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From: godot@pacbell.net (Godot)
Subject: Story: The Straying Wife (05/26)
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Hank compounded the problem. Although from a proper WASP (White, Anglo
Saxon, Protestant) family, he was more Latin in bed than anything. In
fact, when he had too much to drink, he was positively brutal and lewd
in bed.

Kim wasn't sensual or didn't think she was. She had been raised in a
strictly religious home and sex was always something dirty and sinful
to her. On top of her natural reticence, there was her determination
to show his family that she was worthy. She kept imagining the day
when they would finally invite Hank and her to their house. When that
day came, Kim was going to be able to look Hank's mother in the eye,
and Mrs. Stewart was going to see that Kim was a decent girl, not some
cheap slot. His mother was going to see it in her face because Kim was
determined to live that way. 

She knew Hank was frustrated, but she felt he would understand. She
felt that deep down he didn't want her to behave in a lewd way. Not
really! If she behaved in that way he would eventually lose respect
for her. No, Kim was firm and stuck to her guns.

The situation worsened with the coming of the South American job. It
was a big job and an important one and Hank felt he was lucky to have
landed it. The rain forests of the upper Amazon basin was no place for
a bride. It was a wilderness, and none of the men were taking their
wives. Besides, there would be no time for women, only time for
carving a camp out of the jungle and building a bridge.

At first, Hank wasn't going to take the job. Then he began to feel
that time apart might help their marriage. He had never dreamed that
his wife would be such a cold fish in bed. Everything about her led
one to believe the opposite. Kim would let him have sex with her while
she lay underneath him, stiff and unresponsive eager to have it over.

Now, tonight, while Nichole was in the Pebble Beach home of Web
Hardman and uttering Kim Stewart's name, she was having a farewell
drink with Hank. He would be leaving early in the morning and she
wouldn't see him again for six months. Half a year! Hank was being
polite and grim and, to Kim's concern, he was drinking too much.

So far, their parting had been tender. They left the Matador late,
saying good bye to domino playing friends at the bar. Hank shook hands
with the bartender and told him to keep an eye on Kim. He was polite
and careful, the way he always got when drunk. Kim knew - and dreaded
- what the next step would be.

Hank drove home along Scenic Avenue, above the beach of white sand
that seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Long white breakers came
out of the night and broke on the shore. Far out at sea, mysterious
off-shore lights winked and moved steadily along. Hank didn't have
much to say on the drive home. Nor did he say anything when they went
to the bedroom and Kim fled into the bathroom, closing the door and
changing into her negligee. Hank slumped down on the bottom of the
bed, staring at the floor, his lower lips thrust petulantly out. She,
Kim, carried the modesty thing just a little too far to suit him. She
wouldn't wear a brassiere because she thought the undergarment made
her breasts stick out too much. As a result, her taut little nipples
poked against her sweaters and blouses and drove men nuts.

He clenched his fists as he thought of her getting up in the Matador
and slinking to the ladies room with every stud in the place drooling
and looking at him with that "You-sure-are-getting-yours" kind of
envious look. And watching her come back to the table with that wild
hair and cool look and her hips twitching and her breasts
cargo-shifting, rubbing together, under the sweater. It's a wonder she
wasn't raped.

A drunken leer came across his face, and he gunned at the closed
bathroom door. Rape! She was carrying it just a bit far, changing in
there. After all, it wasn't against the law for a husband and wife to
be naked together. He snorted, realizing how long it had been and
knowing that she was shortly to come through the bathroom door clad in
an ultra-respectable nightie-probably something made out of
flannel and real itsy-poo.

He was right. Seeing things distorted through a prism of too much
Scotch, he lurched to his feet as she came into the room. To him it
seemed she was playing the little girl with an ugly nightie up to her
Adam's apple, wearing a gown with ribbons and bows on it and only her
bare toes peeking out from underneath.

Essentially, he was right. The negligee was demure and she did have a
polite smile on her face, hoping he would respond in kind. She yawned
in front of him as he stood swaying before her, breathing heavily
through his nose. "We'd better get to bed. We've got to be up early,
so you can catch that plane," she said, trying to calm him.

