Chapter 5
Doug worked all night finishing the papers. He wasn't tired. He felt ten years younger, and whizzed through the reports with the ease he displayed in a summation before a friendly jury.
At eight, he showered, shaved, and made a few calls to insure the freedom of the weekend. Then he fixed a logger's breakfast and waited.
At eleven Gwen walked in.
She looked like a mouse standing in the doorway, her hair was combed but unruly. Her makeup was faded, her eyes bloodshot as though she had been in tears.
Doug stood, watching her face. Then he opened his arms and let her run into them. They stood, kissing one another, saying comforting things without any previous or obvious spoken need. Doug had rehearsed her entry, but he forgot the speech. Now, it was all working out naturally, without aids.
"Doug, I feel so guilty."
He lifted her chin and stared into the watery eyes so soulful and innocent. He brushed a tear away with his fingers.
"Harry told you about Val and me?"
She stiffened in his arms, then surrendered tightly around his waist. "Yes, he told me. He was nice about it. He was honest. I got mad. I told him he was a pervert. I called him a lot of ugly names. He didn't get mad. He let me cry and then told me all over."
Doug pushed her away. "Well, what do you think?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. It sounds logical. I'm not sure."
Gwen suddenly looked virginal to him. He felt a stirring in his groin as he watched her small, blunt nose sniffle back the tears. He saw the smooth, dainty lines of her body hidden by the sheer material. He had no choice but to love her. She was a fawn and he the buck. Last night it had all seemed so lucid to him. They would try the swinging route and see if it helped. At the first signs of decay, they would stop and reevaluate the situation. But now. With her tears dampening his shirt. With her small, trembling body pressed close to his, he really wasn't sure.
"Come," he said, lifting her in his arms. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.
Not even on their wedding night had there been such a frantic display on both sides to show their passionate affection. Doug was both startled and awed by his wife's lusty attack on his flesh. Yet he felt that it was part acting, part passion. Essentially the same as always, only with more noise and ceremony. When it was over, they lay silently, staring at the frosted stucco ceiling.
"I think we should try," she said. "At least try."
Doug wanted to ask about Harry. He wanted to know where Harry had seduced her. On this bed? On the couch? In the bathtub?
The question gnawed at him, but he decided it was the wrong time to pry. And he wanted to know about the other night in Hollywood. What they had done. Where they had gone. How many times he stuck it in her before he gave out with the proposition.
"Is she good?"
Doug turned, caught off guard by the question. "Who?"
Gwen laughed coquettishly. "Val. Is her body better than mine?"
"I didn't compare."
The long silence grew longer.
"Harry was different," she said absently, rolling on her side so her bare, smooth buttocks were facing him. "He made it all seem like so much fun. There was no duty involved."
Doug felt the icy sharpness of the words. "You mean I do it like a husband rather than a lover?"
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
She drew her knees up around her breasts. He could hear the soft panting of her breath, smell the sweet odor of her skin, sense the antagonistic wall that exists between all husbands and wives in critical times.
He moved onto his side, rubbing his limp cock against her ass. She didn't move. He inched his hand around her side to her breasts. She didn't lift her arm. He had to wedge his fingers under them, passing over the ripe mound to her succulent nipples. He squeezed one. It was hard.
She was playing cool in the aftermath, he thought. He brushed his lips against the back of her neck and saw the hard goose bumps pop out over her skin. His fingers were firmly planted around her breast. His cock was growing stiff once more. He shoved it against her anus until he felt the head slip into her ass-crack.
She was silent, saying nothing, holding her breath while he began to grind his stiff cock against her anus. She thought about turning onto her stomach, thereby rejecting him, but something kept her still. She wanted to please him. She wanted to make him happy. And it was partly her fault. She flew off the handle so easily.
Gwen felt the pressure against her anus. She knew what he was asking. He had asked for it before. But every time, she had refused him. She had let him get in an inch once, and the pain had been so unbearable that she couldn't stand it. Now, her teeth gritting, anger and desire mixing like oil and water, she fought the desire to tell him to leave her alone.
To Doug, it was a matter of principle. Inserting his penis didn't mean so much physically as it did mentally. If she let him, it would mean she had finally, totally submitted to him. He had read enough on the subject to know there was no physical danger. It was just another erotic zone that could add another dimension into their sexual life.
Pressing his rigid pole hard, he felt the head shoveling in. Suddenly, Gwen rolled away, burying her face in the pillow.
"I can't," she sobbed. "I can't."
Doug turned away and slept restlessly. He was anxious for Friday to come around. Val suddenly seemed more inviting than ever before.
The Benton house came to life Friday morning. Two of the country club's greens-keepers came over and cut the green in the front yard. Val directed them to manicure the hedges, rake the gravel driveway, and then smooth out the peculiar mounds in the backyard. Neither of the young men had any idea what the soggy grass indentions were for, but they followed Val's careful instructions until the task was completed.
