Chapter 2
"Darling? Is that you? You're late."
Her voice came to him from the kitchen. Bob hung his coat in the hall closet and smelled the meat cooking. Dinner on schedule. Never mind that he was nearly an hour late, could have been mugged in the parking lot, wouldn't get his drink before dinner. He sighed and wandered into the kitchen, feeling very strange.
"Who did you think it was, the grim raper?"
He stood and looked at her. Her hair was done elegantly, as usual, her dinner attire neat and pressed and formal.
"Bob, that wasn't funny," she said. She checked the peas, taking care not to get too close to the steaming pot with her hair.
He went up behind her, spun her around, and nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, kissing it with his mouth open. She ducked back, speaking sharply.
"Bob, don't! You'll muss my hair!"
"Good," he said, grabbing the back of her head and flattening it with his attempt to pull her face toward his for a kiss.
They struggled together a moment. She relented and gave him his kiss-her customary, antiseptic, tight-lipped, closed-mouthed peck. She hung limply in his arms, waiting for him to be finished. He let her go, glanced into her cold eyes and turned toward the refrigerator.
"Where the hell's the gin?" he asked roughly.
"It's gone."
She turned around to put the lid back on the peas. She went over to the cabinet with the mirror on the inside of the door and fiddled with her hair, putting each strand back into place. She cast angry glances his direction all the while.
"Why didn't you get some?" he questioned. "I've been thinking about a martini since four o'clock, and when I get home, my wife informs me there's no gin!"
He slammed the door shut and clumped across the kitchen toward the liquor cabinet.
"There's some vodka in there," she said. "You can have a vodka martini. But you'll have to wait until after dinner because you're so late getting home that it's ready now."
He grabbed the vodka by the neck of the bottle and swung in onto the counter, thudding it down solidly. He went back to the refrigerator and yanked out a tray of ice cubes. The kitchen filled with the sound of cracking ice as he pulled it apart. Clink-clink into the glass, a throaty gurgle from the vodka bottle, and then he was drinking from it straight, eyeing her defiantly over the rim of the glass. He felt the alcohol burn into the pit of his stomach, made a face, and shivered.
"You forgot the vermouth," she said icily, putting her hands on her hips in a belligerent manner.
"No I didn't," he said. "Put your hands down, you're rumpling your suit."
"I'm ready to eat dinner. I'm very hungry."
"Go ahead," he shrugged, noticing that her hands went down and the straight, conservative lines reappeared to hide her shape.
"Do you intend to eat with me or after me?"
"That depends on how long you take to eat."
"What does that mean?"
"That means I'm going to finish this terrible martini first. And I may have another." "Bob, what's the matter with you tonight?"
"I came home late and you didn't ask why. I wanted a martini as usual, and there's no gin. I tried to kiss you for once, and you pushed me away in revulsion. I want to finish this terrible martini, and you're arguing with me about the trivialities of five or ten minutes." He sighed heavily and glared at her, taking another slug of liquor. "Nothing's the matter with me, Barb, why do you ask?"
Her lips compressed into thin white lines. She turned back to the stove and spoke to the potatoes.
"Why are you late from the office tonight, darling?" she said, clipping her words.
"I was finishing my report to Mr. Crandall as to why we shouldn't merge with Futures Unlimited."
"Was it a good report?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad. You always write good reports."
"Then I necked with my secretary in my office after everyone else had gone home."
"Do you want gravy, or should I leave the potatoes plain?"
"Her tits were soft and firm, and my prick got very hard. I had to wait a little while longer until it went down. In fact, that took rather longer than I had anticipated because it seemed to enjoy being up there."
She carried the pot of peas over to the sink and drained them. The steam burned her wrist slightly, and she dropped the pan. Green marbles rolled around in the sink.
"There go the peas," she said.
"Too bad. It doesn't matter."
She spun from the sink and gritted her teeth at him. "Why not?" she spat.
"Because I'm going to have another one of these terrible martinis. In fact, I've just decided I'll take someone's advice and have five of them."
