had rested his head.
Faster, faster, faster her quickly learning fingers rubbed across the sensitive, swollen nub, blanking her mind of all thoughts, all reasoning, nothing existing for Polly Atkins at that moment but the delirious need to come.
And magically, she was there!
Oh, God, she was making herself cum!
Her hips flailed frantically, boring down into the mattress as wave after wave of unbearable passion rippled through her loins. The pleasure was so acute it was electrifying. It was not the dull, throbbing bittersweet pain of feeling Ted boring into her womb, but a sharp current of sensation that centered in the oily nub of her clitoris.
Then, as her orgasm slowly and predictably ebbed, her buttocks sank back down into the spread and her hand stilled. She couldn't bear to lift it from her seeping cunt. Her eyes squeezed shut and her swollen breasts rose and fell spasmodically.
Slowly sanity returned to her brain. A feeling of abject mortification overcame her, backed by the unreality of having been her own lover. She lay staring up at the ceiling, wondering what evil had overcome her that she might resort to the use of her own hand for relief. She moaned aloud in despair, sitting up, brushing the hair from her eyes. In a rush of movement, she flung herself face down on the bed and cried. She cried for women like Myra, she cried for herself and she cried for her marriage that was falling apart because she was unable to give what did not come naturally to her.
She felt sick, in need of cleansing, impure ... as if her body were diseased with an incurable illness that lay dormant in her soul. She needed to sleep; she couldn't be this upset when Ted came home for dinner. The fear set in that he might not come home tonight, and she cried harder. He must never know what she'd done tonight.
After a long moment, she pulled herself from the bed, showered and put on fresh pants and sweater. Later, in the kitchen she was slapping sliced roast into the Dutch oven when, with a wail of despair, she remembered, the Sexology Institute Manual lying face down on the beige living room carpet. Dear God help her if Ted lay eyes on that!
Frantically, she shoved the glossy magazines with their innocuous covers into the top shelf in the hallway closet next to Ted's handball equipment, keeping a wary eye on the clock, and making a mental note that it would be wise to. return the odious ministers of evil to Myra the next day.
CHAPTER FOUR
"If I were you, Mr. Atkins, I wouldn't have sex with my wife for a week."
Ted pulled up his suit pants' zipper and stared askance at the doctor whose name he'd picked from the telephone book yellow pages. One didn't come to a family doctor with suspicions of venereal disease.
"A week? But the results-"
"The results won't be in for a couple of days, and your penicillin shot won't protect her." The doctor peered through bifocals and scribbled notes in the fresh manila folder bearing the name of his new patient. "Remember it's for her own good ... and yours." He gazed accusatively at the pale faced husband and slapped shut the folder, then rose from his chair and opened the examining room door. "If you have any symptoms ,.. any itching or discharge, give me a call."
"Oh, Jesus," bemoaned Ted, raking fingers through curly hair. "That's all I need!" Wearily, he slipped into his suit coat and left the clinic, a dejected and fearful man.
Last night's sensual excesses and the anxiety of facing a grim Polly ate at the highs of infidelity. If the situation were reversed, he told himself rationally, making a tight right into the drive, and it had been Polly groveling in the arms of another man, he would be damned mad. Yet, as he pulled up behind the shiny bumper of his wife's Volkswagen, he couldn't deny the pleasures of oral sex. If only Polly could appreciate the beauty of mouth on penis, mouth on vulva.
Shyly, he opened the front door, tossed the evening newspaper on his recliner rocker, and called out a weak hello. The kitchen was alive with the frantic rattle of pots and pans, the smell of dinner warming the air. A cold chill rippled up and down his spine as he saw her in profile. Guilt/Fear of being neglected for wrongdoing? He paused at the door.
"Hi, hon ..." He came up behind her as she stood at the counter tearing lettuce into the wooden salad bowl, her movements brusque, jerky. Ted kissed his wife on the cheek and slunk his arms around her waist.
"Oh, hi," she answered coolly, ripping the leaves with vengeance. "Sorry I'm late. I had to work late." No answer.
A trembling hand grabbed for the refrigerator door and he pulled a can of Olympia beer from the shelf. He popped it open, keeping one eye peeled on his wife's stoic profile as she hurriedly set the table and grabbed the garlic bread from the oven.
"Italian or French?"
"Huh?"
"Dressing. I'm talking about salad dressing. Italian or French?" she snapped. "Italian's okay."
On nights like this when he bore the guilt of wrongdoing, it was a contrite Ted who added to their dinner a fine bottle of French wine or a bouquet of red roses. Christ, I can't even make love to her! She knows something's up ... I can tell by the glint in her eye. Jesus, she can be so cold. I'd rather she lost her temper and accused me so I could defend myself.
"Have a good time with the boys last night, dear?"
Ted chewed a long moment on his salad. "We went out for a couple of drinks after the board meeting. What a helluva long day that was!" He masticated unnecessarily, and heard himself say without thinking: "Oh the way home I got a flat tire, of all the damned things! Couldn't find a service station open so George had to drive me halfway across town. Wouldn't you know something like that would happen. I was looking forward to coming home and getting a good night's sleep too."
Ill- bet you were, you liar! She smiled sweetly and gingerly plucked a slice of buttery garlic bread from the bread basket and set it on his plate. A pang of regret, coupled with the ache of deception, chiseled at her appetite. Absentmindedly, she pushed the tomato around the salad bowl.
To fill the silence, Ted emitted a deep sigh. "Early to the sack tonight. Thank God tomorrow's Saturday," he talked as she chewed.
Polly blinked back salty tears. If only he would take her in his arms and erase all the ill feelings! The guilt of this afternoon's lusty episode with those filthy magazines and his nonchalant attitude, left her hungry for more than food. She needed love to put things right! Yes, she decided with a glimmer of hope, she would forget his infidelities and squeeze him and hug him and make love to him like a wanton slut if that would end this damnable uncomfortable silence between them! Her spirits lifted, she filled two wine glasses and hoped for the best.
With a belly full of roast and salad, Ted settled down in his favorite chair, the recliner across from the television set; he kicked off his shoes and leaned back, loosening his tie. In the kitchen he heard Polly clearing the table and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He contented himself with the newspaper, paying special attention to the ailing stock market.
In a titter of nervousness, Polly cleared the dishes and dashed for the bathroom. A sudsy shower, powdered from breasts to toes, and she padded nakedly to her closet to slip from the hanger the black negligee with the red ribbon drawstring Ted had bought her for Valentines Day. A naughty little number, she wore it only when Ted was in one of his voyeuristic moods when he delighted in watching his wife parade about the drape-pulled confines of the living room.
The lace straps supported the draw-stringed bodice made of the finest French lace. The bumblebees of her nipples made dark circles under the transparent fabric, and when she moved, the melon-like weight of her creamy breasts moved in a Goddess-like rhythm. High and firm on her chest, the vee of her cleavage was marked by a red streaming ribbon, trailing down to the lace-edged slit that ran from the hem of the ankle length gown to the mound of her Venus.
Brushing her hair to a glistening sheen of gold, she dabbed perfume behind each dainty earlobe and behind each dimpled knee and, slipping into the black satin matching slippers, she sashayed down the hallway to make her appearance.
Ted sat contently in his recliner, wiggling his toes and squinting at the small print of stock market statistics; the television roared in the background. A fresh can of beer sat on the carpet beside him.
In a woosh of anticipation, Polly settled down on the sofa, and swept one lusciously creamy thigh over the other, awaiting a response. She cleared her voice. "Care for a glass of wine, honey?"
Ted's tired eyes peered over the top of the newspaper. He gulped. "Thanks .. . I've got a beer. Help yourself, though." Oh, Christ, she's wearing that see-through nightie! I know what she wants ... oh shit! The doctor said one week. What if I give my own wife syphilis? She'd never forgive me! As he peered at the lovely apparition, a contrast of golden haloed curls and blue eyes set in a pixie face, creamy skin-and the naughty black of seductive lace, he realized he'd never loved his Polly more.
And he couldn't have her. At least tonight.
With a moan of regret that only he could hear, he rested his eyes on the newspaper, deciphering the deliberate rustles and extracurricular movements designed to attract his attention.
"Anything interesting in the newspaper, honey?" chimed Polly, stretching one naked arm along the back of the sofa in an engaging pose.
"Naw ... nothing you'd be interested in," came the flat, heartless answer.
Brusquely, choking back a sob, Polly grabbed for the Cosmopolitan Magazine resting on the coffee table and flopped it open. The color spread of nymph-bodied models adorned in skimpy summer-fashion bikinis stared up at her. With a sniff, she turned the page, mentally comparing the luscious bodied females to the imagined woman who'd enjoyed the pleasures of her husband the night before.
Maybe he didn't notice I'm dressed for him. Maybe he really is tired. Maybe I imagined this whole rotten mess ... maybe I'm just paranoid because I wouldn't do that on our anniversary night.
A thousand may been rifled through her mind. A smattering of Myra's analysis galloped through her mind. Perhaps all these maybes and suppositions were the crux of her problem. She wasn't aggressive enough; instead of sitting there waiting for Ted to take notice, she should force him to take notice.
Slapping down the unread Cosmopolitan, she lifted from the sofa, wafting of perfume and sashayed over to his side. Gingerly she plucked the newspaper from hi fingers and let it butterfly to the floor. Resting pin polished fingertips on an outthrust hip, she wiggled as if settling into place.
Ted stared up at his wife, aghast.
"What do you say, big boy," she purred, hoping to make him laugh-at least respond. She nodded her blonde curly head in the direction of the bedroom. "How 'bout we move into the bedroom and make up for lost time?"
Ted gulped dryly. He flicked his wrist and pressed the button on his digital time piece. "It's only eight o'clock. Can't you wait?"
He was beginning to feel guilty as hell for his retaliatory escapades the night before, and her open invitation for sex was making it worse. Last night he had wanted to punish Polly for her rejection of his kind of sex, punish her for the frustration of three years of oraless sex. He had needed to feel for the sake of his own psyche, that the problem lay with her.
Before he could stop her, his wife threw herself in front of him and descended in his lap, wrapping one lithe arm around his neck and staring him squarely in the face. She grabbed his left hand and squeezed it to her hip urgently. She began to grind her warm buttocks into his lap. His other hand she cupped to her left breast.
Ted responded with stunned fascination. Polly had never acted this way before ... especially following a fight. By nature she was a pouter, a you-come-to-me type. Yet he had experienced her passion for three years and realized her love for him. Where this kind of aggressive behavior fitted into her character, he wasn't certain.
Ted glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye, frightened of the intensity glimmering in her dilated pupils. She looked almost demonic, possessed!
"Darling, you're hurting my leg. You know I hurt that knee playing handball," he said, frightened of this sudden split of personality.
Struggling to maintain her composure, Polly shifted her weight. "Better? she choked, starting to feel the flush of embarrassment rouging her cheeks.
He grimaced in feigned pain. "I... I think you're going to have to get up, hon." As she lifted, he teasingly slapped her on the buttocks.
That he would mock her advances stung her heart. She stood with her back to him and when she rose from his chair, desperation took charge. Urgently, she clung to him. 'Ted, please," she begged. She ground her pelvis into his desperately. "I want you, darling, please, let's make love!"
"Polly, it's only eight o'clock, we have plenty of time," he cajoled. A wrinkled furrowed his brow. "Really, what's with you?"
"Oh, Ted, don't ask questions now!" she moaned, needing him to erase the guilt of her self-induced ecstasy earlier that day. Instead of fulfilling her desires, it had only left her hungering for something greater and manly, Ted. Frantically, she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts. Her dimpled face contorted with the maddened need for love. "Just make love to me, Ted. Do it to me now!"
"Honey," he pleaded, "what's come over you? It's not like you to beg like this!" When he tried to uncoil her grip from his wrists, she wailed in anguish.
It was true! He had another lover! Why else would he reject her? The frustration of lost love compelled her to need him more.
"I'm not begging, I'm asking you to make love to me!" Her face was contorted with anguished need and desperation.
A shocked silence was filled only by the roar of television game show roaring in the background. Ted was taken aback. He was used to being the seducer... the fumbling of hands, the kissing. He wasn't prepared for the desperate act of aggression on his wife's side. Making love was a man's game, played by male rules.
"I'm just not in the mood, baby. I'm tired. I've put in a full week's work."
"Damn it!" she railed. Frustration was stoking the fire between her legs. She needed him to make love to her to prove she was still number one. "I need your cock! I need your cock deep inside me, Ted, fuck me now!"
With that, she pulled him toward the sofa and threw herself down on the sofa beige pillows. Ted's face burned hotly with confusion, fear and a thousand emotions he couldn't identify. His gabardine pants tented from the hardening bulge. He felt her fingers toying with his belt, pulling at it, yanking at the metal tab of his zipper.
He panted, despite doctor's orders, as her groping fingers came into contact with the naked flesh of his pulsating cock. Christ, how could he reject her now? Yet, he must! Somehow, he had to fight his way out of this bag and come out smelling like roses.
Polly pushed him away and raised up on her elbows. Mewls of lustful desire gurgled from her throat as she worked feverishly to unsheath the hardened stalk of his penis from his tight-fitting trousers. Suddenly the fleshy monster leapt into view and poked between the open fly to bob before her sex-starved eyes. She then caressed it lovingly, stroking the soft outer skin of sensitive nerve-filled flesh up and down. Her blue eyes were glassy, fixed on the swollen muscle as she twisted feverishly around on the sofa.
"Fuck me, honey," she implored, her eyes searching his face with a look that coupled animalistic desire and supplication.
Ted's emotions roiled. What had happened to his wife? Did one night of staying out late threaten her enough to beg him for sex? Was she that desperate, that insecure? She was behaving worse than Jody- and that was conceding a sore point! The thought that she would never act like this again crossed his mind, that maybe she would come to her senses and be his submissive Polly again encouraged him.
Wiggling her hips, she managed to yank open the flap of her nightie, exposing the creamy expanse of luscious thighs to her confused husband. He bent over her, staring at the blonde fleece of her pubic mound. "Help me ... out of this!" she yelped.
He pulled down the straps of her nightie, allowing the ripe melons of flesh to tumble into view. His lips lapped hungrily at the tiny, throbbing nipples, his swirling tongue stoking desire in her goose-bumped body. A shiver of hot lust convulsed her body as his tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh. Yes, he must still love her... must still desire her-as he had before the other woman. She squirmed and panted beneath he husband's fervent caresses. She was crazed with the need for him.
It was unnatural lovemaking, and Polly knew it, but the need drove her on. When she could stand it no longer, she wrenched his head away from her breasts, creating a suction when his lips were pulled back fro her breast.
"Oh, darling, get between my legs and make love me!"
Her eyes stared up into his wrinkled brow. What was wrong, her mind raged. Why was he still in h' clothes? She suddenly felt her body begin to chill at the thought of his rejection. She was lying beneath he husband with her legs spread, begging for him to take her... and he stood transfixed as if she were speaking a foreign language.
"Please, Teddie?"
To mobilize him into action, she fumbled for h' swollen penis and grasped the heavy hardness between her tiny fingers.
Ted swallowed tightly. Oh, God, what to do? Should he take the chance and shove his hard prick inside he and be done with it, hoping he didn't infect her with imaginary diseases and guilt, or should he?
It was worth a try.
With a deep moan of anticipation, he spread her wide apart, and parted the slippery cunt lips. Holding the swollen flanges wide with his thumbs, he stared at the nub of her pounding clitoris and feverishly dipped his head and probed the pulsating pussy flesh with his tongue.
Before Polly realized his intent, he'd lapped straight up the full length of her hotly quivering pussy, sending fantastic shocks of delight through her trembling body. He poked it, like a finger, into the hole, and tasted for the first time the piquancy of his wife's sexual juices. The sweet aromatic aroma filled his nostrils with love and appreciation for his blonde haired darling.
Polly's eyes rolled in her head deliriously. With an effort, she raised her head and gaped at the brown curly head bobbing between her legs.
