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 The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
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   Copyright 1999,2000 by E.  Z.  Riter.

   E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

   Please!  Give me your comments!

   Dear Reader: This is the story of a wife and mother who meets the man of
her dreams.  Unfortunately, that's her daughter's fianc,.  I'm interested
in whether you, as a reader, thought the story codes were correct.  Thanks
to Sara and Gail for their input and other invaluable assistance.  Please
enjoy.  E.Z.

   KAREN

   Have you ever met a man you instantly feared?  Who made you quake deep
down inside?

   I don't mean a physical fear.  I mean a sexual fear.

   A fear he would possess you as his own.  A fear he would reach deep into
your woman's heart to seize your innermost feelings, making you eager to do
what he wished of you.

   And a fear he might do nothing.  A fear the deep gut longing for him
would be unfulfilled, leaving you aching and wanting.

   I'd heard other women speak of such fears.  They're referring to movie
stars or rock musicians they drool over in a fantasy.  In my life, my real
life, I'd never met such a man.

   I was almost forty.  My husband, George Phillips, and I had been married
twenty-one years.  We have two wonderful daughters, Polly, 20, and Patty,
18.

   For the past twelve years, George and I worked hard to build our
business.  For ten of those years, the business grew and prospered.  But
for the last two years, the business suffered a steady and steep decline
because George's overly ambitious expansion plans exploded in our faces. 
We were threatened with bankruptcy.

   George started to drink heavily.  Alcohol and stress turned his
previously kind disposition to a sour and depressed mania.  Our children
suffered with us.  Seeing their parents depressed was hard on them.  We
couldn't afford for either of them to go to college.

   George is fifteen years older than I.  In a way, our relationship was
father and daughter.  We began dating when I was seventeen.  He took my
virginity when I was eighteen.  When I became pregnant with Polly, we
married.  I'd never had another man.  Our major marital disagreement had
been over the number of children.  I wanted four.  George insisted we have
only two.  He had a vasectomy to prevent additional children.  I missed
those days.  I missed the feel of a baby, of the life in me, of nursing my
child.  I missed the closeness with the man who made that baby with me. 
George and I began to drift apart after those early, baby days.

   Sex with George was pleasant and sweet, but never exciting.  When I
married him, I knew it would never be the bomb bursts my friends gossiped
of.  Our sex was more passive than that.  When the business began its
downturn, he became impotent.  It'd been two years since we made love.  For
the last year, we slept in separate beds, not even touching during the
night.

   I'm five five and in good physical condition.  I'm told I'm pretty.  My
daughters inherited my dark blonde hair and green eyes, my smile with the
one dimple.  My breasts are still high and firm, but my bottom and legs are
my most attractive feature.

   I never intended to attract men.  I dressed demurely, preferring loose
blouses and long, full skirts to hide myself from prying male eyes.  I
lived a life without carnal desires, keeping myself chaste except for my
husband.  I was a modest and faithful wife.

   During this siege of unhappiness, our bright spot was Polly.  She'd
fallen desperately in love with a man.  We hadn't met him yet, but she said
he was magnificent, very intelligent, well educated and successful in
business.  His name was Eric Winston.

   His only negative, from what she told me, was that he was thirty-two,
twelve years older than she was.  As Polly pointed out, George was fifteen
years my senior so I couldn't complain about the age difference.  Polly
gushed about him, revealing a depth of love and wanting beyond anything I'd
experienced.

   During the next month, the business continued its relentless slide
toward bankruptcy.  George fought to survive, even if the hope of survival
seemed dim.  I knew if he failed after redoubling his efforts, the loss
would be much more devastating.  Too often it seems, a man's self worth is
tied inexorably to his company and his position.  I worried constantly
about his mental and physical health.

   George and I were home one Friday night about ten, getting ready to go
to bed.  We were exhausted from the demands of the business.  As usual, it
had been a long and difficult week.  Patty was already asleep.  The front
door burst open.  Polly, giggling and wiggling with happiness, charged into
the room with a man right behind her.

   "Mother!  Dad!  Eric asked me to marry him!  I said yes."

   I saw Eric Winston for the first time.  Hot, prickly fingers walked down
my spine.  I flushed.  Lights dimmed except around him.  I was giddy and
nauseous.  Every sense was overloaded.  I stared at him as he shook
George's hand in greeting.  He turned to me and smiled.  His eyes held me.
Heat flashed through me, like a heavy blush, leaving my nipples erect and a
wetness seeping between my legs.

   I'd met him - the man who could possess me.  The man who could take me
and make me his.  Never before had I felt the intense, demanding, female
need to throw myself at a man.

   "Mother, are you all right?" Polly asked, taking my hands.  "Why are you
crying?"

   "Your mother's just happy for you, dear," Eric said.  "Let me help you,
Karen."

   My right hand in his, his left hand at my waist, he guided me to a
chair. Was my robe on fire from the heat of his hand on me?  Could no one
else smell the scent I extruded?  When I sat, I looked up at him.  He could
feel it.  He could smell it.  He knew.

   Polly and George solicitously murmured around me.  Didn't they see the
sexual need in me?  Didn't they feel my agony?  Oh, god, what was I going
to do?  I wanted him so much.

   I must resist him!  I must!  He was my daughter's fianc,, her man not
mine.  I took a deep breath and prayed.  Karen Phillips, wife and mother,
pushed her unbridled carnal desire to the background and smiled benignly.
For the first time since he arrived, I took a normal breath.

   Physically, Eric was about six three.  He was lean and raw boned, with
big wrists and hands.  His chest looked powerful, his arms strong.  His
hair was black and cut short.  He was graying at the temples.  His face was
ruggedly masculine and handsome.

   His most dominant feature was his eyes.  They were large and deep set in
large eyeholes, under thick, long black lashes and below heavy black
eyebrows.  Their color was a startling, deep, blue.  They were compelling
eyes, demanding eyes, eyes which might well be cruel.  Those eyes could be
soft and kind, too, as they were now.

   He sat on the couch with Polly next to him, both her hands hidden by one
of his.  His voice was very pleasant, a well-modulated baritone.  Its
smoothness, the easy rhythm of his words, the timbre, all were pleasing and
reassuring.  It was hypnotic.

   I was dressed in a long flannel nightgown which covered me head to toe
and wore over it a thick and fleecy terry cloth bathrobe.  But when he
looked at me, I felt naked.

   Polly was ecstatic, beaming brightly in her joy.  She extended her hand
to flash a solitaire diamond engagement ring.  Her wriggling fingers
distorted our view, but its size and quality were self-evident.  I noticed
a new necklace around her lovely neck.  It was a gold choker with a small
ring in front.  From the ring dangled another diamond which matched the one
on her finger.