He drained the glass and went for more ice. He turned the bottle of vodka up again and added some vermouth-just a drop. He found an olive and dumped it into the glass, spilling some of the liquid. He left the puddle on the counter and tasted the drink.
"Better," he said.
He pushed through the kitchen door toward the living room. He sat and stared at the blank eye of the TV tube and drank.
After a long while Barbara came into the living room. She sat on the edge of a chair and folded her hands in her lap. Her spine was ramrod stiff. She sat and stared at him, saying nothing. He looked at her, glanced at his glass to see if it was empty, then got up and clumped into the kitchen in his stocking feet to mix another. When he came back, she was still sitting as he had left her, prim and proper and straight and sexless and cold, cold and unrelenting.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked finally.
He raised his eyebrows, trying to decide what to say. It was becoming difficult to concentrate on anything.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do about what?"
"Do you want me to cry?"
He shrugged, scowling at her quizzically. "Do you feel like crying, honey?" Why should he care whether she cried. He sipped noisily.
"I don't know. Do you want me to pull my hair and scream?"
He scowled drunkenly, feeling clownish and stupid all of a sudden. Vodka always did that to him--it snuck up and laid him low.
"Oh, no-o-o-o. Don't pull your hair, honey, you'll get it meshed up. Messed up, I mean."
"I won't give you a divorce, Bob," she said tightly.
His head flopped sideways a second. He scowled again.
"Wha's divorsh?" he asked, hearing but not comprehending.
"Do you want me to have an affair with someone else-so that you can feel free to do what you're doing?"
A wave of sobriety shot through him, and he sat up straighter. He put the glass on the table, part of him still coherent enough to realize that he'd better leave the juice alone before he said something he shouldn't.
"With whom would you have an affair?" he asked, mouthing the words exaggeratedly so that they would come out right.
"I'll find someone."
He looked at her. In a moment he started giggling. He threw his arms wide.
"How about me, baby? How about a fucking affair with your husband?"
"Bob, be serious!"
"I am!" he said. The words rumbled through his chest and felt good. He said it again. "I am!"
He was leaning halfway out of his chair. She stood up, straight and proper.
"You'd better eat something. You're getting drunk."
"No I'm not," he said. "I'm getting horny!"
He nearly shouted the word at her. She flinched, just as he thought she would. He tried again.
"I want to fuck! Fuck and fuck! Do you know what 'fuck' means, Barbara? It doesn't mean lie on your back like you've got a board under your butt full of splinters and nails! It doesn't mean you line your cunt with a tube of sandpaper just before you shut out the lights and cover us up under the covers like two mummies under a shroud!"
He sprayed spit, and he knew his face was getting red. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then sucked on one finger like it was a nipple or a cock, depending on how she wanted to take it. She looked away and started to move into the kitchen.
"I'll get you some coffee," she said quietly.
He made a grab for her and caught the hem of her skirt in his fingers. She tugged away with her hip, the stitches popped. She quit struggling immediately.
"Let go of me," she threatened.
"You let go of me."
"I don't know what you mean. Anybody can see that it's your fingers on my dress."
"I'm not talking about fingers."
"Then what are you talking about?"
"Dirty looks. Dry pussy. Cold shoulder. Cold tits. Cold lips and mouth, and freezing, frigid ass! Memories of hot fucking one night that you've never given me since. Your passage through life."
"What do you mean!" Her eyes glinted harshly, narrowing into slits. "What do you mean-passage through life!"
"Don't shit me," he growled. "That first night--the night I thought would be repeated endlessly-and I asked you to marry me. You got married, but I never got fucked like that again!"
She snorted, pulling away from him again. "You're so crude! I can't stand you!"
"Ahhh, I can't stand your prissy-pussied, dried-up cunt, either, so where does that leave us?"
"With your secretary's fat mammaries, I suppose. Wouldn't you say that?"
"They're not fat!"