"Nooo!" she yelped, pushing him away, and nearly gouging out his eyeballs. "Don't do that, Ted. Please, not that!"
But it was too late. Polly Atkins had known for the first time the delights of mouth on vulva; yet the indignity, the deception of his intent seared hotly in her mind. How could he attack me... when I needed him to make love to me... putting his lips on me down there ... disgusting, horrible! Like in those terrible photographs!
"Ted... how could you?" she burst, struggling to sit up, her melon-like breasts jiggling from the abrupt movement. Burying her face in her hands, she wept. The image of his chin dripping with her inner juices stung her mind, and her cheeks flushed with abject humiliation.
Ted backed off, a hurt, injured expression clouding his handsome face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping clean the evidence of his lust. For a long silent moment he stared at his wife.
"Please, be reasonable, Polly ... let me give you pleasure the way I want to. Don't be so uptight."
"Uptight?" she wailed, shivering with sobs. "Just put it inside the way you always do!"
Ted straightened. He eyed his wife critically. "For once I'm going to have my way," he retorted, clenching his fists, secretly relieved at having found a way out of this entanglement. "Nope, I'm not going to make love to you 'like we always do' until you get over your phobia! I've been damned patient, Polly, but this is going too far!"
With a gruffness unbecoming to him, he yanked up the pants zipper, leaving his whimpering wife to sob pathetically on the sofa's arm, and kicking into his shoes, grabbed his coat and decided to do some serious drinking "You're more disgusting than that slut, Myra!" he yelled, slamming the door after him.
CHAPTER FIVE
The moist, shredded kleenex wad found its way to Polly's sniffling nose onee more. Intermittent sobs, chorused by the rattle of ice cubes in Myra's impatiently empty gin glass filled the room with depressive silence. Outside the expansive bay windows, leaves danced in the crisp October air with a freedom the distraught wife found agonizing.
Ted wouldn't make love to me last night. I did what you suggested, I let myself be aggressive and seduce him, but he still wouldn't make love to me! Oh, Myra."
Holding the wad to her perky nose, she grasped the other woman's warm hand for self assurance and comfort, and sobbed so hard her cheeks rouged for want of breath. "I feel so terrible!"
"Pull yourself together, honey. Tell me what happened." Myra's eyes glinted with lusty hunger. "Did he touch you, did he just refuse ... tell me!" Ted Atkins had been an object of Myra's fantasies for years; her empty belly congested needfully as Polly conjured up the courage to speak.
Polly sniffed loudly and as her chin trembled and dimpled with sadness, she studied the rapt expression on her college mate's face. To openly admit that Ted had wanted to put his mouth on her vagina and satisfy her in that animalish manner was not easy to express-even to Myra. Then, too, Ted would be irate beyond words if he knew she'd discussed their sex life with Myra. The two enjoyed an open hostility, fermenting since college days.
Polly's pearly teeth clamped over her succulent lips for a thoughtful moment. "He wouldn't put it inside. He wanted to use his mouth," she choked out in revulsion. "Then he got mad and left. Oh, I don't know where he went... out drinking I suppose, or out with that, that woman!"
Myra cocked an arched eyebrow, a smirk creasing the heavy red line of her lips. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. Ever think of playing around, Polly?"
Polly's blue eyes saucered. "How could you suggest such a thing? I love Ted!"
Myra swung one lithe leg over the other, curling one foot under her rounded buttocks. "You're all broken up, your ego is about as big as a pinhead, and you can't quit feeling sorry for yourself!" Throwing back her burnished head, she drained her drink and sashayed toward the bar for a quick refill. "Do you think Ted wants a woman like that?" she snickered.
"Well, I'd never thought of it that way," conceded Polly in a tiny voice.
"You've got to make up your mind to rid yourself of jealousy and these stupid sexual hang-ups. They're needless baggage and until you can free yourself, your marriage to Ted will be pure disaster!" she promised in a thick voice.
A quick swirl of the swizzle stick and the lithe bodied woman, draped in a raw silk caftan, settled on the sofa. "Tonight I'm inviting one of my teachers over for dinner. I want you to stay and meet him, he's a very intelligent and handsome man." A seductive smirk twitched at the uptilted corners of Myra's luscious mouth. "I'm sure the three of us will have a great time. You can't sit home and mope forever!"
Socializing with Myra and enjoying an intimate tete a tete showed the two faces of Myra Belfry. An eccentric with a penchant for the macabre, she enjoyed the tantalizing effects of toying with people's minds, pitting them against each other and reveling in the outcome. That could make her a disarmingly spontaneous social butterfly. Other times, like yesterday and today, Myra was all heart, giving and open. It was that Myra that Polly had grown to trust. Still, she balked at the invitation.
"I really should pick up around the house a bit, but thanks." Hastily, she snatched up her purse and headed for the door.
Myra blocked her path. "I insist!" She pressed her lithe body against the wooden plank cracked open from Polly's hasty retreat. A gust of cold air rippled through Polly's blonde curls as Myra's pressured it shut. "Your ego needs a lift, God knows, and Ed would love to meet you! He's an expert on marriage ... you might call him a professor," she grinned conspiratorially.
Unnerved by the insistence (and how else could she get out the door?) Polly agreed on seven o'clock and headed for her silver Volkswagen. From the rearview mirror, she caught Myra's purple robed silhouette as she plucked the receiver from the cradle and nestled it to her gold-bedecked ear.
Dr. Dearborn hailed from the South. An ex-Baptist minister in the sultry lowlands of Atlanta, he'd masterminded a phenomenal church following garnered through a network of radio and television programs where his frantic, Christian plea for funds to build a church dedicated to the people, earned him a cool two million the first year. The funds and donations poured in, but the walls were slow in being erected. By the end of the third year, the 'Dr. Dearborn Christian Hour' was no longer logged on the Sunday morning radio lineup, and the public reached the logical conclusion that they'd been had.
A genius with cunning charisma, he'd turned his exploitive talents to a fresher institute which he lovingly termed the Sexology Institute of America, dedicated to happier, more Christian marriages. At least that was the voiced intention. In reality, the institute was a whorehouse of lust.
Unfortunates such as Myra Belfry-Johnson-Carlyle-Osgood-Rainier-Camdon unhappy in marriage and seeking a reason for successions of frustrations, paid hefty sums to learn the sexual devices of entrapment. Courses in 'Self-Fulfillment', 'It's Fun With More Than One', 'Lingerie', 'The Whip Doesn't Always Hurt', and other courses aimed at unscrewing the libido turned out graduates who, in their courses of study, had become disciples of the infamous Dr. Dearborn, more commonly known as Ed.
Now, as Polly knocked timidly on Myra's front door, it was Ed's handsomely chiselled, mustached face that smiled back at her. He wore a natty three-piece suit, conservative tie crisp around his neck. A deep tan from a Hawaiian holiday deepened his cheeks, giving him a healthy glow. His eyes danced like a cat toying with its tortured prey as she extended a warm hand which he pressed to his lips.
Polly choked, wishing she hadn't come. Ted had been sitting in his recliner, can of beer in hand, when she'd slipped unannounced out of the house. They might have spent the night discussing the problems of their marriage, instead of her running off for cocktails with one of Myra's lovers.
Myra gushed with social grace. In the crackling light of the fireplace, she oozed sensuality! A burgundy crepe evening dress with a slit running from ankle to thigh accentuated the ripe mounds and swells of her mature body. Her panther-like sensuality lent itself sumptuously to the sleek lines of the deep, blood red garment. Her burnished hair was brushed to a riotous glow, gleaming in the firelight. Her voice was thick and lusty when she said: "Ed, meet Polly, an old friend of mine from college. She's the woman I told you about-the one with the sexual hang-ups."
Polly blushed crimson and settled, unnerved and squirming, on the matching chair adjacent to Dr. Dearborn. What right had Myra to talk of her married life in these intimate terms! "Oh, Myra, please..." she hissed through clenched teeth, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her blue wool dress as if the spoken word sex were capable of undressing her in front of Dr. Dearborn's piercing dark eyes.
"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, Polly. We've been talking about sex for two days, and talk won't change anything!" Swaggering her hips, she plucked a log from the brass holder and leaning over until her creamy breasts almost spilled from the deep vee of her neckline, lay the log in the crackling flames. Straightening, she grinned at Polly. "We're all friends, darling, there's no reason to be embarrassed!"
Polly accepted a snifter of brandy, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. Nervousness from last night's humiliation chiseled away at her appetite, and with Ted pounding around the house today complaining of a hangover and carefully ignoring her, it had hardly created an atmosphere for dining. The alcohol burned down her gullet. Beside her the fire roared, beading her satiny forehead with perspiration. Daintily, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, wishing she hadn't worn wool.
To her right, she felt Dr. Dearborn staring at her, his face set in a smirk, tight and haughty. The unnerving sensation that she'd walked into the middle of an intimate moment was difficult to dispel; the electricity between Dr. Dearborn and Myra snapped, with Polly the circuit breaker.
"We'll eat in a bit," promised Myra, grabbing the phallic-shaped brandy decanter by the neck and tipping it generously. "I hope you like clams, darling."
"Sounds fine with me," Polly's voice was small and tremorous. I wish he'd quit looking at me like that! One more brandy, and Polly excused herself to the bathroom. The brandy burned in her stomach and a light headed dizziness set in from hunger and the growing heat in the living room.
Polly took longer than usual dragging a hairbrush through her tight blonde curls haloeing her dimpled face. She tucked the brush back into her evening bag, set the alligator bag on the glass shelf, and stepped back to examine her image in the full length crystal mirror of Myra's dressing room.
"Oh, no," she groaned. The button of her dress had loosened and a wisp of white lace stuck up for Dr. Dearborn's hungry eyes to see! No wonder he'd been staring at her! With a grunt of dismay, she deftly closed it, a chill rippling through her body, followed by a crimson blush as she wondered how Dr. Dearborn had responded to the ripe swell of her creamy bosom pushed together in an exaggerated cleavage. After Myra's introduction about sexual hang-ups, he must have found her indecency amusing!
Examining the seams in her stockings for straightness, she hurriedly ironed her dress free of wrinkles. It was so hot in the living room, the wrinkles had steamed in, she feared, snatching her evening bag and deciding return to the living room via the kitchen to get a glass of water. Her mouth was dry from the brandy. She pressed the door open with the force of her sweating palms. Abruptly, her eyes spitted and her jaw dropped in shock.
Myra was standing with her back to Polly, her firm breasts pressed tight to Ed's chest, their arms twisted together. They were kissing and squirming their bodies together, both of them grunting and groaning together like a couple of mating animals. Polly pulled her head back instantly, hearing the ominous whine of a zipper being pulled down. Of all indecent things! If Myra had wanted to seduce her doctor, couldn't she have done so in private; why did Polly have to play voyeur? Like two high school students, they were pawing each other.
Polly was transfixed on the lusty disgrace. She could see the quivering flesh of Myra's smooth ass cheeks and sleek thighs as they ground hungrily against Ed's bulging loins, and Ed's muscular thighs were pressed against the five-times married woman with unmitigated desire.
"You really think she will?" Polly heard Dr. Dearborn whisper throatily. "Naw ... I can't imagine it. . ."
Myra's husky retort was broken off in a thick laugh. For a moment, Polly thought she might faint with outrage. Suspicion and disgust rose bile-like in her throat. Who were they talking about? Certainly Myra wasn't cruel enough to mock her guest after the opening jibe about sexual hangups! Polly choked with the fear of being discovered spying on the two lovers.
".. .pull the wires ... that's all it takes..."
Myra was quick to reply, and did so in a hushed giggle. "Yess ... she will... we'll make her!"
Dr. Dearborn snickered. "Mmmm... sweet blondes ... love 'em!" Then he swept Myra back into his arms again, oblivious to the seething guest pressed to the doorway. He mashed his mustache-tickling lips down on Myra's succulent ones, and Polly gawked in mortification as the doctor reached one examining hand down to one of Myra's rounded buttocks and give it a salacious squeeze. Horrified, Polly watched as his outstretched middle finger dipped into the crevice, slowly caressing up and down between her trembling ass cheeks. In answer, Myra's thighs began to grind automatically, at first from side to side and then in ball bearing circles as she ground her abdomen into his bulging loins, faster and faster.
Polly's throat tightened in disgust. She could stand it no longer! First the scathing insult, then leaving her alone while they mauled each other's bodies in the kitchen! Revulsion sprinkled through her brain. Pressing her purse against her chest and her lips into a straight line, she dipped into her handbag and fingered her keys. She would leave without announcement if they didn't cease their rapacious display this second! Gritting her pearly teeth, stole one more peek before retrieving her own coat from the hall closet and saying goodbye to Myra once and for all.
Their moans chorused, waning and waxing in the full moon of their passion. Yet Polly had to admit that a tingling warmth had begun deep in the heart of her womb, sharing Myra's passion. Last night's frustrations were heavy in her belly. Her nipples beneath her whitelace brassiere were hardening into nubs of sensitivity. She hated herself for feeling this involuntary emotion, feeling soiled... like the afternoon with the filthy magazines!
The irate house guest didn't try to tip toe back to the living room. The click of her high heels against the hardwood floor echoed through to the kitchen, separating the passion-aroused lovers in startlement. It was a tight-faced Polly that Myra found sitting demurely next to the fireplace. Quickly, she filled her friend's glass with the amber liquid.
"The doctor and I were heating water for our steamed clams," smiled Myra smugly. "I hope we haven't left you alone too long."
'That's okay," chirped Polly, irritated to the bone. "I'm really not very hungry... in fact, I'm not feeling very well. Thank you for the drink, Myra, I think I'll be going." Polly started to rise off her chair, fighting dizziness.
"Please, no. . ." Myra was one shade light of contrite. Her eyes fled to the bay window and she blocked her guest's view of her car parked in the drive. "It will only be minutes ... and Ed would be so disappointed if you left. We've got so much to talk about!"
The iron curtain of escape was pulled shut, and Polly, quite against her will, settled back on the chair. The eerie, discomforting feeling that she was the subject of a cruel game of "Get the Guest" popped into mind and Polly was drawing several comparisons between Virginia Wolfs character and her own hostess, when her ears, preened for suspicions, caught the sound of a door closing, very slowly and deliberately hushed.
"Ah, here's Ed now. Let's have another drink!" They made small talk about the Sexology Institute and, after her fourth brandy on an empty stomach, Polly felt a warm vertigo ripple in her stomach. She realized she was quickly approaching inebriation. She needed coffee, she needed food; she didn't need these two people gawking at her with silly smirks.
Impatiently, she crossed her stockinged legs in a whoosh and tapped her fingers on the chair's arm. She felt them staring at her. Their two heads multiplied to four and in a burst of panic, she realized she was too drunk to drive. They were deliberately getting her drunk, it seemed, and starving her, too!
Ed and Myra watched Polly's eyelids droop and her head nod from heat and alcohol. Dr. Dearborn could see she was very uncomfortable, but too polite to complain. Not that complaints would help replace the pulled wires in her car. Yes, she was here for the night, like it or not, and after Myra's juicy tale of marital eruptions, tonight would promise to be a wild evening of Myra's games.
That's what he admired about Myra-her mental agility in playing with people's minds. Therapy had unscrewed her libido, and he'd watched a woman nearly frigid for contempt of men blossom into a sensual flower, earthy and vibrant and lustfully delightful!
Now the doctor's mind was filled with a wild desire to fuck the Titian haired blonde. His penis and testicles ached furiously with the need to slip his cock inside her pink pussy and plant his steaming cum deep inside her tender belly. That and other amusing tortures of her pulchritudinous body and spirit. And Myra had led him to her!
Myra fanned herself with a flapping hand. "The fireplace radiates a lot of heat ... it must be ninety degrees in here!" She blew down her neck. "Here, darling, have some more brandy ... it's great for the appetite!"
"Oh, no thank you...." Polly's voice was weak, her head swimming. "I really should get home... I'm not feeling very well."