Val made a few final calls to insure that all the couples were free and anticipated attending the monthly bash. Then she made her call to Gwen, one that she had been putting off all week. Her voice was very warm and friendly.
"Hello ... Mrs. Stillman? This is Val Benton. I wanted to confirm whether or not you and your husband are coming tonight. . . You are? ... Well, fine ... About eight."
She let out a deep sigh of relief. Gwen had sounded casual about it, as if she were being invited for tea. Now, all she hoped was that nothing went askew at the meeting.
Making a final check of all the rooms, she made sure that everything was in its proper place. Harry was busy at the course. She tried to reach him to tell him everything was working according to schedule.
It was early afternoon. The sun was warm.
There was still time for a sunbath. Shucking her capris and blouse, Val strolled into the lush green backyard and lay down, arching her breasts to receive the seductive sun rays. She was dozing, thinking of nothing in particular, when she felt the eyes.
Frightened, she sat upright, covering her breasts with her arms and blinking out the redness that clouded her sight.
"Hello, baby."
The voice was rough. She saw the blurred image leaning on the side of the house come into startling view. It was Carl Bruno, smoking a fat cigar and leering.
"What are you doing here?" she cried, scrambling to her feet and looking for someplace to run. Bruno stepped between her and the back door.
"I came looking for you, baby. You left in such a hurry, I got the impression you didn't want to see me again. So I took your name and address from your driver's license when you were taking a leak at my place."
"Go away or I'll call the police."
She felt awkward standing there with her arm covering her mountainous breasts, her other hand placed over her shiny pubic hair.
"Don't make idle threats, lady. A woman in your kind of business doesn't want the police snooping around." He made a move toward her. She backed up, eyes angry, heart thumping noisily.
"Look mister, what I did with you was strictly business. That's are far as it goes. Now you're trespassing, and my husband is due home any minute."
Bruno took two long strides toward her, a smile stretched lasciviously on his flattened face. "Don't feed me that shit, lady. I dropped by the country club. Even asked your husband if he could get me a lesson today. Said he was full-up until five. How about that?"
"All right. Hold it, mister."
Carl Bruno didn't stop. He moved forward, loosening his shirt, slipping his jacket off as he followed her around the yard, always cutting off her escape with a deft side-step.
"I'll scream," she threatened, searching for a weapon. There wasn't even a rake. The greens-keepers had been ultimately neat.
"So scream. There's nobody to hear you. And don't act so goddamned frightened. You know what I want."
He was naked to the waist. His black, hairy chest stood out against the sun. He reached down, loosening the belt, splitting the trousers open with one pull of his zipper.
"I want to fuck you, Val, baby. That's why I flew two thousand miles. Just to fuck you. You should be grateful. I mean, how many guys fly two thousand miles to ram your pussy?"
She didn't like him now. She hadn't liked him before. But business was conducted on an emotionless plane. Now, it wasn't business. It was sick, and she wanted no part of it. But he was right. She couldn't call the police. The fact that the police were involved in something like this would irritate the other members. Some were judges and politicians. They couldn't afford the nearness of a scandal.
"All right, Bruno. Hold it." She stopped backing away and dropped her arms to her sides. Bruno smiled.
"That's more like it, baby. Ready, able and willing. Right?"
"Wrong. I just can't fight you and you know it. But I can tell my husband. And you've seen him. He won't like it. And you'll be sorry. Believe me," she said with a cold, threatening iciness to her voice, "you'll wish you hadn't been born."
"Sorry 'bout that, lady, but I got an ace, too. You know what kind of waves it would make should I tell my employers that our esteemed lawyer friend, Mister Stillman, used a board on me. Nobody-likes that kind of stink, lady. I got it all figured, see? I just tell them you tried to screw me into taking less than I was supposed to. I won't tell them I did, of course. But just that you tried. Old Doug won't be too happy about it when his bosses hear what happened. They're real conservative you know. And the cops will want to know all about you. And I paid a nice mouthy bellboy to remember you came to my room. And I paid another one to see you shacking up with old Doug at his hotel. You see, Val, I got the angles all leaning in my direction. Now, baby, you come to me real nice and whore-like. You wriggle that nice, firm, fucking ass right up to my cock, and I'll give you a good time. Just don't try to threaten me, baby, because I got a stacked deck. You just got a stacked body. Remember that."
Val felt the blood draining from her face. Bruno kicked his trousers and shorts off. He looked obscene standing there naked with his shoes and socks on. His body was squat, muscular, and nearly black with hair.
His eyebrows were as thick as black caterpillars. His mouth that rubbery texture of raw veal. Val saw nothing but savagery in his eyes. She saw a vulgarity in his penis that stood half-erect, swinging out like a thick hunk of hose from between his oak-like thighs. In his room it had been much different. She had called the rules and enjoyed it because it had been for Doug's sake-and for the sake of the membership. But now, things took on another shade, a sickening shade.