"Let me go, Bob," she asked quietly, her voice indicating she was obviously running out of patience with his childish antics.
"Oh, go fuck yourself, you superior bitch!" he shouted.
He yanked down with his hand. The waist of the skirt was strong. It dug into the flesh of her hips painfully before it gave and pinched and pulled down her thighs onto the floor. She reeled back from the shock and stood with her slip sticking out from under the suit jacket. He could see the straps of her garter belt holding her nylons up, and the crazy question came to him why she didn't wear panty hose like Janice and the other girls in the office probably did.
"Why the hell don't you get with it!" he demanded.
"Why the hell don't you go to bed and leave me alone!"
She cracked. It wasn't much, but she cracked just slightly. He felt elated. He couldn't stop himself. He lunged out of the chair toward her. He tripped and fell, giving her the chance to run.
"Bob, don't!" she cried suddenly. She ran toward the bedroom. It was the only door she could think of that had a lock on it. She didn't dare run outside. Somebody might see them-her in her slip, particularly.
She tried to slam the door before he got to it, but she didn't make it. His weight thudded heavily, pitching her backwards into the room. Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sprawled onto it on her back. Her slip flew up over her crotch, and she tried to fight it down.
Bob stood over her and laughed, pointing his finger. "What's the matter? You afraid your pussy might show? Gracious, madame! It would never do for your husband to see your private parts!"
He swished his wrist and bent one knee inward in a simpering manner that was meant to convey Victorian prudishness but only caused him to stagger into the dresser. Barbara stayed on her back, supporting her weight on her elbows, watching him carefully. He saw the look of fear and distaste in her eyes and lumbered toward the bed menacingly, with no specific idea of what he was going to do. He reached out vaguely with one jerky hand. If she hadn't scrabbled backwards in an effort to get away from him, he probably would have gone back to the kitchen and drunk vodka until he passed out.
But her motion of avoidance stung through him like a picador's barb, and like the tormented bull in the arena, he roared and charged at the cape of her slip. His fingers gathered the material in a wadded bunch, and he yanked down viciously, immensely satisfied with the loud ripping sound that ensued.
"Bob!" she cried. "For God's sake, stop it!"
"Why the hell should I? I paid for the goddamn thing! I'll rip it off your ass if I feel like it!"
He came at her again, wheeling to catch her as she rolled over the bed. The buttons on her suit jacket flew across the room and clattered into the wall. Barbara screamed curtly. Then she was panting with ragged sounds as he covered her body and pulled the jacket from her chest.
He looked down, breathing hard. Her slip lay jaggedly across her naked belly, letting him see her antiseptically white panties-the big, all-covering ones, not the bikinis he'd bought and begged her to wear. Underneath the material he could just barely make out the dark triangle of her pubic muff nestled between soft thighs. Her hips and waist were good. Her whole body was good. He sat astride her thighs and gawked. It was criminal to hide a body the way she did. He kept sitting there, staring dumbly, as if seeing her cunt for the first time. He drooled from his lower lip and made a sound in his throat.
"Don't you dare!" she threatened.
She clamped her thighs tightly together and tried to roll her hips aside. He looked up from her crotch to her eyes, and another harpoon lanced into him.
"I should have done this years ago," he growled.
He reached for the top of the slip and the militaristic bra underneath. He pulled roughly, hearing the catches give. She beat at his hands ineffectually with her fists, and he slapped her face hard enough to make her head jolt sideways.
"You bastard!" she hissed, repressing tears of frustration and pain.
"You bitch," he said back calmly. Tit for tat.
He ripped the garments from her chest and made her cry out in red-welted pain. Her tits bobbled freely on her chest, high and ripe and firm, astounding him with their youthfulness and beauty. She tried to cover them with her arms, and he slapped them away. Then he sat on his heels, straddling her thighs, and looked at her tits, her flat, puffing belly, and the outline of her body. The fight went out of her. She lay back and let him look, tight-lipped and cold. He was too strong for her, even drunk.
"Are you satisfied now?" she asked tightly.