Dr. Dearborn fanned his cheeks with a linen handkerchief plucked from his suit coat pocket. He stared by the fireplace where Polly sat in a slumped, drunken dizziness, her cheeks flushed, forehead dotted with perspiration. She could catch her head in mind-roll, blinking her tired eyes to alertness. Her fingers were white knuckled from hanging onto the chair's arm, as if that alone were keeping her from slumping to the floor.
"How long have you and your husband been married?" he queried, smiling disarmingly. "You really should take some courses at the institute." He turned to his accomplice. "A course in joys of oral sex," he said nonchalantly, ".. .would suit you fine, don't you agree, Myra?"
His words came as if from miles away, out of a blue haze of heat. Myra tittered; Polly burned. "I don't think that's very funny," she objected. Her mouth was dry, her voice thick, her tongue lazy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really have to get home ... I'm not feeling very well...." As she rose clumsily out of her chair, Dr. Dearborn shot off the sofa and eased her down.
"Please, you've only just arrived." Deftly, he plucked her empty snifter from the end table. "Have another drink with us... it's so good for the appetite." Myra nodded, the queen of seduction glorying in her approaching hour of triumph.
"No ... no more brandy." The words tumbled with effort from Polly's mouth. She braced her dimpled chin in her upturned palm and blinked at her ex-college mate.
Myra smiled cattishly. "If you won't go to school, Polly, we're going to bring the institute to you." Polly blinked as Myra worked at the side zipper of her tightly molded evening dress, pulling the burgundy bodice down over her creamy shoulders. "First we're going to take a look at our bodies and forget embarrassment." Standing up, the red-haired woman peeled out of the clinging dress, pulling it down over the ripe mounds of her breasts cupped in lacy patches of black lace hugging her slender ribcage, down over the flat bowl of her belly, over the black lace strip of her garter belt with its lacey straps holding up fishnet stockings. Around the elastic bands of her bikini panties, black tendrils of pussy hair sprouted. With a sigh of rejection, Myra let the garment puddle at her feet. She kicked the Vanderbilt labeled dress with the toe of her shoe and fell back on the sofa, crossing her stockinged legs.
"God, it feels great being free of clothes!" She sighed heavily, mindless of Dr. Dearborn sitting a hand's reach away.
"Myra!" Polly sobered up quickly. "There's a man in the room...!" Any admiration or kinship Polly might have been seduced into enjoying with Myra Belfy was quickly evaporating.
"You mean you don't undress for Ted?" piqued Myra. "No wonder he's bored with you!"
Polly's blue eyes slitted. "You've no right to talk to me like that, Myra, no right at all!" She was sitting on the edge of her chair now, cheeks red with anger and alcohol.
Myra's eyes rested levelly on Polly's flushed cheeks. "Some people learn naturally, some have to be taught. Unfortunately, you fall into the latter category. Some day you'll thank me for this, Polly. I have no reason to be ashamed of my body."
Cocking an eyebrow, she poked out her glossy lips and drew a deep breath that made her melon-like breasts swell and threaten to burst the flimsy strip of black lace, showing all but the tips of her puffy nipples. Brazenly, she ran blood red fingertips over the nearly naked creamy flesh. "Hmmm ... I'm cooling off already."
"I'm not ashamed of my body, either, Myra... but I don't strip in front of men. That's-that's animalish!" Her curls bobbed in the heat of anger. How could Myra insult her like this?
"In college you never liked sex either, Polly. Really, I don't know what Ted saw in you...."
Polly gulped. Indignity and rage sent adrenalin charging through her veins, chilling her to the bone. The need to escape Myra's insults was strong, but the need to defend her marriage and sensuality raged stronger.
Polly's chain of thought chugged off, riding the bumps and valleys of inebriation, roaring back in time to find some semblance of reason for Myra's heartless attack upon her lifestyle and very being. What had she ever done to Myra to deserve this scathing attack?
'Ted loves me," she choked defensively. "We-we have a good marriage!"
Myra cocked an eyebrow, maintaining her temperament and playing the role of catalyst to the hilt. Tucking an errant strand of red hair behind a gold-dangled ear, she smirked at Polly. "That's interesting. So you're secure. What about boredom? Look at you, Polly. You dress like a nun. I've tried to give you advice, but you just won't listen." Myra let out a deep sigh and crossed her legs.
"You want me to have the same cheap emotions you do? Married five times and raking them for their money!" she charged back.
"My emotions aren't cheap, Polly. They run deeper ... very deep." Myra shot a meaningful glance at Dr. Dearborn who sat drinking up the melodrama unfolding before his lusty eyes. "Don't they, Ed?"
Polly tried to clear her mind of brandy, tried to still her heart and gather the strength to rise from the chair and leave Myra's house for good. But her misaimed brain was burning, her limbs shaking and legs unsteady. She wondered what Ted would think if he were sitting here listening to Myra gnash out the preciousness of their marriage with the heel of her foot, like it was a smoldering cigarette butt fit for the gutter. Alongside that raging thought, galloped the fear that Myra might be right. Ted had found another lover because he was bored with her sex. Gulping down a trickle of bile, she glanced down at the modest blue wool gathered over the rich swells of her breasts. She sniffed. Hurt, anger and the butterflies dancing drunkenly in her stomach rampaged through her body.
She lifted her saucered eyes to the satin smoothness of Myra's swan-like neck, down to the creamy cleavage pushed temptingly together by the lace brassiere, down over the bowl of her dimpled belly smoothed by the strip of black lace holding up fishnet stockings. A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart as she wondered how Ted would react if he were sitting here now. Who would be the one to trap his attention ... Myra's sensual, lithe body, or her breasts modestly hidden behind blue wool. The damning thought brought a whimper of real pain.
Polly could not deny that the burnished haired woman sitting immodestly in black lace brassiere, garter belt and high heels was a tempting sight, despite her growing disdain for the woman. Shamefully, she recalled the ticklish excitation that had rippled through her neglected belly when she caught Dr. Dearborn and Myra mauling each other in the kitchen ... the image of them groveling nakedly together had terrified her. She had clenched shut her blue eyes and prayed to be free of those loathsome lurking thoughts.
If only she'd refused that last brandy! Could she make it to the car? Struggling to keep her vision in a straight line, she grabbed the arm of the chair like a rock climber grasping a pylon, and hauled herself to her feet. Her rubbery ankles collapsed under her and she toppled over, nose down in the carpet. She felt strong hands tugging at her, tossing her lifeless body back into the chair. To her right, the fire burned her cheeks and unconscious streams of Joan of Arc, the martyr, flitted through her mind. Well she could identify with that hapless character. Polly Atkins, the savior of Myra Belfry's lust!
Now the confused, helpless woman sat slumped immodestly in the chair, her dress yanked up over her thighs to show off a warm expanse of naked thigh above the rim of her stockings. Her sleek legs were spread slightly apart so that Dr. Dearborn's flinty eyes could see the narrow wisp of cloth covering her pouting mound of Venus. He licked his tensile lips under the hairy line of his moustache, feeling his cock leap for joy, pounding with lust. Myra was playing the goading bitch, driving the poor drunken mass of confused flesh into a defensive state of paralysis. She was glued to that chair, drunk beyond redemption. His for the taking!
"Polly," tutted Myra. "I've never seen you so drunk and rumped!"
Polly touched her hand to her burning fire head; it was clammy. She squinted, shook her head to clear her senses and wondered if her ears and eyes were deceiving her.
"I want to show you what a real woman looks like, Polly ..." hissed Myra between glossy, pooched lips. Gulping the dregs of brandy, Myra swaggered to her feet; a bit tipsy herself, she rocked on her four inch high heels. She pirouetted in front of her incredulous guest, cupping her lace covered breasts with her hot hands, running her palms down her slender ribcage and over her smoothly rounded hips to come together at the mount of her hot and ready cunt.
Myra licked her lips and smirked at Polly. "This is what a woman is all about. .. and my little Pollyanna, you will realize by the end of this evening that you've got one hot little pussy that's probably drenched, begging for a hard cock to satisfy you. It's a lesson you have to learn to be free... and Myra," she winked, "is one helluva teacher!"
CHAPTER SIX
"I have to agree with that," snickered Dr. Dearborn, his moustache twitching at the pale-faced, terror-struck lovely sitting like a limp rag doll. Eyes rolling in her head, tossed blonde curls with apple cheeks creating a pulchitrudinous image of vulnerability.
Myra's eyes gleamed, her face twisting into a gloat. Obscene ideas and images rampaged through her libido in a lusty carnival. Had Polly any inkling of her incipient involvement in this melodrama, she would have crawled on hands and knees out of the door and hitchhiked home!
Dr. Dearborn pooched out his thin lips and hooked a finger in his collar. "Getting rather stuffy in here, don't you think?"
"Stuffy ..." smirked Myra, leveling cattish eyes on her guest, " isn't the word for it!"
Polly, glued to the chair, nodded her bobbing head. She'd managed to sling one leg over the other, and cupped her dimpled chin in the palm of her hand, refusing to look at her ex-friend-turned villain parading in front of her. Myra's elegant fingers weighed her breasts, thrusting back her shoulders and arching her back; she ran her hands panther-like over her slender frame while her heels dug into the inch thick carpet, pirouetting in lusty circles.
Maybe they would eat soon; maybe Myra would have the heart to fix dinner. Were they deliberately depriving her of sustenance? She hoped that by ignoring Myra's shameless parade, she would quit showing off and fix dinner. Squirming wormishly in her chair, her face drawn into a tight frown, Polly drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with fireplace smoke. She too, was on fire, but never would she strip naked!
Dr. Dearborn was working at the knot in his tie and stripping it off, worked at the buttons on his shirt. He grinned lecherously at the pie-eyed blonde with the blonde Titian curls frowning in disbelief. Long tapered fingernails dug into the tweed chair arm, hem yanked up to her wad in her lap from the reckless squirming, dimpled knees yawning apart to give a mouthwatering view of her cunt. He squinted, focusing between her creamy thighs to see a wet spot of excitation on the crotchband of her panties.
Dr. Dearborn was almost naked himself now.
"Polly, ready for lesson number two." She gesticulated expansively. "A man's naked body ... stand up, Dr. Dearborn, and let Polly have a look at you!"
"You're terrible!" spat Polly, her elbow loosing its braced hold on the chair arm. The blonde head bobbed down and bobbed up like a cork in choppy waters.
"We're both made of flesh and bone .. . not much different except for shape." Myra turned her haughty gaze at Dr. Dearborn who was stripping out of his pants now. Noting the horror on Polly's crimson face, she smirked. "Don't be shocked, Dr. Dearborn teaches in the nude. Everyone of his sixty-nine students has seen the little blue veins on the underside of his cock- so don't think you're special!" Myra smiled crookedly at her teacher, basking in the glow of his eyes roving appreciatively over the swells and dips of her creamy near-nudity. He considered her one of his prize pupils, but with a teacher of such talent, how could it be otherwise? He became an animal when she raked her fingernails over his thighs, a snake when he bored his swollen penis lustfully into her belly, and a little boy when she licked at his ear. Theirs was a symbiosis of freedom of sensual expression.
Myra's dilated pupils bored into Polly's heavy lidded ones. "It feels wonderful to let yourself go and get all hot and swollen and wet and ready for a man!" To exemplify her point, she planted her high heels wide apart, slithered her elegant fingers over her belly and with one long nailed finger, pulled aside the dampened crotch band of her black bikini panties. Her red hair dipped, falling over her satiny forehead. She stared down between her own legs. "Look, my cunt is all hot and wet... mmmmm... I love to touch myself... I'm not ashamed of making myself orgasm, Polly," she purred.
That lesson hit home! Polly shrieked in horror, buried her face in trembling hands, and shut out the disgusting sight! How could any female parade around showing off her private parts and brazenly stroke herself into excitation? Even for Myra that was lewd! Yet of their own will, her tremulous fingers fell lax, and one blue eye peeked at the swollen moistness of her friend's ragged, seeping cuntal lips. There in burning firelight, her juices dewwed the rose petals of her womanhood.
Polly gulped, her burning eyes traveling up to the Cheshire cat smile on Myra's face. Pleasure was etched on every line of her face. Like a cat spread contentedly in front of the fire, Myra purred deep in her throat, her claws lengthening to give herself greater pleasure as she dipped her fingers into the seeping hole of her cunt. The blonde wife sitting in abject horror, felt a quickening of her breath, a congestion growing heavy in the pit of her stomach. Hadn't she satisfied herself in the same disgusting manner-minus an audience?
She struggled to pry her eyes loose of the sensual feast, but it was as if her neck were screwed on like a bottle cap, rusted in place. Something held her fast. She had to watch-the salacious display of animal carnality cut through morals, tradition and everything dear. Myra's finger sluiced into her slurping cunt, the noises filling the room shamefully. Polly struggled out of the chair ... but she was glued to that seat, paralyzed by curiosity and alcohol.
Polly's mouth hurt it was so dry! The tip of her warm tongue ran over the chapped line of her lips. She was inebriated beyond redemption, defenses lost to drink, her body hot and her mind churning with perverse images. An unwanted trickle of arousal rose in her wetly throbbing pussy, as she tried to toss aside sexual arousal. 'Wb. . . please stop this!" she yelped.
Myra contentedly fingered her pussy, head tossing wildly from side to side. Polly's blue saucered eyes lifted to see Dr. Dearborn stepping out of his pants and lying them over the back of the sofa. His legs were long and well formed, muscular and strong.
The older man caught her gaze and lifted his eyes to rest on Myra's gyrating body. His mouth salivated with desire for the delectable Pollyanna of purity. His penis was stony, crying for release from the red cotton trap of his jockey shorts; in moments it would be drubbing into Myra's tender, velvety parts. Their riotous plan had worked: Polly couldn't be roused from that chair if a bomb exploded on the roof!
He guffawed lecherously and tore off his shirt, gleefully watching Myra play teacher. His loins churned with excitement at the thrill of exposing his body to two young beautiful women. Tonight would be one hell of an evening! The blue eyed, blonde haired lovely would be groveling under his cock, subjugated, taught a lesson she'd never forget. Vaguely, his mind conjured up the profile of her husband. Ted, that was his name. Skinny, impotent ... or muscular, domineering?
With a contented sigh, Dr. Dearborn stretched out on the sofa before the fire, his cock losing its wrinkles in a rubbery erection that pointed straight at the ceiling. Idly, he wondered if he could shoot his cum that high, and vowed to try it some time. Not tonight, though. His legs were spread wide and shivering with anticipation. Myra withdrew her finger from the seeping hole of her vagina with a sucking noise and slid easily down on the sofa in delight, kneeling with her red hair grazing the soft bowl of Dr. Dearborn's belly, her mouth a scant tongue's lick away from the tip of his mushroom headed cock.
"Watch this, Polly! Myra's going for lesson number three. She's going to suck my cock! Watch and learn!"
With a groan of anticipation, Myra took his fleshy stalk between her warm palms and began to rub it lightly, arousing the doctor to a state of clenched teeth lust. It was all he could do to keep from groaning and shooting his cum to spurt over his belly, but he'd become very practiced in sex from teaching reluctant, frigid women to appreciate the joys of mouth on penis, mouth on vulva, and he was no short shooter!
Timing was of utmost importance to keep Polly mesmerized and curious ... and in that chair!
Grinning cattishly, Myra turned her face toward Polly as she sat on the floor, legs spread wide to show off the curling black hairs of her cunt poking out around the moistened band of her panties.
"You've never tasted a man's cock before, have you? Want a lick?" she offered. "Oh, the feeling when it gushes down your throat!"
"You talk so filthy!" moaned Polly, covering her face with her hands.
"Poor Ted," sighed Myra. "That's the problem with your marriage. You told me so yourself. But you'll learn, Polly, believe me, you'll learn!"
"Oh, Gawd!" Polly's wail was anguished. How could Myra talk this way, so filthy, so obscene, so proudly animalishly about sex. The wild sensations rampaging through her body were raping her of mental clarity. Now her own body terrified her. The brandy, the filthy language, suggestive and lewd, and the heavy congestion from Ted's neglect swamped her body with goose-bumped thoughts of carnality.