   We visited about wedding plans and their future.  My eyes were
constantly drawn to his, requiring conscious effort on my part to look
away. They were as hypnotic as his voice.  He enjoyed our eye game and my
distress from it.  Once a special smile flickered across his face.  It made
me shiver.  It was the smile a man gives a woman when he intends to have
intercourse with her.

   I don't know why Polly and George were oblivious to his flirting with
me. Couldn't they see what I saw?  Couldn't they see how he appealed to me,
how I wanted him?  Couldn't they see this seduction in progress?  Couldn't
they see I was helpless?

   Polly's exuberance invigorated us, but it was the presence of Eric
Winston which energized me.  We'd talked almost an hour when Eric changed
the topic.

   "Polly told me a few things about your business problems.  That's my
area of expertise.  I'll be happy to assist you anyway I can," he said.

   We talked until two in the morning.  George and I unburdened ourselves,
releasing our business worries like a dam burst releasing the water of a
thousand brutal rains.  Eric acted truly interested.  His knowledge,
insight and certainty impressed me.  Every thing about him impressed me.

   During those hours, our eye game continued.  I saw that look again and
again.  Its implications were constantly in my mind.  As a mother, I was
angered my daughter's fianc, would look at me like that.  As a wife, I
resented his giving me that look in my own living room with my husband
present.  As a woman, I was terrified.  He wanted me.  He'd stop at nothing
to have me.  My anxiety bubbled like a cauldron.

   Karen, it's you that's flirting with him.  Stop it, a voice in my head
said.  It's not me, I thought in reply.

   "I think I can help," Eric said.  "When can I take a look at the books?"

   "I've got a golf tournament with my biggest customer this weekend.  How
about Monday?" George answered anxiously.

   "I'd like to do it tomorrow," Eric replied.  "Karen's the accountant,
isn't she?"

   "Of course!  She can show you everything.  You two won't need me,"
George said.

   "No, I couldn't," escaped me.

   "Sure you can, honey," George said emphatically.

   George's tone of voice and expression were clear.  He wanted me to meet
Eric on Saturday.  Polly still hadn't noticed Eric's dance with me.  And
Eric smiled at me in a way which drove me mad.  I was horrified I would be
spending the better part of my Saturday alone with him, no matter the
reason.  I hid my reservations, warmly saying I'd be glad to meet him.  We
set a time and ended our evening.  After he left with Polly, George and I
went to bed.

   "Karen, he's the answer to our prayers.  Don't hold anything back.  Give
Eric whatever he wants," George said intently.

   I slipped out of my bed and walked to his.  I knelt beside it and took
his hands in mine.

   "I love you, George," I whispered.

   "I love you, too," he replied.  "Why are you crying?  You've sure been
teary this evening."

   "It's been an emotional evening, what with Polly getting married and
help in the business," I lied.

   "Can you believe it, Karen?  Eric may help us.  He's the first person in
two years to give us hope.  Real hope.  We've got to make it work!  There's
something about him that makes me trust him.  I know this will work, unless
we blow it.  We can't do that."

   "What if he wants more than you're willing to give?"

   "He can't," George said with a snicker.  "I'd give anything.  Damn it,
Karen.  This may be our last chance." George patted my hand.  "But I'm
exhausted now.  I'll sleep the sleep of the dead tonight."

   "I hope I do," I replied.

   "Get some sleep.  You need to be sharp for him tomorrow.  He'll probably
run you through the wringer."

   "I'm sure he will," I said and kissed him on the cheek.

   Sleep was long in coming.  I was dreading tomorrow.  When sleep finally
came, I had an erotic dream, a dream stronger than I had in years.  The
dream was of Eric Winston . . .  and me.  Agitated and fearful, I awoke in
a sweat.  George's snoring and my labored breathing were the only sounds in
the room.  I prayed for strength and fell asleep again.

   I was tired and confused in the morning.  I selected my least appealing
outfit.  I wore no makeup and old, scuffed, flat-heeled boots.

   George greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss.  He was ready to walk out
the door to go to the golf course.

   "Karen, you look frumpy.  Put on something nicer.  Something with some
oomph.  We want Eric to think the best of us," he said.

   I cried when I redressed.  My husband had ordered me to make myself
prettier for a man who wanted me.  My emotions were overloaded just
thinking about Eric Winston.  As I looked at myself in my full length
mirror, I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.  No, you don't, the
voice in my head said.  You're looking forward to it.  No, I wasn't.  I
wasn't.

   As I drove to the plant to meet him, I reviewed my situation.  It was
surreal.  I was eight years older, his mother-in-law to be, and married to
someone else.  He was considering assisting my husband and me in our
business.  For him to give me such sexual signals didn't make sense, not in
my experience, at least.

   The drive to the office was slow.  I talked to myself the whole way,
telling me this was wrong.  The last block of the drive I saw Eric in a
blue Mercedes in my rear view mirror.  He followed me into the driveway,
parking beside me.  Apprehensively, I watched him walk toward me.  He was
dressed in a button down, Oxford cloth, blue shirt, blue jeans, and white
sneakers.  He looked long and lanky and strong, like a modern day
westerner.

   "Mr.  Winston," I said coolly.

   "Mrs.  Phillips," he replied, a twinkle in his eye.  "Shall we begin?"

   Eric and I worked hard.  Like a huge vacuum, he sucked up information I
struggled to feed him at the pace he demanded.  His clarity and precision
of thought, his quick mind, had me in awe.  However, I lived those six
hours in fear of what would happen later.  I was constantly aware of his
maleness and dominant air, even as we discussed such mundane and non-sexual
things as lease financing.  I felt the sexual tension the entire time.

   It wasn't my imagination.  He touched me every chance he got.  First, it
was finger tips on my hand when I passed a file to him.  I didn't respond,
telling myself I didn't want to offend him.  The touches became bolder. 
When he looked at me, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes.  I knew what
he was thinking.  He was thinking about taking me.  He wanted me to think
about it, too.  I could think of nothing else.

   His toying with me was discreet except for one overt comment made after
we'd been there about four hours.  I'd finished telling him the
relationship with our largest customer.

   "Do you have any questions?" I asked.

   "Tell me, is your pussy wet from wanting to fuck me?"

   The room reeled as I started to faint.  He grabbed me, his strong arms
around me, his body hot against mine as he guided me to a chair and eased
me into it.  His hands slipped down my body, leaving a trail of fire.

   "Are you all right?" he asked.

   "What?  What did you say?"

   "I said, 'Tell me your percentage net on the Fulton contract'.  What did
you think I said?"

   Was I going crazy?  He hadn't said that!  Had he?  Had he asked a
question so innocuous?  No.  No.  He was playing with me.  He must be.  He
must.  I couldn't read his expression.  Had he said it?

