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Subject: Story: The Straying Wife (11/26)
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Her finger pressed against the rubbery tight ring and parted it, and
she felt her finger filling the entrance to her rectum and the
forbidden feeling filled her with a lust-crazed desire she had never
dreamed of before. Her sphincter muscle closed tightly around the
fingertip. A low lewd moan escaped her throat as she watched herself
in the mirror and felt her ripe, sensitive body beginning an inward
swelling that she knew would culminate in an orgasm.

Her finger fucked in and out of her anus, and she hissed in her breath
and it seemed like another person who whispered, "Oooooohhhh, that's
so gooooood!"

It thrilled her so much it made her think of lewd things she wanted to
do with Hank. With anybody! The thought fused and exploded in her mind
and she was wild with cum and wantonness, her face contorted as she
nakedly crouched in front of the mirror. Sweat broke out from the
effort as she sawed madly in and out of her pulpy, moistly soft cunt
that was so hot and wormed her finger deeper into her tightly
puckering anus. Mad obscene thoughts and ideas ran through her mind.
Supposing she were a whore for just one night?

Her hips pumping, her belly moving in abandoned undulations and her
loins rhythmically fucking out toward the mirror in a smooth,
ball-bearing, obscene way, Kim could see her finger disappear into her
wet, glistening pink vaginal flesh. Her thumb massaged the little
brown nib of her clitoris, and she began panting and crouching lower,
splaying out her legs even more, allowing herself greater freedom to
stick her other finger up her rectum.

A lewd relaxation came over her; with a wanton will she never knew she
possessed, she relaxed her tensely tightened vaginal and anal muscles
as her hips pumped back and forth. She shoved her outstretched finger
all the way up her anus and moaned and wiggled with delight from the
feeling it gave her. She took her finger out of her cunt only to shove
three fingers into the warmly milking flesh. More thaw anything, she
wanted to be fucked, to be raped.

Fucked! Raped!

The words were obscene in her mind and only excited her all the more.
She saw her wild face in the mirror, her nakedly crouched body with
her huge, pure-white breasts savagely jiggling and quivering with her
efforts as she finger fucked both cunt and rectum.

It started as a ripple, then grew into surface undulations that seemed
to follow one on another and build until she felt a huge, thick, wave
of sweet hot electricity was flowing through her body. She tensed,
gasped for breath. Her back arched, her warmly quivering breasts
jutted out and brushed against the mirror. Her groin began to convulse
in fine spasms which she found impossible to control as her cum shot
through her. Her legs shook and she sunk to her knees in front of the
mirror, panting, her eyes showing all white.

She seemed held, transfixed, pinned in time and place as her cum
wracked her body in the wildest, most beautiful way. Gradually, it
subsided and she was left sitting on the floor, panting for breath.

Guiltily, she looked at herself in the mirror, at her naked young body
which was still quivering and trembling occasionally with the residue
of her orgasm. Shame came over her and she couldn't look at herself.
Scampering to her feet, she quickly showered, turning the water on as
hot as she could stand it and scrubbing until her creamy translucent
skin was a bright pink and most of the welts and scratches
camouflaged.

Kim was ashamed of herself. She vowed she would never do anything like
that again. She wouldn't even think like that ever again. The young
wife excused herself by saying such a thing could happen to her only
because of all they had to drink, Hank's actions, and his going away.
It was am emotional time for both of them, and she excused his
behavior as well as her own.

Dressing in another demure nightie, she unlocked the door and saw her
husband was still sound asleep. It was difficult getting him under the
covers, and she was concerned about his head and the coming morning
when he had to make a plane. She got in bed next to his snoring body
and snapped the lights out.

It took a long time for her to get to sleep and, while waiting for
sleep to come, she forced herself not to think about sex... or the
possible joys of working in a whorehouse...


Chapter 4


The morning Hank had left was an emotional charged one for them both,
but Kim in particular. Hank was bleary-eyed and hung over, holding his
bead. "Ouch. Hey, what did I do, fall down or bump into something?"