Myra's living room had transformed into an inferno of steaming obscenities echoing with grunts and moans of lewdness. Polly cringed in the chair, glued in a strangely masochistic way. Her warm body sheened with perspiration, her forehead beaded, the ripe cleavage between her milky breasts sticky. Conflicting emotions rioted in her body. Somehow she couldn't believe this dinner party was real. She pinched herself to make certain she wasn't dreaming, but that act of self-flagellation did nothing to dispel the obscene hallucinations enacted not five feet away!
Perversity in its rawest, stickiest form was unraveling before her saucered eyes as she watched the rigid pole of Dr. Dearborn's cock jutting up from his hairy loins, holding her attention magically. If bile of disgust choked her before, she was suffocating on it now! A gurgle of nausea threatened her as she saw Myra press her lovely face closer to Dr. Dearborn's steaming groin. The meaty erection stabbed at the red headed glistening lips ... and then Myra leaned forward with a groan, pooched out her cherry lips and blew hot breath over the seeping tip, bringing a whimper of delight from her professor of lust. A second later that whimper magnified to a low groan as Myra's practiced pink tongue darted out to swipe off the pearl of pre-cum dangling precariously at the tip of his swollen cock head.
"Mmmm ..." she smacked her lips loudly, squirming on her knees, groveling in his groin, adoring the taste of Dr. Dearborn's pungent tasting cock.
And Myra wasn't feigning delight. A ripple of nausea was hard to choke down as Polly watched the thick hardness dripping with erotic juices too succulent to stay within the tensile, rubbery line of Myra's sucking lips. A bit of creamy spittle rivered to the base of his cock, glistening in the flickering firelight. Myra wriggled her naked hips as she ovaled her beestung lips over the head of his pulsating cock.
The horror of watching a woman pervertedly sucking a man's peniss sent earthquaking tremors of revulsion quaking through Polly's drunken brain. The porthole of her still functioning brain screamed for her to pry loose of that chair and throw herself behind the wheel of her car no matter what the circumstances! Drunk or not ... she couldn't stay here and play voyeur. She struggled to will her body to move, but her nerves were short-circuited, frazzled, her mind a steaming swamp of sensation and her physical body melted to rubber. The brandy and the heat of the blazing fireplace had pickled her brain and begun a sexual fermentation deep in the heart of her womb... not to be controlled, and not to be desired by the shamefaced Polly Atkins.
Her fingertips shredded the chair arms agonizingly as oogle-eyed, she recalled the earlier pain of imagining Dr. Dearborn and Myra groveling nakedly together. Now those fears had materialized into a real life drama happening a hand's reach away! The lustful slurp of Myra's working lips slipping hotly over Dr. Dearborn's hot erection mingled with deep groans and moans of a man seeing a glimpse of nirvana. She blinked. Was it possible that she had willed this crazy obscene melodrama through precognition? She gulped at the thought of the powers of the will, and wished her body could muster the will to peel itself loose of the chair.
Fingers of guilt and self-loathing choked at her throat, making her settle the guilt on the real guilty party! If Ted hadn't treated her like a worthless slut, wanting to put his mouth on her down there between her legs, she wouldn't be sitting here watching Myra make a slut of herself! Those charring thoughts screeched to a halt from the heated sensation of the chair's tweed cushion sticking to her sheened upper thighs, sticking electrically to her seeping cuntal hole up above the rim of her silk stockings. The erotic sensation made her jerk and she pressed her legs together to halt the pricklish arousal that began to gallop through her loins.
Polly's sweating hands flew to her mouth. "Stop... please . ,. help me go home!" she whimpered. Even if Ted wasn't talking to her and refusing her the joy of making love, she was a married woman who owed her husband the respect and loyalty of honoring their marriage vows. She clenched her eyes shut, squeezing out salty tears, wondering why she couldn't shake loose the pricklish thrills of excitation pulsating in the heart of her womb as a result of watching the worse than naked college friend sucking, nibbling, tantalizing over her teacher's blood engorged penis. It was horrifying, disgusting ... and yet she couldn't budge from her voyeur's seat.
"Ohhh ... mmm." Myra mewled around the stabbing stalk of male meat. She sucked in vacuuming rhythms, expertly, driving her lips over the full heated length of his hotly throbbing penis, trapping it deep within her throat, slamming it hard against her tonsils. Myra's eyes began to water, her cheeks reddened from the effort; yet she took it all. Polly could see through blurred vision her friend's wetly ovalled lips working on the thickly veined shaft, watched with glazed eyeballs as the wet lips of her mouth puckered outward and then rolled back in as she sawed up and down, up and down.
Dr. Dearborn's slender hips tensed and jerked spasmodically out of control, heaving up into the masochistically kneeling woman's lovely face, the hard stalk of flesh disappearing with each swallow so that all just but a fraction of the hairy base was lost in the warm cavern of her saliva splattered mouth. As she sucked, and suck she did, Myra's free hand wriggled between the man's thighs, tickling, caressing the bloated sac of sperm-laden testicles. Myra's gorgeous face was twisted in lust, mirroring her voracious desire to milk all of his fiery hot semen and gulp it down her hungry gullet.
The room smelled of firewood smoke and steaming genitals, hanging in the air like sensual fog ready to break into a thunderstorm of lust over Polly's sweat sheened forehead. She smelled sex, her eyes saw sex, her tongue could taste the piquancy of Dr. Dearborn's secretions, and her hands sweated with the need to feel naked flesh. A sob tore from her throat, her dimpled chin trembling dangerously. She wanted to be with Ted, wanted to have him stretched out on the sofa while she manipulated-oh, how could she think such filthy thoughts! Her marriage was not a pig pen of lust like Myra's sex life! No, no, hers was precious, intimate, loving and real! She had never imagined a woman could act so sluttishly, that two human beings could treat each other so animalishly! Now she was being taught a lesson she would rather not have learned. To her terror, she realized her buzzing ears were the creation of her own moans of desire ringing through her skull and finding physical expression as she ran her hot tongue over her dry lips and sang the nuses song of beguilement!
"Disgust was fading to desire, running from white hot to passionate pink! Pricklish stirrings of response for another woman's experience, ate at Polly's hatred and horror. Both were flesh and blood as Myra had stated, and that physical connection created a mental bridge from libido to libido. Myra's pleasure in slaving over Dr. Dearborn's genitals, became her pleasure. The cock drubbing into Myra's tensile lips became the cock drubbing into her laxly parted lips. She ran her tongue around her lips licking up the imaginary shreds of secretions seeping from Dr. Dearborn's cock tip.
Polly had become one with Myra's lust, she admitted in a blazened heat of disgrace. As she'd feared that afternoon when she screamed out her relief and dribbled cuntal juices onto Ted's bedroom pillow, she was a slut at heart-no better than Myra. Now Polly lowered her heavy head in defeat, her eyes stinging with tears. She felt her body losing defense to the taunting, flaunted throbs rising in her empty belly and cock-starved pussy. These feelings were accusatively similar to the rumblings in her starved body when she had begged Ted to take her. Now she realized in a damning burst of understanding that the feelings she experienced now watching Myra slave over Dr. Dearborn's genitals, was not unlike the thrill of lying spread eagled under her husband's pounding penis. Where then, she demanded of reason, lie the element of love in the act of lovemaking?
Love and lust battled and clashed. Polly lifted her watering blue eyes to settle on Dr. Dearborn who was placing his hands against Myra's temples and forcing her to stop sucking his cock. He was forcibly pulling her mouth free. "Stop a minute!" he grunted in a wheezing voice. "You're getting me too hot! It's not time to cum yet!"
Fires of desire danced joyously in Myra's dilated pupils. "I want to taste your cum... we have to finish the lesson for her!"
Eyes sparkling, Dr. Dearborn stared longingly at the drunken, bobbing head and fixed eyes of the starving dinner guest. With a grunting effort, he stood up from the sofa and slowly started pumping his erection with a hot fist. "We forget we have a guest, Myra," he rasped throatily, licking his lips.
Polly's hands fled to her throat. "No!" she yelped, catching his insinuation. Her buttocks clenched together, and she drew her stockinged legs up in defense against the ominous direction of his flinty eyed gaze. The tortured guest's blue eyes fled from one unsolicitious face to the other, the brandy in her brain distorting their faces lecherously.
The naked couple seemed to be closing in on her, choking her, grasping at her with long nailed claws of a bird of prey. They'd wanted to teach her a lesson-the lesson of the devil! Her own lax self-defense was trapping her, she couldn't pry herself loose from the chair, hadn't the strength to will her body to follow the trail of moral dictates. She fought off attacking hands, but no one had touched her.
"Don't .. . please don't touch me," she wailed pathetically, shaking her blonde head.
Dr. Dearborn smirked. "Nobody's going to hurt you," his tone was pacifying, convincing. The suave man took one step closer to where Polly sat cringing into the tweed chair and he reached out to touch her fevered arm. "You must be hungry, Polly ... you've had one too many brandies and you're not thinking straight."
"Get your hands off me!" she shrilled, pulling back her arm as if she'd been bitten by a rattlesnake. A sinking sensation weighed the pit of her belly, and she shivered, shooting a pathetically pleading glance in Myra's direction. Tell him to get away from me! He's your lover, not mine!"
"Quite the contrary, darling," retorted Myra with a crooked grin glistening of Dr. Dearborn's secretions. "I've invited him to dinner for you. You're the feast.. but I promise you'll leave this house another woman."
"You're the feast of the red haired friend turned vixen had said. Polly's eyes rolled in her skull, her brain burning like yesterday's newspapers, the full impact of Myra's plotting scheme hitting her between the eyes with a force that pinned her to the back of the chair.
"Help me to my car, Myra .. . please ... I want Ted back ... I don't want another man, please understand that!"
With a bored grunt, Myra rose to her feet, slipped into a fur coat snatched from the closet and tossed Polly's at her. "Okay, you win, Polly." She looped her arm through Polly's trembling one. "Say goodnight to Dr. Dearborn and let's go."
The two women staggered out the door, their high heels clicking on the crisp cement leading to Polly's parked Rabbit. Deftly, Myra opened the car door on the driver's side and her drunken dinner guest slipped behind the wheel.
"Thank you, Myra," she sniffled, "I hope you and Dr. Dearborn have a good time tonight," she choked with disgust. The key slipped into the ignition and Polly's trembling foot stomped down on the accelerator.
Click . . . , Nothing happened.
Click...
She stomped harder on the accelerator, holding it down to the floor boards and pumping it in wild desperation. It refused to turn over.
Myra pooched out her lips, drawn into a knowing grin. "I guess you'll have to spend the night, Polly. Come on, I'm freezing!"
"No ... it-it'll start... j-just watch!" Repeating the process did not change her fate.
One pair of high heels clicked gingerly on the sidewalk, the other dragged lagubriously. The heat in the living room felt as if it had been screwed up another ten degrees; the hot wall of air struck the women with suffocating force as they peeled off their coats and Polly fell into the chair defeated.
"You might feel better," suggested the unctuous doctor, "if you stretched out on the sofa." Despite her urgent, tight-voiced refusals, he helped her out of the chair, slipping a strong arm around her waist, and eased her down on the sofa. That extra few feet distance from the fireplace felt like ice on a fevered brow, and she sighed languidly, almost pleasantly with relief.
"Is there anything we can get you?" Dr. Dearborn winked surreptitiously at his accomplice.
"No... no, I'm fine. A few minutes rest and I'll call a cab." Polly was beginning to believe she'd imagined the earlier carnal escapades. Ticklish invisible fingers played at the seeping hole of her womanhood and, as she lay staring up at the ceiling making slowly vertiginous swirls her mind fled back to the earlier sensual feast. She licked her lips, thankful the two naked rompers had come to their social senses. One laxly Dr. Dearborn's devouring eyes leveled gleefully on the dinner guest's tapering thighs and stockinged legs. The movement of laying on the sofa had pulled her dress high over her thighs. Polly could feel the cool draft wafting over the dampened band of her panties and popping open one saucered eye, caught Dr. Dearborn staring nakedly down at her. The tube of his half-erect penis jutted from the nest of his loins. Hastily, she clenched her eyes shut, squeezing back a sob, turning her head to shut out the view of his penis poking directly toward her mouth.
"Feeling okay, hon?" It was Myra, leaning over her, running a cool hand over her brow. Polly drew a deep breath, smelling the woman's sex, nearly tasting it. Black wisps of pubic curls peeked out around the elastic legband of her panties. The milky orb of her oozing breast flesh dangled dangerously over the rim of her black lace brassiere, succulent and ripe. Polly had never felt so defenseless, physically, and God help her, emotionally! Their taunting, their insistence on parading around naked ... oh, to be home in her own bed with Ted curled up to her side!
They closed in on her. One hand held a damp washcloth to her forehead, other hands worked at the buttons of her blue wool bodiced dress. Some one plumped up a pillow beneath her head. Then her shoes were gone. The doctor took his place at his patient's side.
"You're going to catch a cold if you don't get out of these sweaty clothes! Really," he said with real concern, "do you always sweat this much, Mrs. Atkins?"
"I, I. .." she felt someone pulling her knees apart, and then a hand, a warm palm was running up under her wool dress, Polly spasmed with a deep throated wretchedness as she felt his lascivious fingers creep along the tender, stocking covered flesh of her inner thighs. She bolted. His practiced fingers were pulling aside the thin band of her panties. Trapped by his touch, Polly moaned out humiliation and shame, then groaned in despair and mortification that seared her married soul as the doctor began to prod and stroke along her mounds' passion-soaked band, following the telltale swollen folds of her pussy.
"God, you're wet!" he croaked.
Polly's limbs began a dance of their own. She clenched her teeth in an attempt to stem her hips thrashing gyrations. "Ohhh ... no.. . please... ."she mewled.
"Amazing," snickered Myra. "that's all it took! One little stroke and she's groveling already! And I was beginning to think my lessons weren't effective!"
Polly Atkins's entire being became a swirling maze of sensual torment and inebriation, seeping her strength as she felt the doctor's hand plunge into her steaming genitals, taunting, while his grinning accomplice worked at the buttons of her dress. Her head was pulled free of the soft cushions and a coolness shivered over her shoulders as the dress was peeled off her creamy shoulders. Now Myra's warm hand deftly slipped under her back and toyed with the fastener of her brassiere until it popped open, exposing the milky, quivering mounds of her breasts. She heard the doctor suck in his breath sharply as she leered hungrily at the trembling nakedness. A surging heat suffused her cunt and spread to her throbbing breasts as her dress was lifted from her thighs.
Dr. Dearborn hooked his fingers in the elastic waist-band of her nylon panties and reaching up under her garter belt, hauled them down over her shuddering hips and thighs, leaving her without the tiniest vestige of protection against his probing fingers and feasting eyes. The moustached sex educator shadowed over her, triumphantly running his hand over her throbbing breasts, her naked belly, her stocking covered thighs, up and down her goose-bumped nudity with toying caresses. He sucked in his breath as he watched his deft fingers move over the creaminess of the married woman's firm, cringing flesh. He'd never seen a woman as pulchitrudinously pure as this blonde haired, blue eyed lovely. Her skin was flawless and firm as a sixteen year-old's and, after treating the sexual ills of forty-two year old frigid bitches, this was a welcoming sight! His sperm heavy balls ached between his thighs and the sight of her nudity made him long to thrust his cock deep into her hot little pussy... but not until later.
The lecherous doctor held himself in check, torturing himself for a delicious moment in anticipation of the final skewering of his rock hard cock up between the full pink lips of her twitching cuntal hole. And they were throbbing, ragged, swollen, ready and wet! But she hadn't lost her defenses yet, not entirely. The physical symptoms were there glistening before his flinty eyes, but she hadn't been mentally trained yet to loosen inhibition and desire vocally. Until such moment when she could mouth her needs, his lessons were lost. She needed to need him more than he needed her. That would be the ultimate lesson. She needed to lose repulsion at the sight of his blue veined cock and lose all control of herself, forgetting who and what she was and needing to be fucked until her legs wobbled.