   "Oh.  I thought you said something else."

   His hands were on my knees.  The pressure was gentle but increasing.  He
was trying to pull my knees apart!  No.  Was he trying to hold them
together?  Oh, god, what was happening?  I started to cry again, burying my
head in my hands as I sobbed.  He disappeared and returned with a Coke.  He
took my hand and wrapped it around the cold can.  I shivered from the
coldness.  Or was it from his touch?

   "It's going to be all right, Karen," he said softly.  His hand stroked
my hair.

   Stop!  Stop!  Don't touch me!  I wanted to scream.  I'm a wife, not a
slut.  I'm a mother.  My daughter is your fiancee.  This is wrong.  It's
wrong for me to want you so much.

   I fought for composure.  Eric waited patiently.  When I was ready, we
started the business review again.  He continued his game of cat and mouse,
leaving the mouse exhausted and her feelings raw and exposed.

   After six hours, he said we were through with the business review and
excused himself.  I collapsed in the chair at my desk as I tried to sort
through my confused mind the reason behind Eric's treatment of me and my
acceptance of it.  Acceptance?  No.  Desire.  Why was I silent when he
touched me?  That's the reason his touches became bolder.  The last time
his hand slid down my back to stroke my bottom before pulling away.

   When I looked up, he was sitting in the straight chair across from me.
One leg was bent, his foot on the edge of my desk; the other was splayed
straight, foot on the desk.  He was displaying his crotch to me.

   The bastard was teasing me!  I felt the blush rise.  My face was beet
red.  My hands trembled.  I took several deep breaths, trying to control
myself.  I could feel his eyes burning into me, see him rocking gently back
and forth as he leaned back in the chair.  Finally, I looked him in the
eye.

   "What do you want?" I asked.  My voice was tense, forced.

   "I know what I want," he replied quietly.  "I know what you want.  We
both want the same thing.  The question is how do we start."

   No.  Not now.  I'm not ready to resist.  I'm too weak right now.  Please
god, give me strength.

   "What do you think of the business?" I asked.

   "Don't change the subject," he said.  There was a twinkle in his eyes.

   Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe he means something else.

   "What do you think I want?"

   Why did I say that?  Why?

   "You want to be hot and sweaty and naked, writhing in desire on my bed,
begging me to fuck you."

   "You disgust me, you perverted bastard!" I spit out at him without
thinking.

   I was in a rage!  Every muscle and sinew tightened.  I shook in anger at
this overbearing male.  My fists were clenched, my jaw set.  In my mind, my
own mother stood over me.  Was that what my resistance was about?  My
mother's mores?  My mother's prejudices?

   "I'll tell my daughter!  And my husband!  How dare you treat me like
this!"

   He laughed.  The sonofabitch laughed at me.

   "I'm glad you're resisting, Karen.  I love playing the taking game with
a woman, particularly a woman who desperately wants to be taken."

   "Touch me and I'll charge you with rape!"

   He didn't respond as I glared at him.  His expression was inscrutable.
His eyes held mine.  The emotion drained from me.  Anger ebbed; frustration
and helplessness flowed.  I looked away as I started crying again.  I
couldn't stifle my sobs.  He waited, letting me stew in my own juices.  I
was unable to get away.  A prisoner in my own office, I sat awaiting his
next comment.  It seemed hours before he spoke.

   "Karen, look at me."

   He spoke so quietly I had to struggle to hear, but there was no doubt it
was a command.  Once again, I looked at him.  Those eyes.  They held me as
if he held me in his arms.

   "Karen, if I'm wrong, get up and walk out.  Walk out the door and leave.
I won't stop you."

   Stand up, my mind screamed.  Stand up and run from him.  Run.  Get away.
Hide.  Don't look in his eyes.  Fight for control of your emotions, Karen,
Polly's mother in me said.  Oh, please god, help me.  The tension's killing
me.

   "Eric, I can't leave."

   "Yes, you can.  Go ahead."

   "I can't.  Our company needs you."

   "I'll assist the company no matter what happens between us.  This is
between us, you know.  I want you and you want me.  You're afraid to admit
it, that's all."

   "I can't trust you to help us if I don't give myself to you," I gasped
out.  Of course you can trust him, you stupid woman, the voice said. 
You've told him how to take you.  Isn't that what you want?  Eric Winston
to take you?  Yes!  No, no!  I don't know.

   He looked puzzled.  Then a big grin crossed his face and a devilish
gleam appeared in his eyes.

   "Ah.  I understand.  I'll build a box around you so you'll have no
choice."

   No choice?  I already had no choice.  I wanted him so much I was dying
inside.  Couldn't he see that?  A storm rose on his face, but the sunlight
glimmered through the clouds in his eyes.

   "Don't fight me.  I'll leave you and George homeless and penniless
unless you do exactly as I want.  Karen, I want you on your knees.  I want
your obedience.  I want your surrender."

   "George would rather lose everything then have me give myself to you," I
said weakly.  George's words rang in my ears.  'Give Eric whatever he
wants,' he'd said.  Did George know that meant me?  Was he trading me for
his financial future?  No.  He couldn't mean that.  Could he see I wanted
Eric?  Was he giving me permission to have an affair?  Why had he told me
to dress in something nicer?  Did he know?

   I wanted five minutes.  That's all.  Just five minutes alone someplace
quiet where I could think.  I couldn't think.  The world was spinning in
wild, erotic gyrations.  I wanted it to stop so I could think.

   "Undress, Karen.  Let me see your body."

   I shook my head no.  Quickly he stood, towering over me like an
implacable giant.  My tears started anew.  I staggered to my feet and
stumbled to the plate glass window overlooking the plant floor.  It was a
magnificent overview, letting me see the product of so many years of hard
work.  George and I would have nothing to show for those years if we lost
it.

   I sagged against the air-conditioning unit that extended from the wall
at desk height.  I sensed him behind me.  I started to turn.  He drove his
body against mine.  The timing and force of his assault drove my legs
apart, his knees inside my thighs.  His height and strength trapped me with
only my toes touching the floor.  He crossed my wrists in front of me.  The
long, powerful fingers of his left hand wrapped around my wrists and forced
them downward.

   "No!  Goddamn you!  No!" I screamed.

   "Sshh.  It's okay, Karen.  It's all right for you to surrender to me,"
he whispered soothingly.

   I slammed my head back, hoping to hit him in the face.  He trapped my
head with his right hand and held it there.  Trapped, unable to get
leverage with my legs, his strong arms wrapped around me, I screamed and
cursed, fought and struggled, using every ounce of energy and power in me.
When my struggles slowed, he relaxed his grip, giving me false hope of
escape.  I struggled harder which exhausted me more quickly.