This was her home. Her yard. Her territory, not his. And he was moving toward her as though he owned her. As though she were a piece of his property that he had come to claim through illegal maneuvers. Yet she couldn't say no. He had the upper hand. He held the trumps. Her mind clicked desperately, trying to think of a way to stop. She knew that he wouldn't be satisfied with just one time. He would come back for more. He was the greedy type. The hungry man who never got full, no matter how much he ate.
He was only a few feet away. She could smell the sweat leaking out of his pores. His eyes were gray beams burning into her breasts. She saw the nicotine-stained tongue flick out and rub spit over his dry lips.
"Jesus, you got a body, bitch!"
Resolved and composed, Val stood her ground, legs slightly spread, arms loose and relaxed. Her only defense, she estimated, was total nonchalance. She would not assist him in any way. She would smother any passion he forced from her body, remaining as lifeless as a dead body. He could climb between her legs, but he couldn't make her his, she thought.
"Nice tits," he said, reaching out and tweaking her left nipple. He saw the bland look on her face. "You don't like me, do you, cunt?"
She said nothing. He reached for her hair, grabbing a knot of it in his balled fist and yanking back until her lips stretched in pain.
"There, now, maybe you'll answer me. You don't like me, do you?"
She said nothing. Her neck ached. She could feel his free hand cupping her breast, turning it roughly from left to right as though it were a water faucet handle.
"Don't bruise me," she warned.
"You mean so your husband won't see? He might get wise and cut off your nipples or something if he found out. That it, baby?"
His fingers closed around the nipple like vise grips. It took all of her composure to keep from screaming.
"I don't want your husband on my neck, bitch. Just you. Just you, baby. I want those creamy thighs around my neck. I want to taste your pussy in my mouth. I want to feel those lips curled around my cock and that nice pink tongue up my ass. That's not too much to ask, is it?"
He yanked her against him. Her breasts mashed against his chest as he shoved his mouth hard on hers. She could smell the sour sweat leaking from his pores and the stale odor of beer from his mouth. His tongue was a wet snail in her mouth. She felt no passion, no electrical shocks as it burrowed fat and forcefully over hers. His hands slid down to her buttocks, each cupping a cheek and pulling her pubis against his. She could feel his cock trapped against their stomachs.
They were standing in the sun. It was hot. He pushed her down, falling on top of her so his weight seemed to smother her. He wedged between her thighs, all the time grinding his teeth roughly against her mouth.
She knew she wasn't ready for him when he grabbed the head of his thickly muscled cock and positioned it against her slot. She felt the torpedo ram home, and a sharp pain raced through her loins.
"Don't be so goddamned rough," she grunted, twisting her face away.
"Shape up, then, bitch. Give me some hip action. Don't play dead fish, 'cause I'll just be back for more if you do."
His voice, full of threat and violence, startled her. She knew then that Carl Bruno wouldn't be easily satisfied, and something would have to be done about him. She knew he would come back again and again, perhaps even ruin the perfect set up she and Harry had spent years building.
"Fuck me, bitch!"
The voice was grating against her ear. She could feel his hot panting breath pounding on her neck. Deciding to roll with the punches, she laced her legs around his thick waist and squeezed. Her vaginal muscles came to life. They massaged the man's organ, milking it with rippling contractions more stimulating than fingers. Bruno let out a deep, guttural roar that signaled his climax.
She lifted her hips, wriggling them rapidly from side to side. His cock thrashed and beat against her uterus. She could feel her breasts thickening. The nipples stiffened as she wrapped her ankles together and squeezed with all her might. He had his mouth planted on her neck, sucking like a leech. She jerked up, felt him go rigid, then the splash of come shot into her.
He wasn't through. He rolled her on top, his cock still half-hard, and began jacking her up and down. He held her hips, lifting and shoving her ass down so his balls squashed up against her anus.
Angry, she dug her fingernails into his chest, the sharp points forming red welts on his olive-complexion. He grimaced, a laughing sneer on his lips as he pounded her until her womb felt like mush.
Suddenly the lights went on in her mind. She saw the flashes and felt, against her will, the building of her own orgasm. Her cunt was dry. His prick sawed like a dry piece of rubber up the tender walls. Throwing her head back, she let out a cry as she shuddered through one electrical storm after another. Finally, exhausted, nearly unconscious, she felt his jism jerking into her.
Bruno stood and wiped the snot from his cock with his hand. He slipped his trousers and shirt on. Val was lying on the grass, her legs weakly splayed out at irregular angles, her face flushed, her nipples sore and red.
"That was only the beginning, right, baby?"
Val said nothing. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look up into the man's ugly face.
"I know how you feel, baby. All fucked out. Right? Well, I'll be in town for another five days. You can count on seeing me again. Maybe even some of my friends. I'll give you a call when I want you."
She heard his feet squish over the wet grass.
When she was sure he was gone, she opened her eyes. The sun blinded her for a moment. Then, coldly, with burning hatred in her eyes, she marched into the house to think out her plan.