Even Myra, arrogant wet-pussied Myra, needed some lessons in that area. She was beginning to feel a power in her female sensuality that was openly detrimental and threatening to his male dominance. He was the teacher, after all! Might be a good idea to teach them a lesson together, he grinned salaciously to himself, the wheels of sex cranking overtime. He would force Myra into a defensive corner until she had to fight her way free... admitting to his mastery over her.
The salacious thought of playing scriptwriter in the melodrama of college friends turned enemies, churned and burned in his cunning brain. To bring them to their knees . .. together... ah, yes!
Shooting Myra a crooked smile, he snickered up at her. "You've hardly been gracious, Myra. Why don't you make up to little Polly and give her pussy a few good licks!"
Polly's head shot up off the pillow and a blanche-faced Myra blinked incredulously at the stern-faced doctor. The women stared at each other for a brief moment, then quickly averted their gaze to rest on the doctor's intent stare.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ted Atkins flicked his wrist, eyeballing his wristwatch for the ninth time in as many minutes. The television network news hummed its theme song, the logo splashed on the screen. Normally after an aggravating day of fluctuating loan rates and compound interests, the world-wide hard luck story that raged the world over soothed him in a strangely insensitive way. If that ritualistic scheme failed, Polly's home cooking worked to warm his belly and brain.
Now, at six o'clock in the evening the dark and silent kitchen served only as reminder of the haunting secrets lurking in the glossy covers surreptitiously tucked next to his gym bag zipped tight with his handball shoes and mitt. Ted raked steely fingers through his brown curls and let out the eigh of a truly distressed husband.
He wrung his hands and swore, his body jerking with rage. Damned fucking woman wouldn't suck his cock and considered her own husband a perverted mole for wanting to take a snipe at her privates with his tongue-while stuck in the back of the closet, glassy-eyed nymphets romped with naked, faceless men ... lips on pink pussy folds, pink lips on rubber cock ... kept his goody-goody wife company on a cold October day!
Hell, maybe his Polly was one of those closet masturbators, he thought with a shiver. She could have turned lesbian for all he knew! The wheels of reason churned and steamed and spouted. The blonde haired, blue-eyed wife sniveling around the kitchen seemed a stranger to him now.
With a bearish grunt, he hurled himself to the telephone and threw back the telephone cover, running his finger from A to Z and back again until he found Myra Belfry, that was her new name. Christ, that woman goes through husbands like a box of cookies!
He jabbed 373-9087 on the touch tone dial, while his teeth ground so hard he could taste chaffed enamel! Polly had a habit of picking up her toys and running over to Myra's house whenever married life demanded more than she could give. Dollar to a donut (quickly he amended that thought; a dollar was worth 32 cents these days)... that's where Polly had slammed off to.
Myra swallowed thickly as she eyed the lush young woman laying nakedly in whimpering submission. Dr. Dearborn had methodically undressed his patient, buying time while Myra choked on pride, and lay the battleground for her next sexual encounter with her therapist. The quivering deja vue rippling through her naked belly reminded the shuddering red head all too well of her first orgasm at the hands of a-man. He had nearly beaten her into submission, but the results were earth shattering. Maybe, just maybe that same magic could spark between two women!
The five-times divorced woman's eyes roamed across Polly's shoulders, slowly around her upthrust milky breasts and puckered nipples. She could tell from the tiny goose-bumps dotting Polly's ivory skin, she would be all strawberries and cream. To run her fingertips over the velvet spot between Polly Atkins' thighs had to be a glimpse of heaven!
Naked and wet with its scent of love filling the air, Polly's blonde fleeced vagina was mouthwatering. The red haired vixen was beginning to warm to the idea of mashing her lips to Polly's pink pussy. Her own breasts swelled and throbbed at the thought.
"Make friends with Polly, Myra," hummed Dr. Dearborn in a compelling voice.
Myra edged closer to the sofa, balked, and then reached down compulsively with her right hand to gently caress Polly's budding breasts. She slowly caressed the throbbing mound, feeling the woman tense in momentary shock at this lesbian touch, and tried to cringe away. The nipple stiffened under Myra's massaging hand, and the low mewl of submission rang in her ears as Polly relaxed against her arm.
"Get your cunt up there!" urged Dr. Dearborn, glassy eyed and busy pumping at his rock hard organ.
Polly's throat constricted and she thought she might be sick as she glared fearfully at Myra crawling along the sofa on all fours with a predatory grin on her face. She watched in white hot horror as Myra scissored her legs to straddle her friend's breasts, positioning her full round ass cheeks directly over her face, knees pressed under Polly's moist armpits. Gaping through saucered, disbelieving eyes, Polly stared at the fleshy split of Myra's ragged cunt from the tiny ring of her anus to the folds of her wetly gleaming pussy.
"We've been friends, my dear Polly, but now we'll be lovers," she hissed throatily, stroking blonde curls from Polly's damp forehead while two blue eyes stared depthlessly into her flinty orbs. Licking her ruby lips, she stared down at Polly's trembling thighs to the pink slit of her cringing vagina. With tantalizing slowness, she placed her warm palms flat against the sleek in-sides of Polly's legs, and with her thumbs, parted the wetly glistening cunt flesh. With a whimper of hot desire, Myra dropped her burnished head and buried her hot tongue deep inside the perfumed walls of her friend's golden fleeced cunt!
"Noooo! Myraaa!" wailed Polly. Head raised off the cushion, she watched in stupefied horror as Myra's face buried between her thighs. A painful groan bubbled from deep within her tormented chest, her naked buttocks grinding desperately down into the cushions as she tried to lever Myra's preying body off her own nakedness.
"Nooo ... oh, please, Myra ... don't let him make you do thisss!"
Myra hummed in answer and pleasurably stabbed her warm tongue deep into Polly's crying cunt.
Polly's swollen breasts shivered in shame, tears of guilt welled up in her eyes as she listened horrified to the wet sucking noises echoing from between her wide stretched legs. Despite searing humiliation and a nauseating revulsion, little trickles of pleasure lurked in her loins; her buttocks jerked involuntarily as spasms of very real pleasure rippled through her raw nerve endings.
The horror struck wife clenched shut her eyes and tried to fantasize it was her husband slobbering moronically between her legs. That was an obsession with him and she had never allowed him the liberty... how she hated herself for that now!
She buried her nose in the sofa back, wanting to die. Tears of humiliation stung her eyes. Her love starved body had slowly gained a will of its own, deserting her married soul. It felt good ... Gawd, it felt good! The blonde wife shuddered, sucked in her breath and fought the prurient sparks threatening to char her helpless soul. Myra's tongue licked and sucked in battle, the toy soldiers of her fingers urging her foe to raise the white flag of surrender!
The red head wormed her pink tongue deeper up into the hot quivering slit, feeling the silken pubic curls grazing the tip of her arrogant nose and flaming cheeks as the blonde ground her buttocks in unwilling rhythm. The taste was bittersweet, piquant, meaningful. She licked the cream, her taste buds watering with erotic pleasure.
The thought of sucking another woman's pussy had never appealed to her. Was it that women were forever discussing their 'female' problems, she wondered. Had that hole between their legs become a 'curse' too many times? Well, to hell with that philosophy! The ragged pussy lips and their exuding cream was just as tastey as any man's cum she'd swallowed!
Polly squirmed and bucked under the torture of Myra's flicking tongue and maddeningly sucking lips until she thought the woman was going to suck her heart out! The vee of her thighs was one throbbing mass of burning sensitivity, dripping with juice, electrified, shooting negative ions through her body until she feared it might electrocute her! She flailed her blonde head from side to side, crying, laughing, hysterical with pleasure, imprisoning her lover hunched between her flexing thighs while she stared at the dark tendrils and swollen ragged pussy lips scenting the air inches from her sweat-dotted face.
"Looks good to you, doesn't it, Polly?" came Dr. Dearborn's needless rhetoric. "You're neglecting your friend. That's not showing much appreciation of your hostess," he warned with a twang in his convincing mellifluous voice.
Polly swallowed. No ... she turned her head, fearing she might be sick. To please the woman who'd given her a taste of nirvana, she tentatively brushed her fingers of the bowl of Myra's soft belly and watched the spasmodic reaction. Myra mewled, little drops of dew moistening the lips of her rosy cunt. That her fingertips possessed such power amused Polly, filled her with a sense of power she'd yet to enjoy with her husband.
The skin was satiny, warm, rippling with elasticity. Experimentally, she stroked Myra's firmly rounded thighs and buttocks and was rewarded with a muffled sob of joy. Myra kissed the oily bud of her clitoris, nipping teasingly with her teeth to send the sensitive bulb into full erection. Polly spasmed with bolt of delight; she arched her back, straining against Myra, trying to mash her cunt against the mouth that was driving her into an erotic fever. Her brandy-filled mind could not register such joy. The nibbling, sucking lips and mouth were driving her down a road of sensuality-a one way street!
Dr. Dearborn knew he'd won; Myra seemed to sense it too. Her sleek body rippled with desire as she threw herself into this lesbian act, grasping the oozing flesh of Polly's buttocks with steely fingers, tangling her voracious tongue into the golden curls rimming her pussy. The musk of tender pussy flesh made her own body swell and coo with a sexual hunger too explosive to quell.
Dr. Dearborn was going crazy with joy! He oogled the lesbian lovers, pumping at his own cock while the fire crackled and orange flames reflected off the glistening, sweaty naked women as if their bodies were polished glass. Abruptly his head turned to the side. With a grunt of disapproval, he padded barefoot to the telephone. A minute later, interests renewed, he settled his naked, hirsute buttocks on the throne of Polly's demise, and grinned with the satisfaction of a scriptwriter plotting a drama that would unravel in a true life drama. He pulled at his cock, chuckling to himself. Wait till pussy-hungry Atkins finds out his wife's been chewing on Myra's slut cunt! How some poor fools wallowed in self-flagellation to learn the simple lesson of libertarianism! The word of the Almighty ... or sex. It mattered not. The human race was bent on seeking pain to find freedom.
"Kiss me, Polly," mewled Myra in desperation. "Put your mouth on me!"
In a flash of need to return the favor, Polly buried her blonde head slavishly between the quivering thighs, waving the white flag of surrender. The velvet of Myra's whorish cunt filled her nose and tickled her taste buds like a pinch of cayenne pepper!
"I'm kissing another woman's cunt. . . and I don't hate it! That makes me- She couldn't finish the thought, so damning and humiliating were the facts! Yet she kissed and tongued the petals of Myra's cunt while her drunken imagination fooled her senses and she conjured up images of sucking one of the clams that was supposed to be steaming in Myra's kitchen right now! The piquant love juices made her mouth water, her nostrils flare, her erotic urges to gallop straight down to her own pussy being licked and lapped.
Gleaming trails she licked, from Myra's tiny anus to her oily clitoris, taunting the elastic skin with a stabbing tongue as if it were a penis. She ground her buttocks in gyrating circles so that she could feel all of the wicked oral rape of her sizzling flesh shuddering with delight as the lesbian above her teased every oozing inch of her nerve sizzling skin. God, it was heavenly! When had Ted made her feel wanton, abandoned, desirious of giving pleasure as well as receiving.
The blonde haired wife's body jolted from the sparking eroticism charging through it, piercing her blood engorged veins and churning the marrow in her bones. Drunkenly, she reveled, groveled in the perversions as she struggled toward orgasm.
Dr. Dearborn's practiced eyes read the signs of impending orgasm in the wildly thrashing creamy flesh. Now was the time to ram his logger-head cock up into her flaming pink pussy and feel it throbbing around his bloody stalk when she screamed out her elusive climax. To explode in her shivering white belly while her cunt hugged and milked him-and her husband watched from the door- would be dinner enough for his sadistic senses! Yes, timing was the thing. He wanted her oogled eyed husband to know he'd fill his wife's cunt with heated sperm.
"Move over girls," he shouted, elbowing his slaving accomplice turned lesbian from her dominant position.
Myra's mouth and cheeks were glistening with strands of Polly's creamy cum when she raised her head and grinned obscenely at her mentor. She wriggled her naked buttocks, strapped in the black garter belt, hard against Polly's licking tongue, feeling the other wormish tongue slick all the way up her belly and over her milky breasts. "Oh ... we can't stop!" protested Polly. Her cunt was burning with the need to cum, to relieve the damned up pressure that had built from the volcanic manipulations of this licentious pair.
"Get off! It's my turn. Let's not be selfish, Myra."
With a sniff of indignance, Myra slid off the couch, envious that Polly was going to get the only cock to be shared, when she had sucked it to rock hard erection. Feeling a need to drive her friend into deeper, darker submission, she fell to her knees beside the sofa and hissed in her friend's face. "Tell the doctor what you need, Polly!" It was a lesson to be learned-vocalizing the need to be fucked, lowering oneself to a level of humility wherein all inhibitions melted in the heat of passion.
Polly whimpered, her head flying from one lust contorted face to the other as gradually the reality sunk into her fevered brain that she had been the object of a game ... and the dice had only begun to roll! She'd been one tongue's lick away from exploding in orgasm ... but she wouldn't beg anyone for something she'd learned her own fingers could satisfy. Well, not as well maybe, she amended mentally, desiring more than life itself that it were Ted crawling between her legs instead of the mastermind of the Institute of Sexology! After Myra's tongue licking, that was one college degree she didn't need!
"Let's have it, Polly... tell me what I should do with this hunk of meat, or I'll shove it down your throat and let you chew on it for days!"
Polly moaned in despair, almost delirious from the nibbling of her cunt and the tastey evil of having sucked Myra in return. Ted must never know ... the words sprang to mind, though mindless of meaning. Ted ... it was but a word now, a threat to her sexuality, a burden to her soul.
Dr. Dearborn was shaking her by the shoulders now. "I want to hear you ask for it, bitch!" The white line of his teeth showed beneath the curl of his upper lip.
She sniffed. "Do itt..." she gurgled incoherently.
"You know the words. Use them!" Dr. Dearborn leered down from where he squatted on his knobby knees between Polly's cream-streaked thighs, shivering with the need for the meaty cudgel a thrust away from the fleecy down of her cunt.
"F-fuck me ..." she choked. "Just do it!" Polly shivered and quivered and shuddered and muttered out the last shred of self-respect.
Decency, marital fidelity, and pride melted to water dripping between the fingers of lust as Polly felt her slender ankles being grasped in the doctor's strong fingers. The force of his grip made her groan and, glancing up through slitted eyes, she glared into his lust contorted face and knew her fate. She lay immobile while he jerked her legs high off the couch and thrust them back over her head, jamming her polished toes into the sofa's arm on either side of her head. Doubled over like a wheelbarrow, he held her in that position, the pain in her muscles tearing at her tendons. The flat plane of her hairy, moistly sucked cunt was a feat for the man on a platter of sin and degradation as he hovered over her in a push-up posture. His hands were steel chains, holding her ankles to the couch, the horrible burning in her cunt the ball of fire.
Ted ... oh dear God, Ted! Why had he never taken her like this? The glint in Dr. Dearborn's eyes brought a tear to her own, born of disgrace and abject humiliation. Her blonde head flailed from side to side, I the sofa cushions dampened with tears of frustration and self loathing. The long, spearing, bloodfed hulk of meat wagged between the doctor's hirsuite thighs, the tip dripping with secretions of lust... meant for her!
Dr. Dearborn grinned lewdly under the bushy line of his moustache and slapped his weight down on the nubile wife squirming with frustration beneath him. With a heaving grunt, his fleshy cock speared between her wide spread pussy lips and dug into the heart of her waiting belly, pushing the warm, soft folds before its seeping, mushroomed head.