   Like an insect in a spider web, I futilely struggled against an
unavoidable fate.  Like the insect, I was ultimately exhausted.  I
collapsed against him, lying still and helpless in his arms.

   Somewhere in my bifurcated mind, the woman who was me watched us from
above.  She saw me in his arms.  She felt his strength and my struggles and
futility.  She felt his cock hardening against my bottom as I rubbed
against him.  She felt our muscles war.  She smelled our sweat, mine made
pungent by my fear.  She heard our sounds, the gasps and grunting, the
words spewed mindlessly by me.  She felt the heat.

   The woman knew the outcome before it occurred.  She relished the
delicious male/female battle she observed.  She tingled in anticipation of
the female's surrender to the male who entrapped her.

   His erection laying against the crack of my bottom and his arms around
me dominated my thoughts.  My bottom moved against the bulge in his
trousers.  Stop rubbing against him like some wanton hussy, the voice said.
I can't, I cried.

   I didn't feel him unbutton the two lower buttons of my blouse.  I first
felt his fingers on the wet, hot skin of my belly.  His fingers moved over
my rib cage.  I groaned as they unsnapped my front attaching bra.  Gently,
those fingers wrapped around my breast, squeezing, testing, evaluating,
and, yes, tantalizing.  Thumb and forefinger closed on my nipple and rolled
it back and forth.  Desire raced through me.

   "Please.  For God's sake," I whimpered.

   "You've lovely breasts, Karen.  I'm going to enjoy them," he whispered
in my ear.  "I'm going to enjoy all of you.  You're a very sexual woman. 
Why you've repressed it, I'll never know.  But you'll repress it no more.
You're my woman now and I expect unbridled sexuality from my women."

   His woman?  How could that be?

   His voice was soothing and reassuring.  It was warm, the kind of warmth
a man's voice has when he has bedded a woman who has pleased him, or when
he is pleased with the woman he'll soon bed.  I didn't misconstrue warmth
as weakness.  He intended for me to fully comply with his demands.

   "You have a lovely neck, too," he murmured as he nuzzled the side of my
neck under my hair.

   His lips, his tongue nibbled and caressed my neck.  Electricity
flickered through me.  Chills went down my spine.  He pulled my head back
and kissed me, nibbling at my lips, tongue caressing mine, his breath hot
and sweet in my nose.  He kissed me again.

   Strange, isn't it?  Cursing and weeping, I'd struggled until exhaustion.
Now I lay passively in his arms as he kissed me and fondled my breasts.  I
felt secure and warm.  I was weightless, his body still supporting mine as
my toes brushed the ground.  His hardness throbbed against me.  Heat was
rising again and sweat oozed from me.  Heat from a different source; heat
of a different kind.

   My resistance ceased.  Limply my hands lay before me.  Eagerly his hands
sought the button and zipper at my waist.  Resistance flared.  I grunted
and pushed against him.  He jerked me hard against him, knocking the wind
from me.  His teeth dug into the muscles of my neck, like a stallion
holding a mare in place as he mounts her.  Something happened: maybe
release of hormones from primordial urges.  A warm tingling sensation
overcame me.  I resisted no more.

   He slipped my blouse and bra off, lay me back on the soft carpet and
finished removing my clothes.  I watched as he dropped his trousers and
boxers.  When I saw his cock, I gasped.  It was so red and hard.  I wanted
it so much.  He knelt between my legs.  My wrists were crossed and pinned
over my head.  My legs were doubled and trapped under his arms.  His cock
nestled between my lower lips.  Our eyes were open.  His face was a picture
of male pride and conquest.  I felt every millimeter of his skin as he
slowly entered me.  I juiced to ease his way.  I spasmed around him,
expanding for him.  He stopped, only partially in me.

   I lifted my hips to hurry him.  "Please don't stop." I whimpered.

   A victor's smile on his face, he slammed against me, driving me into the
floor.  His cockhead hit my cervix.

   "Oh, God.  I'm cumming," I murmured.

   Large, hard, demanding, his cock plundered me again and again, drawing
from me orgasms I didn't believe possible.  I, who'd never experienced more
than one orgasm, felt the power of multiple ones crashing over me.  Sweat
covered us.  Heat radiated.  I whimpered and mewed under him, rewarding his
taking of me with my pleasure at having been taken.

   "Look at me!" he demanded.  Buried in me to the hilt, he stopped.  His
face contorted.  He began to shake as he pumped his seed into me.  Ecstacy
covered his face as he emptied himself.  He released his hold on my legs
and slumped on me.

   I should've pushed him away.  Instead, I put my arms around him and held
his hard body tightly against mine.  His cock softened in me as our bodies
cooled.  My hands stroked his back.  My lips nuzzled his neck.  He raised
up to look in my eyes.  I saw a gentleness in him.  I saw pride: pride of
bringing a woman to sexual nirvana; pride of ownership.  What did he see in
me?  Happiness?  Satisfaction?  Joy?  They were there.

   "Now Karen, we'll always end the same way.  Use your mouth to clean me,"
he said after he rolled to lay beside me.

   I had no urge to resist or disobey.  I took him in my mouth, tasting our
juices coating him.  He stroked my sweat soaked hair as I eagerly complied.
His hand was gentle, his touch reassuring.

   "Well done," he said softly.

   I stopped to gaze into his eyes.

   "Take your hand and gather my cum from your pussy.  Lick your fingers
clean.  No, Karen.  Always look at me when you do it so I can share your
joy at tasting me."

   My eyes were locked to his as my fingers sought the nectar he left.  The
tingling urge to again open myself for him crept over me.  As I licked my
fingers, I saw his cock jump and swell.  He wanted me again.  Me!  I was
thrilled and eager for him.

   "I'm sorry to end this," he whispered in my ear, "but we need to go to
dinner.  Polly's cooking.  We're all eating together."

   I cringed at the mention of my daughters and husband.  Shame filled me.
A cold, sick dampness crept across my skin.  Even my tears seemed cold on
my face.  With my back to him, I sought my clothes and quickly redressed.
When I turned to face him, he had a soft smile.

   "Why are you doing this to me, Eric?" I asked timidly.

   "Does it matter?  It's happening."

   "Please tell me.  I need to know."

   "You shouldn't feel guilty about this, Karen.  You resisted, but I was
too strong.  I took you.  All you need to know is that you're mine now. 
Mine.  And I'll do with you as I wish."

   Guilty?  My guilt was an albatross around my neck.  It devastated me.  I
was crushed by the weight of it . . .  but, oh god, why did I feel this
way? Why did I feel warm and happy?  Why did I enjoy him so much?  He
extended his hand to me.  He helped me to my feet and pulled me against
him.