He grunted. "Nice jugs. Why the hell do you hide your body, Barb? It's a good one. Nice jugs. Small waist, good hips and legs. Shit, I never knew I had it so good."
"That's a lie. You get your use of it whenever you want it-except at the obvious times. You can't deny it. Now let me up. I don't know what you imagine you've proved by doing this."
He snorted loudly. "The use of it! That's right, Barbie-baby-like a motel toilet bowl! Use it, flush it clean, scrub it up for the next night--prim, prissy, anti-septic, Goddamn it!"
He reached up her chest and squeezed her tits with his hands, making the nipples swell and pop up from the soft flesh like the ends of a half-blown balloon. Barbara grimaced and turned her head.
"Watch me, you cold cunt!" he yelled. "Watch what happens to your tits when they get squeezed!"
He squeezed and rolled them again. They formed into flattened balls of flesh, then peaked into pointed cones as he worked them in his hands. He rubbed the nipples with his thumbs and cackled excitedly when they grew red and stood up by themselves.
"See!" he crowed. "You aren't really sexless, are you? You're titties are giving you away, Barbie-doll!"
She whimpered in the back of her throat when he forced her head forward with one hand and shoved the tip of her tit toward her face with the other, making her look. Her eyes opened briefly, saw, and closed tight again.
"By God, I wonder if anything else is happening to you?"
He caught the elastic waistband of her panties in his fingers and pulled. Her back arched up off the bed with her cry of pain.
"Don't Bob-please don't!"
He tugged hard. The panties gave and tore from her hips. He pulled the ragged bottoms from under her buttocks through the gap in her kicking thighs. He put his face down into the black thatch of curly hair and inhaled deeply.
"Ahhh!" he breathed out raggedly. "Sex! It smells like a cunt! I wonder if it feels like a cunt?"
He gripped her crotch in his hand. His fingers curled and wormed their way into the meat of her hole. She cried out as his nails scraped her tender tissues. He pulled his fingers out, and they were nearly dry.
"Flunked!" he announced. "Not wet like a cunt should be. Let's perform the final test and see if it tastes like the red-hot, honest-to-God cunt of a woman should taste!"
She squirmed under him. "Bob, I won't let you! Don't you do that! We're finished if you do anything more!"
He was working his way down her body to where he could lick her pussy. His thighs trapped her legs, and his hands held her torso down. He stopped when she said that and looked up.
"That's your threat, Barbara," he said. "Mine's just the same. We're finished if you don't. I've had it, chaste lady. I want some fucking from you that has meaning behind it. I need it. If you won't give it to me, then I don't care any more, understand me?"
Their eyes locked. After a long moment, she stopped struggling with him and sobbed. Her head rolled to one side, and she bit the knuckles of one hand, as if trying to stuff her fist into her mouth.
Bob watched her. He suddenly felt shitty. Absolutely shitty. This wasn't what he wanted. He placed his hands on her thighs and her legs moved with no resistance. He pushed at her knees, and her legs went up and back, falling wide apart. Her pussy lips separated, and he could see the pink meat of her slit under the tangled nest of her pubes.
He hesitated, staring down. She might as well be dead. It would be like fucking a corpse, the same as always. He'd rather have her fight him than this.
Despite his disappointment and dejection, he couldn't take his eyes away from her pussy. Five years, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen it opened up for him like this. There was the first time, of course. There had probably been others, but he honestly couldn't remember them. The first night stuck in his memory, taunting him. Five years of fucking blind under the covers in the dark, each night hoping, wondering why, wondering what was wrong.
He'd started out kidding her about it, making jokes. Then he was asking straight out. Then pleading. Then digging, each of them turning sarcastic and acid. Then the silent rankling and the questioning-why? He wished suddenly that the first night had never happened. If it had never existed, it wouldn't be in his memory to taunt him.