The hot rubberiness tore into Polly's cunt with a horribly wonderful force. A dying hunger within her was being fed, nourished, and with the promise of satiation. Her pretty, flushed face was contorted and the pleading whines to be torn apart, cleaved by his lust, babbled from her laxly parted lips. To be brutally mauled for having behaved as a worthless slut was her fate, and now she would lie back and accept her punishment for having tasted of the apple. The Garden of Eden that had been her marriage would be closed to her forever after tonight... so be it! The need was too great!
Polly wetted her chapped lips with the tip of her pink tongue, tasting the juices of Myra's frothy sex. She flailed her blonde curls from side to side, brandy dulling her senses and fading Ted and marriage into a swamp of lost memories and broken promises. She wanted the evilly leering doctor to shoot his scalding white cum into her belly ... wanted to be taken by force.
"She's a better student than I'd expected!" blurted Myra, oogling her blonde haired friend. "Is that you, Polly?"
"Ohhh ... tight cunt, tight cunt," muttered the doctor, surging and thrusting and boring his lusty meat into Polly's firmly clasping hole. "It's been a long time since I've fucked anything this hot and tight!"
Myra glowered down at him. "Thanks for the compliment," she muttered under her breath, splashing a thumb of brandy into her snifter and settling near the fire that crackled while the writhing twosome grunted and stained the sofa with lust.
Obscenities and sweat stung the air, threatening to penetrate Polly's impervious haze of alcohol and dulled senses. She became something inhuman as she grunted and writhed and pumped and snaked her legs over her head. The sounds of naked flesh smacking naked flesh filled the air. Her periwinkle blue eyes fastened on the doctor's lust drawn face and she felt a thrill of forbidden lust that was terrifyingly demeaning; with a grunt of protest, she levered her hands against the doctor's chest and tried to push him away.
Cagily, the doctor slipped his meaty hands beneath her nakedly churning buttocks and lifted them off the sofa, forcing his boring cock an inch deeper into her warm cunt. Moaning incoherently, Polly wound her warm, sleek legs around his bony back and the tight walls of her cunt clasped his hard pumping cock until she could feel every inch of his hot, sliding shaft. Insane, surrendered ... the Scarlet S of adultry to be worn forever on her soul!
Myra snickered. If only Ted could see his wife now! Would the shit hit the fan! She remembered him as the macho football star of Northwestern University. Watching his apple cheeked Pollyanna getting fucked until her guts turned to pudding would serve him right! To savor the moment, Myra slumped from the chair, and, hand over hand, kneed her way to the sofa and sat a hand's reach away. Her burning eyes fastened on a color close up of Dr. Dearborn's rock hard penis gouging into Polly's desperately sucking cunt. Polly's legs were spread wide as a roasted turkey on the Thanksgiving platter. Her slender ankles were locked high above his straining shoulder blades. She rode him in rocking horse style. The aromatic panorama of her cunt, dripping with juicy promise-from clitoris to anus-was open to Myra.
Myra emitted a moan of animal arousal and began to masturbate. Her red tipped fingers plunged in and out of her seething cunt as she panted, making wet noises as she gouged for her cervix. Her face was but six aromatic inches away from the drubbing of cock into cunt. Her butterfly eyelashes flitted wing-like. Delicious sex!
The wet, sluicing sounds of self-fulfillment stung Dr. Dearborn's ears and drove him into a frenzy of lust. He imagined the delights of a juicy menage a trois with these two sex-craved women and that drove him to white hot excitation, adding adrenalin to lusty power. The vulnerable lady turned whore shivering beneath him was easy prey; but timing was everything, and trickery his forte, he could wait.
He glanced down at Polly's angelic features, scrunched up and burning with lust. Time to test the penetration of his teachings. Sucking a deep breath, he pulled the tip of his penis down to the hairy mouth of her lust inflamed cunt and held the meaty stalk quietly, like a rodent peeking its head out of its hole.
The game was too simple, the rules too well followed. Time to break a few.. .and pride -with it! His balls ached with the temptation to finish her off, ram his cock up into that spongy cervix head and let her have it. With a sigh, he levered himself up above her squirming, pinned down body and draped an arm over the back of the sofa, shaking his head with indecision.
Polly blinked. "Why ... what are you doing?" She writhed her hips, and clutched onto his arm with squeezing, needful fingers. Between her legs, the steam of lust smoldered, burned, incinerating decency and pride.
The wily doctor shook his head. "I can't do this to you, Polly. I never should have come for dinner," he rasped, his bushy moustache hiding a tight smirk.
"What do you mean, can't" she bellowed. "You already have!"
"I am a minister before I'm a teacher, Mrs. Atkins!" he said with dictatorial fervor. "One of my rules is to never make love to a married woman." He shot a keep-your-smirks-to-yourself glance at Myra who stopped her fingering with the cessation of cock plunging cunt. His voice chimed with petulance.
The insides of Polly's belly gripped the doctor's bloated penis in the clutches of her milking cuntal muscles. To keep from shoving it up her guts, took every ounce of strength he could muster.
"But ..." Polly rammed her hips upward, forcing the doctor another inch deeper inside her cunt. She wriggled her hips from side to side, egging him on with pouting, childlike mewls.
Dr. Dearborn shook his dark head, darker thoughts galloping through his brain. "What would your dear, faithful husband think if he walked through that door! What would he think of you? And what would he do to me?" He levered up, dangerously close to unplugging that burning hole. "No..." he shook his head. "It's not worth it-to either of us!"
All but a quarter-inch of his throbbing prick was pulled free, chilling in free unmusked air. The doctor gnashed his teeth against temptation, ready to renege when she grasped him needfully by the shoulders, pulling him into her.
Polly's face was a mask of lust. "He does- he fucks other women! Why can't I?" Her dimpled chin trembled. "J-just the other night, he came home-and I could tell he'd been with another woman! He doesn't want to make love to me anymore ... he thinks I'm boring!" With that painful admission behind her, Polly fell into tears.
The doctor, hiding a tight smirk, stroked her forehead. "You're anything but a boring fuck, my dear." He gritted his teeth, feeling his penis bloat another inch within the juicy hole of this near-virgin's cunt. Gazing down into her flushed face, he stared into her periwinkle eyes, on fire with need and sexual longing.
"B-but you don't want me ... nobody wants me!" was the wail of a broken heart.
Polly's pearly teeth clamped over her trembling lower lip and her fingers dug into the doctor's hairy forearms as she held onto him for emotional survival. "Oh, please...."
Dr. Dearborn held his patient tight in his arms, his penis worming its way back home up the wall, juicy hole between her legs. Would have been damn cruel, wouldn't it, to leave her like this?
Over the hot shoulder clammy with sweat, Polly's eyes rolled over to Myra fingering herself with renewed enthusiasm; the folds of her swollen, ragged pussy lips were full from lesbian teasing. Myra's arrogantly slanted nostrils flared from the musky scent of another woman's heat. In an unconscious gesture, she wetted her lips with her wet tongue, tasting Myra's love juices and reveling in the secret that must be hers forever. A whimper tore from her throat. She had to be filled, had to be satisfied ... had to be loved! And Dr. Dearborn's comforting arms tight around her was just the medicine to soothe her soul!
"Me making love to you," whispered the doctor hotly in her ear, " would be like your husband fucking Myra." He gloated in his power of manipulation as he felt his cock bore into the slickened hole of Polly's cunt, crawling homeward.
"I... I can't stop him ... and he-he doesn't want me!" She let out a tortured yelp, shivering, as the doctor's penis stuffed her elastic pussy as if he were stuffing a meaty sausage up her belly. Desperately, she wriggled nakedly beneath him, slipping down the sofa until she was bent over like a pretzel. "You-you think my husband would want to-to do it with her?" She glanced fearfully at the masturbating woman.
Out of a corner of his eye, the doctor watched Myra slicing her cream coated finger in and out of her cunt. "Don't put the cart before the horse... we'll cross that bridge together when we come to it!"
"Oh, fuck me ..." she whimpered pathetically.
"Who can tell what a man will do? We're all animals." He bore the ache of thundering testicles agonizingly holding their white hot load of lightning cum. Her slick cunt gripped him with satin force ... satin... satin in and out, this one, compared to Myra's fiery eccentricity.
"I-I bet he would fuck her-behind my back! Oh, Dr. Dearborn ... maybe he already has!"
"Can you blame him? She is a beauty ... look at those tits, firm and succulent. Didn't it feel good sucking her tits, Polly?" he grinned. "And her cunt, all juice and perfumey ... didn't it taste good? I'll bet you felt real secure being in her arms, huh, Polly?"
"Oh, yes ..." the answer tore from her throat.
"Good, then why don't the three of us love each other ' together. Suck Myra's cunt while I fuck her!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Damn bitch ..." muttered Ted under his breath. The shivering October night air froze his words in mid-breath. Bitten by Myra's bug... the whorened's jaws meshed in synchronization with the Datsun 280's gears as the silver bullet sped toward the wealthier side of town where Mercedes' hugged tree-lined avenues.
Yet deep in his domineering male psyche he couldn't beat down the unswallowable truth that his wife's speeding off to spend a night with a five-timing slut like Myra was his fault. His buttocks still ached from the puncturing prick of the penicillin shot. One bite of the apple had shamed his arrogant nudity and now the snake crawling between his strong thighs coiled in despair at the night spent in the arms of the cocktail waitress at the Crow's Nest. Damnesd stupid thing to do, his rational self tutted. Damned stupid....
Damned stupid, but it failed to cool down his temper. Maybe he had fucked another woman till he couldn't walk straight; maybe he didn't make love to his wife when she begged for an affirming touch; maybe he'd made her feel cheap and worthless and unfeminine.
A sickening feeling tightened in the bowl of his beer-blutted gut with that realization. If he'd buried guilt and fear he would have been truthful with her. Hell, people picked up social diseases from toilet seats and from unwashed underwear straight from the store wrapper. Had he played on Polly's vulnerability as he had for the past three years, he wouldn't be caged in by the iron bars of womanly threats.
The Datsun's headlights picked up the silver gleam of Polly's silver Rabbit parked snugly alongside the curving driveway of Myra's alimony-inspited stone and stucco bungalow. Cozy little spread it was, with maple and elm trees, standing silhouettes in the dim light of the electric lamp post marking the flagstones leading up to her front door. Smoke billowed from the chimney, blueing the air in homey hints of contentment.
The irate husband, distraught and feeling the prickle of nervousness, hunched his shoulders against the breezy winds tearing through the nubby tweed of his zipped up jacket, and scuffed tipsily toward the door. He had lifted his knuckles to knock, when he hesitated.
What kind of spying, unliberated macho pig would he make himself out to be, knocking susipciously on doors at ten o'clock in the evening? Is my wife there, please, huh? Myra would laugh his balls off, the castrating bitch! He'd despised her haughty sensuality since college days when she would sneak into the fraternity house wearing a trench coat and nothing else, and fuck the pajama pants off half of Chi Omega ... except for Ted Atkins! What distaste soured her tastebuds against him, he couldn't fathom. Time was deep and treacherous and Polly's childish running away was not justifiable cause to plunge the waters of time. Turning on his heel, he scuffed back towards his car, the square-shouldered shadow undiscernible in a thin silhouette of naked tree branches dancing in the wind, spashed by a light post lamp.
With a whimper of appreciation, Myra plucked her fingers hurriedly from the steaming morass of her cunt and lifted her smooth, garter belt stripped buttocks so that Polly's mouth could smother her sensitive flesh. She wanted nothing more than to have the blonde haired nymphet who reminded her of the sweet dolls in the glossy magazines, bring her to a splattering orgasm. Her hands gripped Polly's dancing breasts and squeezed the milky orbs with unwomanly strength, her brain lost in the fire of burning sensations rolling through her vaginal mound.
The feel of red polished fingertips digging into her creamy flesh almost made Polly cum. Her mouth sucked, her pussy sucked, her belly danced with white hot excitation and her cream-dripping vagina gripped around Dr. Dearborn's plunging cock like a clenching fist, while his cum-filled testicles pounded an erotic tattoo against her nakedly upthrust buttocks.
The doctor's moustache twitched with evil delight as, yanking higher and further apart Polly's quivering legs, his lust hardened penis fucked into her with thundering thrusts. The raw, sucked, naked lips of Myra's pussy were driving her to insane heights of ecstasy. She rocked back and forth, her heels digging into the carpet to keep from falling; hands digging into the sofa back, her pelvis grinding over her female lover's face, she cooed her delight.
"Ahhh ... eiii.. . I'm ... I'm cumming!" She jerked and heaved and twisted her panting nudity beneath Polly's oral licking. "Suck me ... honee! Succck mee!" It was the wail of a banshee in the throes of pagan orgasm-lesbian orgasm! Her wetly spewing cunt dripped with creamy cum that drenched Polly's pretty face.
Frenetically, like a battery operated toy gone berserk, Dr. Dearborn fucked into Polly's rippling pussy. Lewd cries and screams egged him on with moans of his own echoing their lust-inspired ecstasy. Polly groaned out from the searing bittersweet pain rippling through her ravaged genitals, as the head of his goring cock thundered into her sensitive cervix until it threatened to tear through the tender tissue and gouge out her heart! It hurt, but it hurt good! Her muffled voice lost in the cum drenched tendrils of Myra's ragged cunt lips, echoed from between Myra's legs. Her greedily clasping cunt locked down around his thrusting penis and slithered up wetly to devour voraciously more of the sausagey meat of his prick. Sweat poured from her flesh as she aimed and clawed her way toward orgasm. A deep hum tore from her throat, her inner thighs spasmed ... she was close, so very close!
"Fuck her, Ed!" she heard Myra goad, but Polly could hear nothing above the singing in her temples, the buzzing in her ears. Her entire nudity was alive with the harmonious dance of orgasm. Then it rose deep in her belly, the cone forming on the volcano, preparing for an explosion that would rock the house on its foundation.
"Ah, ah . . . I-J Ahhh Gawwwwd . . . I'm cummmming!" The married blonde woman screamed out, convulsing, filling the living room with the honeyed scent of her dripping love lava.
Above her, her screams echoed back ... deeper, masculine and very, very meaningful! Dimly, from her space station, hanging on a star, she felt her in-sides warm with gushes of hot molten sperm jetting from Dr. Dearborn's wildly jerking cock. Like a water hose, it spurted out millions of crawling sperm, wriggling their way toward the heart of her womb.
Later, long satisfied moments later, Polly's convulsing climax, combined with the dulling influence of drink, left her catatonic to the world. Her subconscious mind floated on carpets of erotic euphoria as she stirred in her sleep. Vaguely, she experienced a coldness as the warm sweating body lifted from beside her. Someone gently rolled her onto her back and spread a blanket over her nudity. She snuggled, worming contentedly under the warmth, lost to all but the sweet memory of forbidden bliss.
Dr. Dearborn settled down into the chair and, wiping his sticky penis with his underwear, splashed brandy into a snifter and wafted it aromatically under his nose. He pooched out his lips, feeling the tickle of his moustache now wetted with amber pearls of liquor. Languidly, his dark gleaming eyes fell upon the slumbering blonde whose pink fingertips had fallen to the floor in subconscious search of the satiny bowl of Myra's naked belly.
A catlike purr rippled from Myra's laxly parted lips and stunned to wakefulness by the touch of cool fingertips, forced herself to wakefulness. Her smile was crooked with satination, a smile that Dr. Dearborn interpreted as indulgent greed.
"Get what you wanted, Myra?" His voice echoed the pricklish pride of an artist standing back to admire a finished work, deciding whether to sell or possess.
"Mmmm..." Myra stroked burnished hair back behind a shell-like ear. "What's left besides dinner?" Like a preening cat, she scratched her head, ran long claws to reach an itch along her shoulder blades and braced her feet to stand up. "I'm hungry ... are you? We never did boil the water for my clams."
"The night hasn't ended, my dear."
"Hmmm?" A crooked smile creased the smeared lipstick whose outer layer was streaked along Polly's inner thighs. Knee walking to Dr. Dearborn's nakedly spread legs, she draped an elbow weakly over his right one and crawled up the sofa like a house pet begging to curl in its master's lap. "Any more surprises in store? I dare say, I ought to invest money in your institute, doctor ... as teachers we'd make a killing together!"