   "You're a good lover, Karen," he said softly.  "You'll be better when
you surrender.  You'll be a sexual animal.  My animal." He kissed me. 
"I'll see you at my house."

   He kissed me again and left me in the quiet of my own office.

   I thought of nothing else but his taking of me as I drove home to bathe
and change.  As I drove to his home, I lectured myself.  You need to end
this affair, I said.  You must stop it for Polly's sake, and for George's.
I was George's wife.  I was Polly's mother.  I couldn't be Eric's woman,
too.  Could I?  Could I answer the sexual call my body gave me each moment
I was with him?

   By the time I parked my car in front of his house, I was eaten by
turmoil and indecision.

   I fought back tears as I rang the bell.  Polly answered and greeted me
warmly.  Dinner was delicious.  My daughters were scintillating.  My
husband was buoyant from a day's victory at the golf course and the promise
of relief in the business.  Eric was the perfect host and son-in-law to be.


   No one noticed the change in me.  What did you expect?  the voice said.
You're not wearing a scarlet letter.  But do they know?

   At first, I was very self-conscious.  Numbness infused me.  With great
effort, I successfully compartmentalized the day, letting me enjoy part of
the evening with my family.

   George's golf tournament continued through Sunday.  Eric and I agreed to
meet at the plant in the morning to "continue what we started." The others
believed what we'd started was his review of our company.  Only he and I
knew what those words really meant.

   He spoke but once of the relationship he insisted we have.  We were
alone in the kitchen.  He cupped my mound through my dress.  He squeezed,
his finger finding my opening.  "Mine," he whispered in my ear.  Chills
went through me.

   Standing there in his kitchen, I bolstered my resolve to fight him.  I
decided to tell my family his plans, to tell them right now.  I couldn't
allow further assignations with him.  But when I reentered the living room,
they were on the floor in an intimate and animated discussion.

   "Oh, Eric, will you really pay for my college?" Patty was saying.

   "Of course, until your dad gets back on his feet again," Eric replied
positively.  Patty threw her arms around him and hugged him warmly, her
happiness radiating from her face.

   "And that'll be real soon, honey," George responded, getting his warm
hug from Patty as he did.

   I couldn't confront him in front of them.  I couldn't crush their hopes
and joys even for my own protection.  As I looked at Eric with them, he
appeared to be happy and a part of the group.

   I wondered what in him was driving him to do what he was doing to me. 
How could he be so sexually tyrannical with me and pleasant with them? 
Whatever it was, I must deal with it by myself.  Deal with it?  Relish it.
Be honest with yourself, Karen.

   That night at home, George quickly succumbed to sleep.  My sleep was
intermittent.  Wild sexual dreams repeatedly awakened me in a hot sweat and
with a pounding heart.  Once my hand was between my legs when I awakened. I
cried myself back to sleep.  Each time, a troubled sleep brought dreams
again.

   When the alarm aroused me, I stumbled into the bathroom dazed from lack
of sleep and hurrying not to be late.  I don't remember dressing.  I was
half way to the office before I realized what I wore.  Once again, I'd
selected one of my all encompassing blouse and skirt combinations.  This
one was the most revealing I owned.  Its materials were silky and clingy
and tight around me.  And I was braless.  I'd never gone braless in my
life. The weight and movement of my freed breasts was a constant reminder
of the conflict in me.

   Twice I pulled off the street to cry.  I told myself it's only a lack of
sleep.  It's guilt.  Yesterday won't happen again I said.  But I knew it
would.  He would have me again.  Only this time, there'd be no going back.
This time I'd belong to Eric Winston.

   I called George from my car phone.  He was pulling into the parking lot
at the golf club.  He didn't even notice I was crying as he told me to make
sure Eric was impressed.  Impressed?  Yes, Eric was impressed.  By me.  By
my wanton surrender.  By my whimpering as he fucked me.  I cried I could
cry no more.

   I resolved to resist Eric.  Why?  Who knows?  The war in me was titanic.
I wouldn't let him take me as he had only yesterday.  I must end what he
had begun.

   When I arrived at the office, Eric was sitting in his car reading the
Sunday newspaper.  He hopped out and gave me a big smile.  When he leaned
over to kiss me, I turned away.  Both his arms were full so he couldn't
grab me and make me kiss him.  He lugged a suitcase and a sack of food as
he followed me to my office.  As I was making coffee for us, I heard the
furnace roar to life.  Soon, hot air was blowing into the room.  I wondered
why he'd turned up the heat.

   In my office, he'd moved a straight chair to the center of the floor. 
In front of it was a blue exercise mat big enough to lie down on.  The mat
extended to the edge of my desk.  He was sitting in my chair.  His blue
eyes locked onto me.

   "Coffee's ready," I said, trying to make my voice light and happy.  I
placed his coffee on the desk in front of him and started to sit down.

   "Don't sit, Karen," he said.  "Today's devoted to our pleasure.  I
expect total obedience from you."

   "No, Eric.  I'm ending it," I said as I sat in the chair in flagrant
disobedience to his order.

   Don't listen to my words, Eric.  Please.  Listen to my body language. 
Take me.  How could I think that?  How could I not think it?  End my
turmoil, Eric.  End it!

   "Don't try to resist, Karen.  I took you yesterday.  I'll take you again
today and every day I desire."

   "Eric, I'm to be your mother-in-law.  I'm married to another man.  This
is wrong."

   "No.  It's right.  I won't allow you a way out.  If you disobey me,
you'll be punished."

   He opened the suitcase and removed a flexible leather shaft about three
feet long.  Blood crashed through my veins.  I feared his answer, but I
asked.

   "What is that?"

   "A whip.  I'll whip you for your disobedience."

   "You wouldn't?" I gasped.

   "Yes, I would.  I'd do it without hesitation.  Would you like a
demonstration?"

   My head shook "no."

   Gracefully and quickly, he moved beside me, taking my hand.  He guided
me to the mat and instructed me to kneel on it facing the chair.  The sweat
broke out between my breasts, a droplet running down my belly.  For a
moment, I considered resisting.  His grip tightened on my arm.  Trembling
and red faced, I knelt on the mat.  My eyes teared and overflowed, silent
wetness running down my cheek.

   "Spread your knees shoulder width," he ordered.

   What was I to do?  He'd left me no choice.  I couldn't risk the loss of
everything for an act of disobedience.  Now he had added the fear of swift
and painful punishment if I resisted but a moment.  Slowly, I opened my
knees, making me acutely aware of my femaleness.  He's making me ready for
him, I thought.

   Eric handed my coffee to me and sat in the chair I faced.  He moved it
forward until his knees, which were spread wide, were on either side of my
head.  Suddenly, my world was the small v-shaped area bound by his legs. 
Acutely aware his cock at the tip of the V would soon be in me again, I
unsuccessfully struggled to look away.  I sipped my coffee and waited. 
Waited for him to take me again.