He put his fingertip against her cunt. It was startlingly brown against the tender pink. She dug her butt into the bed and moaned, trying to escape the touch. He moved his finger around, running it over the inner surfaces of her hairy lips, around the rim of her hole, bumping against the tip of her clit. Everything was dry. He put his hand to his mouth and spat on his fingers, transferring the saliva to her twat.
That made it slippery for a little while. He rubbed and pressed and ran his finger into her hole, hearing her whimper and flinch with pain.
"Don't you like it, honey?" he asked, his voice strangely childlike.
"Yes. I like it, Bob."
"Doesn't it feel good?"
"It feels good."
Her voice was wooden. Her teeth indented the flesh of her knuckles, and her throat jerked in a gagging motion.
"Damn you!" he cried.
He dove at her cunt, opening his mouth wide, covering her twat with it. His tongue lashed at her clit, stroked into her vaginal hole, and stabbed at the soft flesh there.
Barbara whimpered and twitched her buttocks. He let the saliva flow from his mouth so that she would grow slippery and her tissues would become more sensitive. She twisted under his oral manipulations, but it wasn't from passion. She was stopping herself from feeling it.
He raised his head from her crotch and saw her eyes open. She stared blankly into the room.
"Why are you holding back?" he asked. "I want to know, Barbara! What has turned you sour on sex since that first night? Why are you punishing me like this!"
"I can't tell you, Bob!" she sobbed.
"Maybe my prick can!" he shouted back. "I'm going to fuck you, now, tonight, before it's too late, do you hear me?"
His face was swollen and red with rage. His head hovered over her spread crotch. His mouth was open, and his eyes black with fury. He looked like a wolf startled at his dinner feast of fresh meat.
She looked down at him and gurgled with fear. He was unzipping his pants, fumbling around inside the fly for his prick. Then he got angry and yanked the buckle of his belt open, the snap at his waist. He pushed his pants and gaping shorts down his buttocks. He gripped his cock and shook it threateningly at her. She nearly laughed.
"You can't do anything with that!" she jeered.
He looked down in his hand and saw that his prick was flaccid, perfectly limp, dangling like a dead sausage in his hand. He looked up at her.
"Make it hard," he commanded.
"Why should I?"
"Because I want to fuck you."
"All right. Turn out the light."
"No!" he shouted. "Just once I want to see what's happening! I want to slip my prick into your hole and feel it wrapped up in the slippery, slick, warm, squirming tissues of sucking muscles! I want you to moan and wiggle your ass and act like it's driving you crazy! I want to see your goddamn hair get rumpled, your mascara smeared by passion, your straight face twist with the ecstasy of sex! I want you to cup my ass with your hands and pull my cock into your body and suck up my cum when I squirt it out the end of my prick! The goddamn light stays on!"
She watched him rant and shout. A steely calmness came over her. When he was finished, she had her arms behind her head surveying him coolly, feeling suddenly safe because his penis was soft.
"Don't you think that's a rather juvenile approach toward sex?" she asked him.
"Juvenile! Shit, you're the one with the juvenile approach-making it secret, dirty, hiding under the covers all the time, merely indulging in your wifely duty with about as much involvement as a fungus on a rotten log!"
"That's the way you wanted me to be."
He gawked at her, utterly thunderstruck. "You thought what!"
"You did! From the first--that party! And then ... oh, God, Bob, I can't believe it!"
"I've told you and told you I wanted a hot-fucking wife!" he shouted. "But you're not capable! You've got to be the original Miss Whiz-Bitch, Queen Matron, Lady Chastity Belt herself! Prim, proper, prissy-pussy, sexless, fuckless ... shit! Shit and more shit! You know what that is, Barbara--a big stinking pile of shit!"
He stopped yelling. He sat astride her thighs and glared heatedly at her. His nostrils flared, and his chest heaved up and down. It took all the will power he possessed to keep from balling his fist and smashing it into the side of her head.
"Are you finished?" she asked calmly, her lips thin and tight again. "No! Get me hard!"