He was blessed with not remembering much of what had happened the
night before. "I remember being in the Matador and saying goodbye to
some friends. When did we go after that?"

"Home."

"Wow. I feel like a sack of broken bottles, and my tongue tastes like
it's been licking ash trays all night."

He staggered to a hot shower, while Kim made him a bromo and squeezed
fresh orange juice and black coffee. He didn't seem to remember
anything. She remembered everything! Everything that happened and
everything she had felt. He came into the kitchen with his robe on and
drank hot coffee with trembling hands. "Sorry, honey. Hell of a way to
start out...!" His voice stopped as he stared at her neck.
Self-consciously, she put her hand to her long elegant neck, trying to
hide the angry bruise.

Hank's face clouded over and he put the cup down. "Now I remember.
It's coming back now." He looked at his wife, at her clean patrician
good looks and her wild gypsy hair that crowned her face, trying to
read what she felt there. 

It was never discussed. Neither had the nerve to bring it up; not now,
not when they were parting for six months. Time took care of any
discussion. Time has a way of going fast in the morning when you have
to catch a plane. Suddenly, they were rushing, throwing his bags into
the car and racing for the Monterey Airport, with Kim driving and Hank
beside her holding his throbbing head.

Their good-bye was quick, for there was no time, and they stood in the
terminal and Kim cried. It was more than a six month parting and she
had strong feelings of dread. Something terrible was going to happen.
"Take care!"

"I will! Write!"

"I will, every day."

"I'll call you from Rio before we go up river."

"Will you? Promise?"

"Promise."

Then they were hurrying out of the terminal, and she followed him to
the gate where he grasped her in a tight hard embrace. They kissed
good-bye and she felt an anguish surge through her body. And another
feeling mingling with it, a feeling she felt last night. She pulled
away from him and wiped her eyes. They shouted good-byes to one
another, and she watched him make his big-shouldered way to the plane,
swiping at his head, hung over, looking back to wave once more.

She ran up on the observation deck and watched him disappear into the
plane. She stood by the rail, looking at the little windows along the
plane's fuselage and trying to pick him out. She couldn't but smiled
bravely and waved anyway. She kept waving as the plane taxied around
and down the runway where it paused, seeming to crouch on its
nose-wheel and wing wheels, gathering strength for the roaring,
running, joyous leap into the air. The great jet engines screamed into
a high whine and the plane started slow, but suddenly it came in a
rush and was airborne in an ear- splitting roar, rocketing smoothly up
into the crystal clear air. Kim stood on the observation platform,
pressed against the rail, waving until the jet was nothing more than a
black dot growing smaller in the big sky.

She stopped waving, her arm tired, and slumped against the rail. It
was all wrong, all bad the way they had parted, and she had this
terrible, almost overpowering feeling of dread. She pulled herself
together, dabbed at her eyes and determined to gut it through, work it
out, make it good, and, above all, be beyond reproach. She would set
an example. She would show the world and his parents and Hank, too.
There would be no more of those dirty bathroom scenes. She would save
herself completely for him until he returned.

She went home and began a life that was lonely and full of bad
thoughts. She felt bad about herself and the way they had parted. She
went about living, cleaning house, watched television at night, and
walking the beach.

And always, she had that vague uneasy feeling of dread, of something
going wrong. She never noticed that she was being watched...

There's nothing like a sunny morning in Carmel. Being a town full of
trees, birds sing and chatter and down near the beach, gulls wheel and
tower up, looking much like confetti thrown from skyscrapers in New
York whenever they have a parade.

In Carmel, there are no street addresses. This is by choice, for
Carmelites like their privacy and the daily trip to the post office
where they pick up their mail, meet friends, and chat, sometimes
having coffee. It is said that, sooner or later, you see and meet
everyone at the Carmel Post office. Each morning around nine, after a
bracing walk on the beach, Kim would drive to the post office, park
and go to their mail box. Each morning she saw an air mail letter, her
heart would pound, for it was bound to be a letter from Hank. Each day
without a letter was a disappointment, and she tried hard to conceal
her hurt. Hank had written only twice since he left, and both letters
were short and vague.



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