   The office and the coffee were hot.  My blood was churning. 
Perspiration rolled down me in torrents.  My blouse was soaked.  It was
plastered to my over hot and wet skin, making me more visually tantalizing
than if I wore nothing.  My nipples were erect and easily seen.  I didn't
pull the blouse from my skin to hide myself from him.  My skirt stuck to my
legs.  I adjusted it, smoothing it over my thighs.  After I did, I realized
my legs were more visible that way.  Why hadn't I thought of that before?

   I waited, the minutes numbing my senses, the tension playing with my
mind.  Finally, he lifted my chin to look in his face.  His countenance was
hard, his sexual need open and obvious.  He sat back.  When I looked away,
the stiff tip of his whip under my chin brought my eyes to him again.

   "We both know you wouldn't hurt your family.  I saw that in your face
when you left the kitchen last night.  Is that correct, Karen?"

   "Yes."

   "My taking of you is between us.  You and me.  We both know I'll win. 
We both know I'll have you as mine."

   "You can take me.  You can rape me and I won't report it.  But I'll
never be yours."

   I said it with all the strength in me.  Was I convincing?  Was I
believable as I knelt obediently between his legs, my own legs spread in
inviting supplication, my body hot with wanting?

   "You've already mine, Karen."

   Was he right?  I thought as he sipped coffee and stared at me with those
hypnotic blue eyes.  I was on the edge.  - the very edge - of that great
canyon called surrender.  I was at the precipice: herded there as a sheep
herded by a sheep dog; trapped there by the box he built around me.  The
unwalled side was the precipice.

   I'd go off the edge.  I had no doubt about that.  He would accept
nothing less.  Would I make him push me off that edge?  Or would I jump?

   All my senses were on full alert.  The color of his jeans was vivid and
bright.  Their tightness around his muscular legs enthralled me.  The bulge
at the V of his legs was never out of sight or mind.  The weight of my
breasts was full and heavy.  I felt them move enticingly with each breath I
took.  My spread legs created an emptiness needing to be filled.  My cheeks
were wet with my tears.  I could feel each drop of the sweat slipping down
my body.  I could smell us, both of us.  I could smell my moisture excreted
between my legs.  When, absentmindedly, I stroked my skirt taut over my
thighs, it seemed I could feel the pattern of the cloth.

   I waited.  The tension increased.

   "I'm going to give you a mantra, Karen.  When I say 'mantra', you'll
repeat it continuously until I say 'stop'.  You'll live by this mantra. 
It'll be the thought which governs you.  Do you understand?"

   "Yes," I whispered.

   "Yes, sir, is your proper response," he said.

   "Yes, sir," I repeated.  If I had any will to resist, my voice didn't
reveal it.

   "Good.  This is your mantra.  'I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

   "I'm not yours.  I'm not," I whimpered.

   The whip hissed through the air, slamming into the blue mat beside my
leg.  It sounded like a rifle shot.  I screamed in panic, doubling over,
holding myself in fear.  Eric was a patient man, a patient man with
laughter in his eyes he struggled to hide.  He'll never use that whip on
you, the voice in my head said.  I know, I answered, but isn't it erotic to
think he might?  Eric waited until I composed myself.  When I looked up at
him, I saw the message in his expression: Surrender.  You have no choice.

   "Shall we try again?  Say your mantra, Karen."

   You know he'll win, why are you fighting?  The voice inside my head
said. Yes, I know it.  I want him to take me.  I want to surrender.  Why am
I resisting?

   "Eric, please," I begged, my tear filled eyes on him.

   "Say it!" he demanded.

   "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I said.  Each syllable caught in my
throat like gravel.  I forced myself to form the words and utter them, my
voice constricted as if bound in steel.  I wanted to scream this is wrong.
Instead, I repeated my mantra.  I knew I would live by it.  That thought
terrified and excited me.

   The tip of the whip moved into my sight.  I froze, not breathing, as it
traced the outline of my nipple plainly visible through my blouse.  I
jerked in reflex at the thought of that rod striking me on such a tender
spot.

   "Keep saying it."

   "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

   I repeated my mantra again and again, but my eyes never left the whip
resting against my nipple.  I'd said my mantra maybe twenty times, when the
tip of the whip slowly pulled back a few inches from my nipple.  It flicked
against me.  The flick of the whip on my erect and tender nipple was a
match, creating a bright and white but short flame.  It lit a fuse which
sizzled down my body to ignite the firecracker nestled between my legs.  My
thighs and back tightened.  My breasts were pushed toward him as my back
arched.  I shuddered.  A groan escaped me.  Through my unfocused eyes, I
could see his knowing smile.

   "Say it," he whispered gently as his eyes shone at me.

   I said it, the words coming easier this time.  Again I said it, and
again.  I repeated it until it was a natural to say those words as calling
my children's names.

   Eric took my head in his two giant hands.  His thumbs wiped the sweat
from my forehead.  The rhythm of my voice, my hypnotic chanting, never
wavered as I said my mantra over and over.  With his thumbs, he closed my
eyes.  All was dark as I continued chanting.  I felt him stand, heard the
rustle of his undressing, felt his movement to kneel behind me.

   Slowly.  He did everything so excruciatingly slowly.  He moved my hair
from my neck.  I felt his lips at my nape.  Tingles shot through me.  The
top button of my blouse moved.  The air, warmed by the heater but so much
cooler than my skin, chilled me where my blouse was opened.  Again, his
lips on my spine.  Again, tingles.

   Coolness of the air.  The heat of his lips, of his hands, as they
released another button.  The greatest heat was between my legs.  It was a
swamp of wetness and heat.  I felt that moisture on my thighs.

   Slowly.  Another button.  Another tantalizing touch of his hands, his
lips.

   I don't remember leaping off the precipice, but I knew I was in the air
falling toward him.  I'd surrendered.

   He made me wait, torturing me by the slow removal of my blouse as his
lips and hands and the very air itself teased and caressed my naked back.
When he pushed the blouse over my shoulder and it floated toward the floor,
I ached for relief, ached to have his hands on my breasts, ached to have
him in me.  I felt each finger tip slide from back to front across my rib
cage to close firmly on my breasts, to feel their softness and tweak my
diamond hard nipples.  I moaned.

   He whispered in my ear, "Stop and keep your eyes closed."

   My heart pounded in my throat as he gently lifted me into the air.  I
extended my legs and stood.  His hands were on my skirt.  The cool air
rushed over me when the skirt fell away.  He slipped my panties down and
pulled them off my feet.  I was naked before him.

   "Mantra," he whispered.

   Smoothly, easily, without effort and with desire, I said, "I'm Eric's
hot, willing woman."