"Nuts. Bull! The hell with the plane," he growled as he lurched toward
her. His big hands seized her by the shoulders.

"Hank! You're hurting me!"

"So what? Take it off, baby!"

"Hank, stop this instant!"

Her tone only served to annoy him. He was too far gone in alcohol and
frustration to bother to listen. He saw her walking, slinky and sexy,
a real prick-tease, across the floor of the Matador with her ripe,
rounded buttocks twitching and her big beautiful breasts shifting,
quivering and wiggling under her sweater. He saw all the bar-rail
studs looking at her with one thing on their minds. Mentally they had
all fucked her... and what was there for him-her husband? Now,
this... this Shirley Temple nightie! He hooked his fingers in the
collar of the gown and pulled, tearing the negligee down the front to
her slender, ripe, flaring hips. He caught glimpses of her
voluptuously naked flesh beneath; her protruding musk-melon breasts so
round and full, so quivering with softness and fleshy promise; her
firm stomach that was curved out of ivory in subtle undulations and
the "V" of her lush pubic mound. Everything---her stomach, her sleek
young thighs that were as smooth and warm as a baby's skin--
everything seemed to swoop and rush head-long to her loins where her
plumply rounded mound of Venus was licked with a tongue of softly
curling flame from her sparse red pubic hair!

The drunken engineer's breath came faster as he lurched after her. Kim
backed against the wall, her hands and arms trying to hide her breasts
that jellied in fright and her naked loins. "Hank, don't you dare!"

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her arm to one side with a brutal ease
and her firm young breasts leaped free and quivered in front of his
face and he half grunted, half-growled as be stared at her softly
fleshed globes. Consistent with her flame-tousled complexion, her
nipples were the palest of pink, delicate and finely formed.

It was with an animal savagery that he stepped forward and locked one
burly arm around the terrified young wife's slender waist and
squeezed, forcing her to bend over backward. Kim tried to protest, but
his other hand was clamped over her mouth with a sudden force... and
her head was forced back to where it crashed against the wall, causing
her to see stars. She was pinned between his hard body and the wall,
bent over backward from the waist while her lovely harvest moon
breasts were nakedly free and tilting up to where his hot, moistly
hungry mouth ravished them. He was close to going berserk as he
greedily licked the distended little nipples. Clamping his voracious
mouth over them he sucked hard and then bit down on them, feeling
their berry-like buds respond, grow taut and buffeted as he rolled
them around with his tongue and teeth.

The red-headed wife struggled with all her might, but her frantic
squirming seemed only to excite the drunken engineer to more brutality
and worsen her position. His powerful hips were being savagely ground
into hers, and she could feel the growing hardness of his long thick
cock under his pants. Her head was forced back and the negligee had
slipped down, exposing her smoothly rounded feminine shoulders and
breasts and at the same time, effectively pinning her arms at her
sides. Kim's breasts were completely naked now and tilted toward the
ceiling; they moistly glistened in the bedroom lamplight... wetted
with hot saliva as his hungrily sucking mouth darted from one nipple
to the other.

Finally the struggling young girl was able to turn her head to one
side, freeing her mouth. "Hank, stop, it's me, Kim!" She knew he was
drunk and didn't know what he was doing; she had to bring him to his
senses! "It's me, Kim!"

"KIM!" He roared out her name and let go of her, stepping back and
standing in a savage semi-crouch, looking at her and letting out a
wild laugh, a laugh utterly devoid of humor and full of violence and
ugly contempt.

Kim stood against the wall completely naked to her waist, her twin
fleshy moons heaving for breath. She tried not to move... not to
startle him. My God, he was beyond reason! His eyes were glassy and
wild, glazed over with lust and alcohol. She had to get through to
him. "Hank, wait a minute. Take it easy. It's me, Kim." She spoke
softly, as if to a child or a growling dog she was trying to reassure.
"It's Kim. Your wife. Remember? Take it easy. Wait a min---"



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