He stroked her cheek. Funny you should say that, he thought, arching a bushy eyebrow. That's exactly what I had in mind in exchange for the favor of fucking your Titian haired friend! "I'd love nothing better!" He drew in a deep breath that rippled of contentment edged with boredom. He toyed with a strand of her curly hair. "We're soon to expect a guest, if you don't mind."
"Now? Who?"
Lifting his chin, he nodded in the direction of the sofa where Polly slumbered peacefully. "Our darling's husband, no less. He telephoned while you two were 'engaged,' shall we say, inquiring about his wife. I took the liberty of inviting him over for a drink. He should be here any moment, if my instincts haven't been burned out from the last hour of teasing our toy."
With a bottle weighing his pocket and a scuffle in his step, Ted threw himself back behind the wheel of his car, abandoning the aching fear of hypocrondiacal gonorrhea. He'd read in a condensed Reader's Digest article that one could contact a disease merely by thinking oneself out of immunity. Be that true, his cock was seeping with discharge right now instead of the wet dime sized spot of lubrication oozing from its tip from the gnawing remembrance of Polly's seductive behavior the previous evening. Christ, he could have fucked her in the ass, she was so hot! Hot ... why?
He knew better than to ask himself that silly question. The evidence was under his arm, the glossy magazine covers cold against his wrist. Myra and her self-help courses! Huh! The only self help that woman needed was to pry her mouth loose of cock. That's all she did, so the Chi Omega frats claimed-suck cock. Couldn't pry her legs apart with a crowbar to throw the animal a piece of male meat. Something screwy behind those ears! Not that he wouldn't mind stuffing his bloated girth into her right now, just to prove she was no greater influence over his wife than he. Hell, she's probably turned into a raving lesbian by now.
Those damning thoughts and flickers of imaginary sex scenes, inspired by the grinning nymphets eating their way through the pages of filth, pricked suspicion of torrid sex scenes between God only knew who. Where Polly fit into this madness, he was soon to find out. In his rearview mirror, his half drunken eyes raked over the stone face of Myra Belfry's domain. The chimney spewed out smoke in darkening trails that evaporated into the night air.
With forced nonchalance, Ted slipped the car keys into his pocket and retreked the cobblestone walk until he reached the front door. Pressing his ear to the door, his overworking senses picked up the titter of lusty laughter. Definitely Myra's .. . Polly's voice was chimey, like the tinkle of a Christmas bell.
Dr. Dearborn, draped in a satin men's kimono which Myra kept handy for 'unexpected overnight guests', nodded his cue to, his accomplice who sat in ragged stockings and garter belt next to the fire. The door creaked open and Ted Atkins' face set in expectant dispute, lips taut, mouth sweet with alcohol, squinted into the living room splattered with firelight.
The clever doctor stared at the distraught husband, hunched against the biting winds, and wondered how long it would take him to sniff sex, his temper to bomb the roof off the house, when he spied his darling Polly laying naked on the sofa with her lips encrusted with female cum. Now he wished he'd forced her into letting him stuff his cock down her throat, so his sperm could have caked her lips in perfect harmony of the sexes!
"Where's my wife? I want my wife, goddamn it!" He growled in Dr. Dearborn's evilly twitching face. Shouldering his way into the house, Ted Atkins stomped three angry steps toward the living room ... and stopped dead in his tracks.
Myra winked at their guest. "Hi, Ted ... how y' doin'?" Naked from the waist up, her melon-like breasts danced with crackling firelight. The bowl of her satiny belly was stripped with black lace; one sleek leg clothed in torn fishnet black stockings was draped easily over the chair arm. She kicked her spiked heel and sipped her brandy from a snifter. , "What the hell?" His lips became tensile.
Myra regarded Polly's husband amusedly. Glossy magazines tucked under his arm, dressed in crisp white shirt and formal jacket, he looked like a night-calling Fullerbrush salesman.
"What right have you giving my wife this filth?" he bellowed, cheeks reddening with a rage that made him ball his fists into weapons. He threw the magazines on the floor. "Where's Polly?" Her nudity, creamy an lusty from orange fire reflections, added strength to the rising stalk of his penis. He'd never gotten a hard-on when angry; he couldn't understand his responses now.
"Now, now," cut in Dr. Dearborn as he padded barefoot down the three steps to the sunken living room, "have a drink and settle down."
Sofa back facing him, Ted hadn't seen the blonde head contentedly resting on pillows stained with sex. "I don't want a drink ... I want my wife. I know she's here .. . you goddamned told me yourself, you jerk!" Ted's upper lip curled in disdain as he regarded the suave doctor whose composure was admirably noted by Myra. Even as Ted grabbed the lithe bodied doctor and grabbed him by the slinky satin lapels of his kimono, he failed to flinch.
With a sneer, Ted loosened his hold, eyeballs boring into the other's and stomped over the magazines where pie-faced girls smiled up nakedly from between hairy male thighs. He gave them a kick and stalked around the sofa, passing by the sofa and letting out an injured yelp of pain. Bile rose in his throat as he spied his wife's discarded blue wool dress recklessly tossed in a blue ball under the glass-topped coffee table. A black lace garter belt caught his eye and further up his bulging eyeballs traveled ... up the sleek lithe arm to naked, creamy shoulders, up the swan-like neck to the blonde curls of his flushed face wife... then down the other naked shoulder to rest on the strawberry nipple, swollen from Myra's sucking lips. He stared incredulously at his snoring wife. His nose twitched from the piquant smell of freshly spewed sex juices drying in the heat of the fireplace.
Ted's nostrils flared with rage. Except for the heated snorting of forced, discharged air, one could have heard a pin drop. A roar tore from his chest as he jumped on his wife and shook her so hard Myra swore she could hear Polly's teeth rattle. Polly's naked breast bobbed up and down like a cork in water.
Polly opened one sleepy eye and squinted up at the red-faced stranger growling down into her face. His breath smelled of alcohol, his hands icy on her shoulders. Hissing his disgust through clenched teeth, he threw his infidel of a wife back on the sofa.
What was that all about? Yawning, Polly forced herself to sit up, rubbed her eyes with the balls of her fists. With an effort of will, she forced herself to alertness, hiding under the blanket. Keeping her eyes focused in one spot was difficult; her eyelids fluttered, the mascara smeared clownishly around her periwinkle orbs feeling itchy as the wool blanket covered her nudity.
Naked ...? Vm naked? The warm trickle oozing from the heart of her womanhood, staining Myra Belfry's velour sofa, bore evidence of her adulterous romp with her college friend and Dr. Dearborn. The piquant taste of lesbian love encrusted her lips, the clammy feel of foreign male sweat beaded on her cleavage. She wanted to wither up and die. God forbid Ted should find out! Rolling over on her side, curling up in a protective prenatal ball, she pulled her knees up to her chest and whimpered.
Ted... the contorted mask of his scrunched-up face fled back to memory. If that didn't prove his presence, the bellowing voice did: "Goddamned slut!" He'd gone mad! Snatching her discarded nylons from the white carpet, he tried to rip them in half, but the tenacious nylon refused abuse and he went for her brassiere, draped over one corner of the glass topped table. With his-fists, he ripped the white lace garment in half, wadding up the lifeless halves and tossing them into the fire. He'd gone crazy, hysterical! He kicked her high heeled pumps across the room. Polly's new blue wool dress was in shreds. Thank God she wasn't still in it!
Polly cringed into the sofa cushions, wincing, the palms of her trembling hands wadded up edges of the wool blanket. Dr. Dearborn and Myra watched from the battlefield sidelines, amused at the irate husband's jealousy. When he'd cleared the floor of his wife's discarded garments, Ted started yelling, turning his ire on the face behind the twitching mustache.
"Who the fuck are you?" he growled. Ted Atkins' face turned from crimson red to ashen white with the doctor's reply.
"I'm the man who just fucked your wife, Mr. Atkins," he said, swishing brandy in his snifter with a nonchalance that drove Ted berserk.
"Fucked my wife? Huh! That's a laugh!" He threw back his head and laughed hysterically, every nerve ending in his body sizzling in reprisal. White hot jealousy sent him into an emotional spasm he couldn't control. He wanted to hurt her as she'd hurt him. "You fucked my wife... when you could fuck Myra? You've got to be kidding!"
That whoop of mockery cut Polly's pride to the quick. She flew from the couch and glared at her husband in nude victory. "What do you mean, he's got to be kidding? Just because you refuse to make love to me, doesn't mean no other men are attracted to me! You, you boring fuck!" Polly's face scrunched up with hatred; clownlike circles of smeared mascara hollowed her eye sockets, her tousled blonde curls looked as if she'd crawled out of a clothes dryer.
He should have beaten her for making love to another man, not laugh at his enemy for making a bad choice! So he didn't think she was a good lover, huh? Thought Myra was a sexier, more voluptuous woman? What kind of disgusting, insensitive, amoral bastard had she marred!
Oh, he would pay for that insult... oh, would he pay!
The lid flew off Polly's self control. Deep within her psyche, something snapped. The room fell silent, husband and wife glaring at each other, while the onlookers sat amusedly sipping brandy. The melodrama was about to begin. The radically transformed blonde housewife from the suburbs, began sashaying nakedly about the living room. Breasts jiggling, buttocks wiggling, she tousled her hair and arched her back, striking a cheesecake pose. She pooched out her cum encrusted lips and blew a kiss at her oogle-eyed husband.
"My husband," she said gustily, "thinks I am a boring female ... he doesn't want to make love to me." She tossed her curly head exaggeratedly; neither anger nor resentment chimed in her voice. Polly Atkins was beyond the point of emotion. Pure, unadulterated vengeance drove her on. She cupped her two warmly tingling breasts, swollen from earlier lesbian love, in the palms of her hands and weighed them like cantaloupes. Her body was hot, firelight streaking orange ribbons over her sheened bumps and curves. The butterfly was emerging from her cocoon; if ever Polly Atkins had been shy, that modest quality was shed from her now! An oddly pleasant feeling it was, being the center of attention. The exhibitionist in her strutted about the room, thrusting her nakedly quivering breasts in Dr. Dearborn's face.
She stroked her swollen nipples over his mustache and pooched out her succulent lips. "Dr. Dearborn didn't think I was a boring fuck, did you, honey?" she purred. Smirking dangerously, she flashed a glinty eyed smile at her pale faced husband whose jaw had dropped three inches in disbelief. , Dr. Dearborn was dumbstruck for the first time in his life. He finally let out a moan, fighting the temptation to nibble his teeth on the rosebuds of her succulent nipples. Fearfully, he stole a glance at Polly's husband out of the corner of one twitching eye.
Ted Atkins was riveted to the floor. A bomb couldn't have jarred him! His face once rose red with anger, had faded to ashen gray. His eyeballs bugged from his skull, veins throbbed in his neck. He looked like a wind-up toy soldier ready to charge into battle.
Polly spread her legs and with her thumbs, spread the rose petals of her ragged, swollen pussy lips. "See my pussy, Dr. Dearborn ... would you say that was a boring pussy?" She bent her knees so that the gawking man could see the moistening pink slit of her pussy a lick away from his mouth.
Confident that Ted Atkins was beyond the point of reprisal, too stunned to speak-or they all would have joined the fate of the torn bra and ripped dress-he cleared his throat and smiled up at her lewdly. He loved a game... and by God he had the ringside seat in this one! He'd never guessed that below that modest veneer was a white hot woman full of pride and vengeance. His long thick cock pounded beneath his robe.
Polly's hot tongue darted out to lick her soft lips, the very thought of her depravity making her sizzle with arousal. Her eyes fled to Myra who sat amusedly watching her college friend transform into a man-hating slut like herself.
"You want to fuck me, Ed? Want to shove your hard prick up my pussy and make me cum ... again?" The cum-entangled blonde fleece nesting her pink vaginal lips, was open to the doctor's examination. To egg him on, she ran a polished fingertip over the oily nub of her clitoris. "Huh, honey?"
"I... ah ... now?" He eyed what remained of the ego-damaged husband.
"You're crazy not to, Ed," said Myra huskily. "Hell, I'd snap up the chance ... she gives damned good head!"
Ted's body jolted as if a million volts of electricity had struck him. His hair literally stood .on end.
Though his cagey accomplice was egging him on, Dr. Dearborn had set ideas about fucking a man's wife in front of him. Whatever the shriveling husband had done to deserve this, it must have been damned juicy! Dearborn smacked his lips.
If one could describe insanity, Ted Atkins was a prize example. Torn between ripping his hair out and tearing his wife's fingernails to the quick, he rode the fine line. The sight of her parading around naked as a jay bird and fingering her pussy in front of a strange man, made him sizzle with humiliation. Yet, he balked. There was no stopping her, short of beating her to a pulp. For a man who'd never lain a hand on his wife, that presented problems. Dear God, what could he do? His armpits were drenched, his blood turned to ice. Indecision held him riveted to the floor.
Polly Atkins was on fire; she could no longer control her actions. An excited moan escaped her parted lips as she realized she really did want to fuck Dr. Dearborn again. She had already made a fool of herself, so why stop now? If Ted didn't already hate her, he was a fool. Never would he forgive her for this humiliation-in front of Myra, of all people!
"Fuck me, Dr. Dearborn," she hissed throatily. The words rolled off her tongue like liquid velvet. Her middle finger dipped into the wet honey pot of her cunt and slightly parted her fleshy vaginal lips, swollen from earlier excesses. Her periwinkle eyes rolled in her head, and she began to slide her finger up and down the wetly throbbing furrow of her crying cunt. "Dear Lord, what do I have to do to get you hard?"
"Get with it, Ed ... throw her the bone!" It was Myra's voice, thick and husky.
With that, Dr. Dearborn spread his legs, opening the flap of the satin kimono. His lancing penis parted the robe as it jutted out from his loins like a snake raising its head out its hole to check the weather conditions. Hurriedly, he untied the belt and the slinky fabric parted in the middle to show off his thin, muscular body. "Look good to ya, little girl?"
Polly cooed lustfully at him with salty tears welling up in her eyes. There was no retracing her steps, and she knew it. Everyone in the room knew-most of all, Dr. Dearborn, the perpetual opportunist.
The reality of his wife, his own dear Polly, blatantly seducing another man in front of his eyes was the last straw. He balled up his hands into steely fists. "Polly, stop it! Stop it! I can't take any more!"
Her head flew around. "You can't take any more? Huh?" she cried hysterically, her voice somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "I'm nothing to you... go find the little hussy you were sleeping with the night after our won-der-ful anniversary!"
"Yeah, shuddup, Ted!" snapped the umpire from her throne. "Let your wife have her way for once-big, macho football star!"
Ted sank onto the sofa, feeling an odd congestion in the pit of his stomach at the thought of watching his wife sluttishly seduce another man. From an objective point of view, it would be similar to investing at a fixed loan rate and watching the rates climb. The horror, the shock, had faded to a dull throb that quivered in his thighs, making his penis lurch with expectation of the macabre. He blinked for the first time when he heard Dr. Dearborn say as he climbed down onto the rug on all fours, simultaneously yanking off his robe and pulling Polly down with him: "Suck my cock, Polly... show your loving husband how you suck cock..."
Polly blinked. Her body went stiff. "No ... please, just fuck me...."
"Show hubby darling you're not a boring fuck!" he demanded. He leaned toward her, his jutting penis dangling inches from her face. Below, his sperm-filled testicles swayed in their hairy sacs. He wrapped his fingers in her blonde curls and yanked her head down with a grunt. "I told you to suck!"
"But..." Then: "Mmmmffff..."The piquant, rubbery nob was thrust between her pearly teeth, gouging at her tonsils. The unusual, semi-salty taste awakened her tastebuds dulled by brandy, polishing all fears with red hot desire. Willingly, she opened her mouth, licking her lips, allowing her tongue to stretch out between her lips. Her head moved forward, mentally comparing the taste to Myra's cunt.