   The words flowed from me.  They were true.  I was his.  I was burning
with heat.  I desperately wanted him to take me.

   How I longed to see his face, see his reaction to my nakedness, to the
hot and willing body which belonged to him.  But, obediently, my eyes were
closed.  He knelt behind me as I remained standing.  His touch, his lips
were hot on my skin, his hands insistent as they traversed the plains
between my legs, sliding on the lubricant my desire had excreted.  I was
ready, so very ready, yet he caressed me further.  A groan escaped my lips
as his lips traced the tendon down the back of my leg.

   "Oh, God, yes!" I moaned as his two long, strong fingers plumed my
depths and a thumb found my clitoris.  The strongest orgasm I could
remember exploded in me.  I collapsed on him, softly landing in his arms.
He rolled me on my back.

   He took me quickly, my legs bent and pushed against my breasts, pounding
into me in a carnal rhythm.  The power of my explosions was beyond my
experience, even beyond my fantasies, as he brought me pleasures undreamed
of.  There on a Sunday in my office, on a blue mat slickened by our sweat,
he introduced me to the power of our sexuality.  I orgasmed until I was too
weak to raise my head.

   He hadn't cum when he pulled out of me.  His strong hands moved me as he
wished.  His cock touched my lips.  Without thinking, I took him there,
tasting my own sweet juices on him.  Like a child on its mother's breast, I
sucked him as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

   Something very cold fell on my cooling, but still hot, body.  Startled,
I squirmed to get away.  His hand was tangled in my hair.  His cock was in
my mouth.  My head was anchored against him.  I squealed against his cock
as he ran an ice cube down my spine.  He laughed when he released me.  I
twisted away to look at him.  His eyes were tender, twinkling.  A broad
smile covered his face.

   "Back to the land of the living?" he asked with a sweet softness in his
voice.  I blushed and smiled back at him.

   "Refreshments?"

   He offered me a glass of juice and a donut.  I ate and drank as I knelt
as his feet with my legs spread.  Deliberately, his eyes moved from mine to
traverse down my body.  His eyes were like fingers.  I could feel their
touch on me, feel their caress.  My breasts tingled when they lingered
there.  I felt them tracing down my stomach.  I twitched between my legs
from the heat they created.

   Refreshments finished, the guided me to the position he wanted.  I knelt
on all fours.  My legs were spread wantonly, but not to his satisfaction.
He spread me wider.  My breasts swung freely under me.

   "Mantra," he said softly.

   "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I answered.

   His hand touched my leg.  I groaned.  After a lifetime of small,
infrequent orgasms, I'd experienced the greatest ones ever only minutes
ago. How could it be?

   I wanted more.  I wanted him to fuck me until our fucking comprised my
entire reality.  This is wrong, the voice inside my head said.  Be quiet, I
told it.

   His hands traced my tendons.  They slipped over my skin which was again
slick with sweat.  I felt his fingers at the back of my left knee as he
gently stroked there.

   "Eric, please." My voice caught.

   "Mantra," he replied.

   "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

   His fingers leisurely caressed my leg and slipped over my ass.  One
finger traced down the crack until it rested on the opening.  I felt it
quiver as he tested it and withdrew.  My voice continued as his hands
kneaded my ass cheeks and tantalized my stomach and legs.

   "Stop," he said as his hands left my body.

   "Karen, I want you to be more vocal.  When we make love, you're a quiet
as a little mouse.  I want to hear from you.  Share your joy, your passion.
Talk.  Talk when I touch you, when I fuck you."

   "Yes, Eric," I replied.

   "Not only do I want to hear screams of passion from you, I want you to
talk freely about your feelings."

   "Yes, Eric."

   My voice was soft and sexy, making the saying of his name a caress of us
both.  He heard it as I did.  He gently stroked my face.  Like a kitten, I
pushed my head against his hand.

   "Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked.

   "Between my legs."

   "That's your pussy.  Say it.  Say 'pussy'."

   "Pussy."

   "What do you want?"

   "Stroke my pussy, Eric.  Oh.  Oh.  Yes.  Like that.  No.  Don't stop. 
Please."

   "What are you?"

   "I'm your hot, willing woman.  Please take me again."

   My words reverberated in my head.  I'd said it voluntarily.  I said what
I'd been denying.  Tears moistened my cheeks.  The admission was a weight
lifted from me.  A weight of sexual denial.  I sobbed tears of joy.  Oh,
god, it felt so good!  Free of the weight of denial.  Free from selfimposed
restraints on my sexuality.  Free to be his.  But you're not free.  You're
George's wife, the voice said.  No, I'm Eric's hot, willing woman.  I'm
his, I told the voice.

   Eric pulled me into his arms.  Crying, I curled up in his lap as he
whispered sweet nothings in my ear and comforted me.  He was tender and
loving.  It felt good to be there, surrounded by him, held against the
strength of his body.  He kissed me.  Not a controlling, demanding kiss, it
was soft and gentle.  His hands caressed me.

   I looked up into his eyes.

   "What are you?  Tell me again."

   "I'm yours, Eric.  I'm your hot, willing woman.  Please make love to
me."

   "Make love?"

   He was teasing me.  Yes, I wanted him to make love to me, to possess me
sweetly and tenderly.  Later.  Now I wanted him to fuck me, to overpower
me, to pin me against the floor with his cock.

   "Fuck me," I whispered.  "Fuck me long and hard.  Fuck your woman until
she passes out."

   I turned beet red and goose bumps popped out all over me.  My own
shyness and modesty had always prevented me from using dirty words like
fuck.  Those words weren't dirty now.  They were good words, words which
expressed how I felt about a man.

   Eric smiled as he said, "Get on all fours again, Karen."

   As I took the position he wanted, I began to shake in eager anticipation
of what we were doing, of his commanding me, of my own willing surrender.
Wetness again oozed from between my legs.  Sweat formed on my skin.

   "Talk to me," he said.  His voice was soft but firm.  Very firm.  "Tell
me where my hands are, what they're doing to you, how you feel."

   "Yes, Eric.  No.  Don't stop."

   "Stop what?"

   "Eric, please."

   "Talk to me."

   "Stroke my breasts again."

   "How?"

   "Oh.  Like that.  Your fingers sliding down.  Pulling my nipples. 
Squeezing them."

   "You like that?"

   "Yes.  Please."

   "And this?"

   "Yes."

   "Be still."

   "I can't be still.  Your hand.  On my leg."

   "What do you want?"

   "Move it.  No.  Not like that.  Higher.  More.  Eric, why are you
torturing me?"

   "Is this torture?"

   "Yes.  Oh god.  Don't stop!"

   "Stop what?  Tell me."