She opened her mouth, closed it. She sighed deeply and reached for his prick. She pulled on it, making him scoot his buttocks up over her fuzzy cunt to keep from getting his cock yanked off in her hand. She pushed her hand up and down the shaft, feeling the loose-skinned wriggle dick under her fingers.
Bob watched her manipulate his prick. He didn't quite trust her with it. After a moment, he took her hand away.
"That's not doing anything," he said. He aimed it toward her face and scooted up higher so that his ass was pillowed by her firm, rounded tits. The bumps of her nipples dug into his buttocks. "Suck on it!" he commanded.
Barbara made a face. He couldn't quite interpret it. It wasn't totally disgust; there was something else. But at the moment he couldn't determine what it was. It didn't matter. Not when there was something more important to be done.
She took his cock in her hands again and looked at it. A funny expression flitted across her eyes. Then she closed them and opened her mouth, putting the tip of his prick between her softly rounded lips.
Bob watched her do it. He could scarcely believe it was happening. After all these years!
"Oh, God!" he cried after a moment.
She was ravenous. He fought between being astounded and charged up by what she was doing. She pulled and sucked on his prick and ran her tongue around the sensitive corona. Then she slithered it down the soft shaft and stripped it back up again, pressing tightly, bringing a rush of blood into the spongy tissues. His prick inflated immediately in her mouth, blooming fully, firmly, starting to throb with building lust. He leaned his head back and moaned softly.
She went crazy for a minute. He thought she was going to eat him alive, starting with his cock. She wrapped her hands around his buttocks and pulled his hips forward so that his prick pushed all the way into the back of her throat. He could feel her lips crushing the crinkly hairs around the root of his cock. She opened the back of her throat and made him shiver. Her mouth twisted and sucked, and her tongue drove him nearer the brink of madness. He groaned hoarsely, and his balls trembled with her savage attack.
"No!" she yelled suddenly, spitting his prick out. She tucked her head down, hiding her mouth from him. "God, no! I can't! Not after this long!"
"Don't stop, Barb!" he gasped. "Honey, don't stop!"
He pulled and tugged at her head, gripping his throbbing prick in one hand and trying to get her to keep sucking him. He heard her mumbling, "No!" over and over again, but he wasn't even listening to what she said. It had never been so good for him. He couldn't believe she could suck a cock so well.
They wrestled. She pushed and pulled at him as if fighting with herself instead of him. She swore and babbled incoherently, sobbing half the time. She finally bit his thigh with her sharp teeth and made him yell.
"You bitch!"
"Get off me! Go make some other little queer suck you off! Fly away, you damned fairy!"
Bob froze. The dick in his hand throbbed redly. An icy feeling clutched at him. How did she know?
"I am not!" he yelled. "Prissy-pussy, filthy mouth! I'll show you what you're missing, Goddamn it!"
He pinned her down firmly with his weight and stroked his hand up and down the solid, trembling length of his cock. He made a hard fist of his fingers and pumped his rod furiously. Barbara watched him doing it, her eyes growing wider.
She struggled again. She could see the tip of his dick leaking out, oozing shiny drops of his hot juice. His prick was aimed right at her face. She tossed her head from side to side and moaned.
Bob grunted. He felt his balls tightening. Then the spasms started, and it was like a dam bursting through a thin wall. His cum spouted out the tip of his prick, shooting across the distance to the top of her head. Another gush followed, and another, each falling shorter and shorter so that she was covered with his cum. It strung through her dark hair in shimmering strings and rolled over the side of her face. It splattered against her lips and over her nose, and then his prick was dribbling its last around the base of her neck.
"You bastard!" she hissed. "You rotten bastard!"
"Ahhh!" he gasped, feeling the last of the built-up spasms subside. First Janice had teased him, making him hot, and then Barbara's wildly sucking mouth. He felt better, relieved. He sagged sideways, offering no resistance when Barbara pushed his body off hers and got up and ran for the bathroom.
He felt better, but nothing had been solved. It was worse than before ... nothing resolved but the release of pressure from his groin, his balls empty and content ... for the moment.