The brandy, the earlier lesbian romp and now vengeance, combined to shed Polly's inhibitions, shattering them like glass. She swirled her wet tongue around the slit, tasting his juices while he moaned, his fingers massaging the back of her neck with brutal force. She opened her mouth, accepting him, swirling her tongue in faster strokes, holding the base and pumping his girthy meat into her throat.
"Ahhh ... Gawddd...!" he moaned. "Butter mouth...."
Now Polly began bobbing her head, her tongue twirling and her ovalled wet lips nibbling softly around the sliding shaft of his penis. Dr. Dearborn jerked his hips forward, staring down at her lewdly bobbing blonde head. Her firm breasts danced and swayed beneath her chest as she braced herself on her elbow. She swallowed and dipped her head as if bobbing for apples. He could see her lips clinging to the swollen head of his penis on the outstroke, and he could feel the building pressures of orgasm weight his testicles as she nibbled and feasted on his aching erection.
Surrendering herself to this newfound depravity, she sucked his cock voraciously, reveling in the piquant taste of his manly meat. Her naked, twitching loins ached with increasing tension as her own climax seethed in the pit of her belly.
Huh ... and Ted had laughed at her love act! She wanted the doctor to shoot his sperm down her gullet while her horrors truck husband oogled the act three feet away. She sucked faster, harder, her breasts heaving and her hips churning, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Deliberately, she pressed her nose and lips to the bristles of his pubic thatch, and caught the heavy musky aroma of earlier sex, making her nostrils flare like a frightened deer. The smell was an aphrodisiac.
Ted gawked shamefacedly at his once-puritanical wife sucking the fox faced man's cock-in front of him! Three years of begging her to take one tentative lick of his prick for the same favor-and here she was in full three dimensional life-sucking another man's wetly glistening penis as if she were starving! Anger, rage, heartache, bitterness ate at his better senses. He realized he should have been honest with her the night following their anniversary. Nor should he have laughed at her tonight.
But he had and now he was paying for it.
The animal in him, aside from all emotion, rooted him to the chair. He blinked, realizing the subtle changes taking place in his psyche. Ted squirmed, realizing he was growing excited-obscenely so-by witnessing his wife sucking another man's penis, gaining fantastic pleasure from another man that she had never allowed him. The woman was proving she was female, all female. His eyes glanced around the room and he wondered what carnalities had taken place tonight. He twisted in his chair, feeling his emotions grow like mushrooms on a rainy morn. A drop of seminal fluid oozed from the tip of his hardened cock.
Ted Atkins sat nervously in his chair, wondering what to do about the aching throb in the pit of his groin. Myra, watching from the sidelines with cattish attention, eyed the wronged husband lightly stroking his eagerly pulsing cock through his zipped-up pants. "Go for it, Ted ... look at Polly's luscious buttocks wagging in the breeze! Show her what a man you are- for a change!"
Ted's upper lip curled in disdain for the woman who'd made a fool of Polly and was now trying to make a fool of him. So she didn't think him much of a man, huh? He studied Myra's tilted smirk through bulging eyeballs, then let the reddened orbs travel to his wife's wildly rotating asscheeks. The rounded half moons of her buttocks winked back at him, tormenting him with bittersweet titillation. He couldn't take another minute of her seductive torture!
Damn ... if Polly could tear up the remaining shreds of marital trust and respect like so much tissue paper, so could he!
Panting, he tore at the zipper of his gabardine pants, kicked off his shoes and got down on all fours on the carpet. The fire was hot on his flushed cheeks, turning his brain into a fevered circuit of lust. He knelt between his wife's quivering thighs, stripped out of his jockey shorts, and knee walked up between her kneeling legs. With the warmth of his hot hands on her hips, he probed experimentally with his fingers, digging them gently into her warm, buttery flesh. Finding her backbone, the bumpy ridges stood out in symmetrically from the humped-over position she was in; he followed it until he came into wet contact with the cum slickened crevice of her vagina.
"Ohhh ... ahhh," mewled Polly, lost in a world of desire.
Ted snickered and pressed the seeping tip of his mushroomed penis into the wetly heated slit, sliding the rubbery tip up and down in sensuously taunting circles ... pleased with himself for finding the solution for abstinence. When had a woman ever contacted veneral disease from anal sex!
Polly squirmed her naked buttocks in salacious invitation against her husband, shuddering from the explosive desire to be invaded from both ends. That it was Ted who was about to take her from behind didn't matter ... one cock was as good as the other. "Yesss..." she hissed through clenched teeth. "Take me from behind!" she cried out, and then hungrily took the rigidly thrusting cock of Dr. Dearborn back into her warmly sucking mouth, sighing contentedly as she began to suck feverishly.
Ted snorted as he dug his fingers cruelly up into her pussy and ran his slickened cock head with the mixture of his wife's cheating cum and his own secretions.
Polly felt his hard hands gripping her shivering buttocks, still raw from earlier excesses. His fingers spread her buttery ass cheeks wide apart. She knew in that very instant that Ted was going to fuck her all right, but not in the loving, traditional sense that marked three years of marriage and trust. He was going to fuck her anally ... going to shove his erection right up her bowels'... like it or not!
Polly tried to cry out in protest, the horror of his defilement filling her with terror and disgust, but Ted held her firmly, chuckling: "Relax.. .and it won't hurt ... you cocksucking bitch!"
Finally he was going to punish her as she deserved. Pain . . . Polly couldn't stand the thought of her husband's sausage-like prick being rammed up her bowels, cruelly stretching her anus!
Now her husband had spread her defenselessly up-thrust ass cheeks wide as the flesh would tolerate, and she knew he was staring at the tiny puckered hole of her anus. God, was nothing sacred anymore? She struggled to twist away, but Dr. Dearborn flexed his strong hips with vengeance and drove his hardness down past her tonsils, yanking at her hair so tightly in his fist she feared he might scalp her! The kneeling, subjugated wife felt the rubbery head press against her naked rectal hole, teasing along there, and nudging against the tiny sphincter muscle. She heard her husband draw in a long breath.
"No... no, please, Ted... no... NO! DON'T HURT ME THERE!" her muffled scream echoed through the living room. "Myra... please, help me, Myra! Don't let him hurt meee!"
Polly's screams fell on deaf ears. Myra was lost in her own salacious world of self-fulfillment as, glassy eyed, she watched Dr. Dearborn shove his hardened penis down Polly's throat while Ted wormed his punishing cock up his wife's bowels. Polly was beyond help-another lesson to be learned.
With a vicious thrust that banged his bony pelvis into his wife's buttocks, Ted's bloated shaft of flesh split into her virginal anal hole with an unmerciful thrust. It slipped in, quarter inch by quarter inch, boring into her hot spongy back passage with relentless force, until she felt his sperm-weighted testicles slap against her inner thighs. The scream building in her mind tried to release its power through her throat, but all that came out from her ovalled lips was a strangled gasp as Dr. Dearborn flexed his buttocks and drove his long hard penis deeper into the warm buttery softness of her mouth.
"Holy shit!" grumped Ted Atkins half in pain. "What a tight ass you got, wifey!" he chuckled lewdly, feeling the sweetness of reprisal as he watched his wife's asscheeks quivering in agony.
Polly tried to shriek out in pain, but the bloated penis boring in and out between her lips forced her to swallow her cries in mocking silence. Her pretty features scrunched up in blistering pain as her anger-driven husband clutched at her hips and hammered his penis deeper up into her tightly resisting anal hole. The pressure of his straining thighs forced her forward, impaling her pretty flushed face on Dr. Dearborn's loins until she started to gag. Her eyes watered, her nose twitched... she was suffocating, so suck she must!
Behind her, Ted thrust with powerful strokes, making bestial sounds deep in his gurgling throat as his fleshy probe continued its heartless invasion of her private nether regions. His hips humped and humped, and his fingers clawed at her sleek thighs as Polly ground her naked ass cheeks back against his pelvis while his testicles smacked loudly against her cunt below. Then he drew his penis out slightly, watching as her pouting anal lips clung possessively to his shaft, slipping reluctantly down the length of his withdrawing penis. He continued to pull out until only the lust swollen head of his burgeoning cock was left lodged in between the gaping, pain filled hole of her rectum. He moaned and thrust inward again, his breath wheezing from his overworked lungs. He began fucking crazily into her buttery depths, feeling her spongy flesh and rubbery muscles grip his cock possessively, as if trying to pull it free of its base!
As Ted and the salacious Dr. Dearborn buffeted the limp hapless Polly between them, the pain and torment began subsiding. Gradually, the naked young woman began to feel something different, something more lewd and shameful than the mental agony of being used as a sex object by two selfish men ... the same sexual frenzy that had driven her to lesbian lovemaking earlier that evening took control of her soul, her body and her mind!
The pleasure became compulsive! Her movements became instinctual!
Polly Atkins' hips began to grind back against his rampaging cock screwing into her anal hole; her head flailed from side to side like a dog tearing at an old shoe. Her sucking mouth worked with blind passion, her cheeks hollowing as she savored the juicy secretions oozing from the tip of Dr. Dearborn's prick!
If ever the married woman had fantasies of becoming a whore, it was now! She was a whore! She mewled and cooed and gurgled around the rigid penis stuffing her mouth, her resistance shredded like damp tissue paper. "Fuccckkk meee!" A savage tone to her voice cried for salvation as the twin cocks bored into her with hellfire force!
Legs draped over the chair, red head draped over the chair's arm, Myra Belfry's belly and thighs quivered from the sultry exhibit taking place at her feet. She had to hand it to Polly-she was a devilish Pollyanna. Faster, faster, her fingers fluttered over her pussy curls, stroking herself into mindless ecstasy!
Ted stared at his wife's clinging anal flesh as she groveled around the suave Dr. Dearborn's genitals. A strange transformation came over him. The less sickened and jealous he became, the more aroused he was! This was an orgiastic dream come true-wild sex with no guilt ... and at Polly's insistence! His ears sang with blood.
Now Polly began gyrating her hips in a wild tempo that Dr. Dearborn was hard pressed to match. The two adrenalin-lust powered cocks increased their speed as they drove into her mouth and anus with thundering force!
Those cocks were alive within her-alive and a rowing! The hard rubbery cock head implanted in her rectum like a burrowing rodent, the tingling pound of sperm-heated testicles drubbing against her vaginal slit and against her dimpled chin, the fleshy folds of his thick penis screwing into her ovalled lips as if her mouth were just another cunt. Polly became one with them and despite the bittersweet pain in her anal hole, her tongue began to lick wildly at the hardened shaft filling her cheeks. She rammed her ass cheeks back against her husband's cock, feeling the first waves of her climax build in her belly. She cooed and mewled and drooled around the fleshy stalk battering into her mouth, knowing it wouldn't be long before she was freed of the damnable seething need for release. She'd transformed from a shy seedling to a blooming flower of lust!
The sight of the timid friend turned whore, was too much for Myra! She felt herself cumming as her fingers fluttered over the oily nub of her clitoris. Myra sucked in her breath, breasts heaving, as faster and faster her fingers plunged into her dripping pussy, still swollen from Polly's nibbling lips. Arching her back, she shoved her fingertips up into the spongy nest of her cervix ... her lustful mantras driving the thrusting threesome on to their roaring climaxes!
With a loud groan of impending release, Dr. Dearborn locked his possessive hands around the back of Polly's wildly bobbing head, drawing her warm wet mouth deep down on his cock until only a fraction of the rubbery stalk could be seen. Polly groaned from the agonizing pain of the meaty cudgel boring down her throat, scraping her tonsils. The first taste of male sperm, fiery and masculine, trickled down her throat. Then it came in a gush ... flooding the back of her mouth, filling the warm hole and bloating her cheeks until they nearly burst like water-filled balloons. She swallowed gluttonously, sputtering to keep from choking on the creamy sperm as he emptied his balls into the tender passage of her throat.
Grunting behind her, Ted thrust his massive hardness forward with a vengeful lunge, working slavishly with long, boring strokes that wormed up her convulsively puckering rectum. "Damn bitch . . . damn hot bitch," he muttered in a litany of love-lust. "I'm ... oh, Jesus, yeahhh ... I'm cumming!"
Polly stiffened as she felt her husband's cock burst in her anus. A terrible burning rush of hot, squirming seed spewed deep up into her anus with a searing agony that made stars sprinkle before her unblinking eyes. The hot sperm filled her body ... and then it hit her with volcanic force. Her orgasm lifted her off the floor like magic levitation.
A kaleidoscopic explosion of sound and color blinded her, as she roared off through the clouds to hang on to a star for that blissful moment! She felt their semen and her secretions rushing together in sticky rivers of lust, flowing down in spating rivers from her mouth and trickling down the slender columns of her thighs. For a long, blinding moment, she. knew nothing other than the joy of twin cocks spewing their seed into her, while her own juices rivered from her spasming cuntal lips and down her quivering thighs to the stained carpet below.
The fire crackled, logs smouldering into ashes. The room cooled, chilled with icy guilt and regret.
It was a contest between Polly and Ted to see who would relent first. Carefully, with studied neglect, they averted each other's eyes as if they mirrored the other's infidelity. Polly, with no clothes left in one piece, draped her wool coat over her shivering, naked body, hating to go home but hating more the idea of spending a night at Myra Belfry's house.
Myra and the lust-sated doctor lay snoring on the sofa, when Polly tiptoed out of the living room, leaving her husband to stare blindly after her in wonderment. He watched her disappear into the shadows toward the foyer where her high heels clicked on the hardwood floor.
Pride melted in warm gushes of emotion that knifed in his belly. He tore after her, catching her by the arm and pivoting her around to face him. Strands of blonde hair clung to her forehead, pasted by another man's cum. Her eyes and features were swollen and clownlike. Hanging her head, feeling the bile of guilt rise in her throat, she refused to look at him. With his strong hands, he forced her tiny pixie face upward to meet his eyes.
"I love you ... even if you made an ass out of yourself, I still love you."
Polly sniffled, forcing her head aside. Damn it, how could she still love him after the way he'd treated her? How could he still love her?
She started to mumble, but he put a finger to her pouty, swollen lips. "Don't talk ... let's get out of here!"
The human mind has its own buffers, and Ted Atkins' polished his injured male ego to a glistening shine. To admit to Polly's adultery was not yet possible. It would take time. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he opened the door. The sky was turning pink, the ground crisp with frozen dew. A new morning, a new day---- A hot shower, a warm cup of tea....
"Ohhh, Ted, I love you!" cooed Polly, snuggling up to her husband's warm chest and pressing her satiny bosom to him.
Ted wrapped a strong arm around her back, bringing her close to his still sweating body and licking a warm tongue around the rim of her shell-like ear. "I love you too, baby.. .and I'm sorry if I insulted you or neglected you. Men can be selfish, insensitive bastards, and I guess you're stuck with the prize bull."
Polly wormed closer to him, hugging his hairy chest seductively. "Why don't we make love and forget about last night?" She shivered her naked shoulders. "Maybe we could both forget faster."
Ted blinked, the comfortable smile fading from his handsome face. I wouldn't have sex with my wife for a week, just to be sure ... Hastily, to fill the chasm of suspicion, he kissed her on the forehead and tweaked a puffy nipple between his fingers. "Honey, I'd love to- and don't get me wrong-I don.'t want you to feel bad, but that doctor... you never can tell what kind of diseases men like that carry." He pooched his lips thoughtfully and shook his head. "Maybe we oughta wait a coupla days before we-"
Polly whimpered. "But-I-"
Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed her fingers, one by one. "That doesn't mean, dear lady, we can't please each other in other ways."
Blessing his lucky stars for his wife's timely infidelities that freed him from his self-made trap, Ted wormed his way to the foot of the bed and, with the warmth of his palms opened his wife's shivering thighs and nestled his face in the warm wetness of her pussy.
Polly's hands cradled the soft brown curls tickling her sensitive flesh. As his tongue pleasured her in warm, wet swirls, sucking, nibbling at the tender flesh, the image of Myra's red hair refused to evaporate into faded memories of imagined pleasures.