   "My . . .  my pussy.  Stroke my pussy.  And my breasts.  Pull my
nipples. Oh, yes."

   "You like that?"

   "Yes.  Oh, yes."

   "And this?  Do you want me there?"

   "Yes.  There too.  I want you everywhere."

   "Do you like this, Karen?"

   "Yes."

   "Talk.  Tell me what you like."

   "I like you touching me, your hands caressing my body.  All of my body.
I like you commanding me, taking me, owning me.  Please, Eric, don't ever
stop."

   "Stop what?"

   "Pull them.  Pull my pussy hairs.  It sends shocks through me.  Oh, god,
Eric.  Fuck me!  Eric, enough foreplay!  I need to be fucked!"

   "When I'm ready," he said.

   In a flash, I spun.  Like a tigress, I sprang, knocking him on his back.
He looked startled as I straddled him.  I grabbed his cock and held it
where I wanted it.

   "Now!  Like this!" I snapped as I slammed my hips downward, burying him
in me.

   An orgasm started in my curling toes.  I threw back my head and laughed.
I heard him grunt as I was lifted up.  His cock came out of me, leaving my
orgasm unfulfilled.

   "No!" I screamed as he slammed me on my back.  His strong hands held my
crossed wrists over my head, pinning me.  I squirmed trying to find his
cock with my pussy.  I struggled to breathe, gasping loudly.  My skin was
on fire.  I was crying again.

   "Goddamn you, Eric," I yelled in his face which was over me like an
animal over its prey.  "Fuck me, you sonofabitch!  Fuck me hard!  Fill me
with your cum!  Make me preg . . .  "

   The word caught.  Pregnant.

   We were frozen in time: he over me; I pinned under him.  He looked
shocked.  It'd never occurred to him I wasn't using birth control.

   Why was I unprotected?  Why had she tricked me?  She - the woman who
wanted to be possessed by him.  Why didn't I realize it?  I hadn't thought
of it before that instant.  It dawned on me like a light clicking on.  She
wanted it.  She wanted this powerful, masculine creature to give her his
child.  She wanted her belly bloated from him.  Hers?  My belly.  Me.  Not
she.  Me.

   Stop!  You can't have another man's child!  the voice is my head
screamed.  The humiliation, the shame.  Stop!  Do it!  You want another
child.  You want Eric's child.  What am I doing?  What?

   I screamed "no, stop" and pushed with all my might to free myself.  I
didn't break his hold on me as he pinned me to the floor.  I didn't budge
him.  It wasn't my decision.  Not now.  It was his.  One word.  One
thought. Such power in one little thought.

   Eric's intensity exploded.  His face was red and wild.  His were
animal's eyes, like a lion on the scent.  Roughly his hand spread the lips
of my pussy.  His cock slammed into me.  He rutted like a wild beast, with
small grunts - uh, uh, uh - each time his pubis hit mine.

   He wants you to have his baby, the voice said.  Yes, I replied.

   I felt the warmness again, the same warmness I felt when he bit my neck.
My body opened to him, my legs wide and relaxed, my arms flaccid above my
head.  Externally I felt a numbness.  Internally, I felt my pussy relax on
each powerful thrust to give him the deepest access to me, and tighten on
each withdrawal to keep him from leaving.

   I felt like my womb was opening, like a flower in the sun - a flower who
wanted to be pollinated.

   "Fuck.  Me.  Fuck.  Me.  Fuck.  Me," I chanted.

   Eric growled as his face contorted.  His frantic pounding intensified.

   "Hard.  er.  Hard.  er.  Put.  your.  seed.  in.  me."

   Incoherent words spewed from me as his fingers dug into my shoulders. 
He gasped and thrust with a last mighty lunge, holding himself deep in me.
I felt his explosion.  I heard his laugh.

   The muscles of my pussy spasmed in a rolling, pulling motion.  My pussy
held him in her and milked his seed from him.  She pulled his seed toward
the opening of her womb - toward her egg.  There was no blinding orgasm,
only a series of small ones: an orgasm each time my pussy milked his cock.

   "So good.  So good," I mewed.

   He collapsed on me.  Neither of us moved except the twitching of
relaxing muscles.  He softened there, his cock plugging me to prevent the
escape of his precious liquid.  When he slipped from me, I cleaned him as
I'd been taught.  I took from me what he had left, tasting his nectar and
licking my fingers clean.

   We dressed in silence.  He had not spoken since he pulled out of me that
last time.  He was lost in thoughts he didn't share.  He locked the office
door and helped me to my car.

   "Eric?"

   He looked at me for the first time since he was in me.

   "All you all right?"

   "Yes.  Are you?"

   "Yes.  I'm very much all right."

   "Are you fertile?" he asked.

   "I'm ovulating now," I answered.

   I said it proudly.  I stood erect with my shoulders back and breasts
thrust forward.  My head was held high.  Unabashedly, I looked him in the
eyes.  I was a female animal, confident of my sexuality.  I relished
myself, my gender.  I was woman.  I was the woman this powerful, virile man
wanted, took and made his.

   His eyes were questioning, probing.  Then, his expression changed.  He
smiled and exuded masculine power and confidence.  It was not evil or
cruel. It was loving, showing the pride of a man with his woman.

   "You're my woman now, Karen.  You belong to me."

   How can that be?  the voice said.  He's engaged to Polly.  You're
married to George.

   "Yes, Eric.  I do."

   "We're just beginning.  I'll expect much from you."

   I moved against him, pressing my breasts into his chest, my arms around
his waist, my face raised toward his.  His leg was between mine.  I rubbed
my pussy against his thigh.

   "I'll take whatever you give.  I'll do whatever you ask," I said before
I kissed him.

   No one was home when I arrived.  I took a long, hot bath.  My shoulders
and hips were bruised where he'd held me.  I could see the tips of his
fingers blue in my flesh.  My muscles ached from exertion.  My pussy was
sore, a good soreness from the pleasure we'd shared.  My heart soared.  My
over wrought mind day dreamed of him.

   I'd surrendered.  I was Eric's.  His woman.  His hot, willing woman. 
Anyone could see that in me.  See it in my face, my eyes, in the marks on
my body he left when his passion took me.

   What they could not yet see was the greatest evidence of my surrender.
It was hidden deep in my body.  It would grow there until it was hidden no
more, until I blossomed as proof of my belonging to him.

   Exhausted and satisfied, I crawled into bed.

   You've given yourself to him, the voice said.  Yes, I answered.  You'll
feel horrible about what you've done.  Maybe, but for now I'm floating on
air.  You're pregnant with his child, she said.  Yes.  I am.  But what
about tomorrow?  I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.  Hush now.  I want to
sleep.

   In a moment, I was in a deep and sweet slumber.



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   E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com