Chapter 2
"Good morning, Mom."
Carol turned her cheek to accept her daughter's dutiful kiss. A mound of bacon was draining on a folded paper towel, and Carol was busy keeping the scrambled eggs from sticking to the skillet.
"Morning, Mom, sleep well?" asked Jack.
"All right, thank you. How are you and Pam getting to the beach party today?"
"Ben Paulson will pick us up in an hour."
Carol dished up the eggs, picked up the bacon and distributed the plates at the table. "Did you make your beds?"
"Yes, Mother," Pam answered wearily.
As Carol worked at the sink, she reflected on the rapid growth of her children. It seemed barely months ago that they had been learning to read, and fighting over stuffed toys. Now Jack was turning out to be as long and lanky as his father, shooting upward at a rate that made clothes seem to shrink from day to day. Pam, on the other hand, had gone abruptly from a gawky, skinny tomboy to a curvy beauty with the same soft blonde hair that Carol was proud of. Pam's breasts had blossomed into large, firm, pink-capped mounds that rivaled her mother's. In just a few months the girl had gone from begging for a padded bra to battling to avoid wearing any bra at all. This morning the thirteen-year-old's breasts were bobbing and weaving under her thin blouse, plainly unrestrained by any undergarment.
"Pam, I think you'd better at least wear your bathing suit top to the beach," Carol suggested gently.
"But, Mom, none of the girls wear bras except to school," Pam protested.
"I don't care what the other girls do; you wear a bra," Carol stated firmly. "You're bigger than the other girls, for one thing. And besides, you're not going swimming topless, are you?"
Pam looked shocked. "Mother! We'll change at the beach."
"Just the same, you wear a bra this morning," Carol said in her no-nonsense tone of voice.
"Yes, Mother," Pam agreed reluctantly. "What are you and Dad going to do today?"
"What do you think, silly! It's their anniversary," Jack interjected.
Carol blushed slightly. "Never you mind what we're going to do today."
"Mom, I wish you'd remind us of your anniversary," Pam protested. "I try to remember, but never do. Now it's too late to get you a present."
Carol chuckled. "The best present you can give me is to drink your orange juice, go put on a bra and clear out for the day."
"Yuk, I hate orange juice," Pam protested, then made a face as she downed the glass of juice quickly.
"Whoops, there's Ben," Jack said as a horn blasted impatiently outside.
In a second the two children ran out of the kitchen. Before Carol could call Pam back for her bra the kids had scooped up their beach bags, shouted good-byes and dashed out the door. As it banged shut behind them, Carol heaved a sigh and began to fix a big breakfast for herself and Frank. As usual, he had been late the evening before, arrived home to a cold dinner, worked late into the night over the new policy, and fallen into bed too tired to even kiss her good night. Carol had carefully shut off the alarm before she had dropped off to sleep, resolving that whether he wanted to or not, Frank was going to get a full night of sleep for a change.
As she worked, she felt little tremors of excitement flickering through her belly. Certain that she had Frank to herself at last, her mind skipped and jumped from one erotic daydream to another. At one time Frank had been a good lover. So good, in fact, that Pam had arrived a year earlier than planned. As she fried more bacon, Carol reflected that in those early years of marriage, Frank had known more ways of turning her on than now seemed possible.
Leaving the bacon in a low oven to keep warm, Carol decided to check on Frank before going further with breakfast. Opening the bedroom door quietly she peeked inside. Frank had tossed off the covers and, nude as usual, was sprawled on his back, snoring softly. Stretched out, he looked taller than his six feet. He was lean and trim, without an ounce of fat. A shaft of sunlight sneaking through the curtains spotlighted his groin. His cock was half-erect as he slept, making Carol quiver slightly with excitement. Moving silently so as not to awaken him, Carol decided it would be wise to add a little icing to the cake she was prepared to offer him, and slipped into the bathroom. Checking her well-scrubbed complexion and fair hair critically, she decided that while not necessary, a little make-up would not hurt her chances in the least. Carefully, as if she were preparing for an expense-account night out, Carol made up her face. A few quick flicks with the comb restored her hair to its usual casual arrangement.
As she reached for the perfume the sleeve of her robe caught the plastic cup and it dropped into the sink with a deafening clatter. As she froze, she heard Frank begin to stir. Moving quickly, she put on her perfume and, after a final quick check, she opened the bathroom door. Frank was just rolling over and reaching for his watch on the bedside table.
"Good morning, darling," Carol greeted him softly.
"G'morning," Frank grunted, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand. He peered at his watch and seemed to jerk awake, then checked it again. "Good God, the time," he groaned.
"What's the matter?" Carol asked, her blood freezing at his tone.
Scrambling, Frank turned to check the alarm clock, as if not believing his watch. "Oh, my God, I've got to hurry."
A horrible premonition swept over Carol. "Frank, relax; it's Saturday," she said, desperately hoping he had only forgotten what day it was.
"I know, I know," he muttered as he searched under the bed for his slippers. "I'm supposed to be at the golf course in half an hour."
"Frank, no" Carol cried, her voice breaking. "You promised."
He passed her on his way to the bathroom, barely sparing her a glance. "You look different this morning. Didn't you sleep well?" he asked.
The bathroom door shut in her face. "Frank, it's our anniversary," she protested loudly through the door.
"I can't hear you Honey," Frank shouted over the sound of running water.
A sick feeling of hopelessness grew in Carol's chest as she faced the unresponsive door. "Frank, you promised you wouldn't play golf today."
The door opened and Frank shot past her without a glance. "I'm sorry, Honey, but the boss arranged it last night. I promise I'll stay home tomorrow."
Carol fought back tears. "Tomorrow we have to take Jack to a baseball game."
"Well, then, one day next week. Where's a clean undershirt?"
"In the second drawer of the bureau, where they always are," Carol snapped. "Frank, it's our anniversary," she reminded him for the second time.
"Happy anniversary, Hon," he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "Have you seen my golf shirt?"
"Third drawer," Carol replied automatically. "Frank, please ..."
"Gotta hurry, Honey." Frank buckled his belt and headed for the door. "I'll talk to you tonight. Better not wait dinner, though; this guy plays slow and then likes to drink after the match."
"Frank?..." Carol asked one last, futile time as he hurried down the stairs. On shaking, miserable legs she stumbled after him, reaching the bottom just in time to see him dash out the back door, his bag of golf clubs rattling on his shoulder. The final slam of the door behind him stripped Carol of the last bit of strength in her legs, and she sank weakly to her knees on the hall carpet. She tried to call him one more time, but her voice caught in her throat, emerging as a hopeless sob as she began to cry. For a long time she knelt in the hall, tears streaming down her face. Finally, the smell of the bacon roused her and, fighting to see her way to the kitchen, she opened the oven door.
"Ouch, goddamn it," she swore as she burned her fingers on the plate, then reached for a potholder. Moving woodenly, she set the dried-out bacon on top of the stove. Lost and dazed, she wandered aimlessly out of the kitchen and into the beautifully furnished living room. Sinking down on the couch, she stared blankly into space. All her plans for the day had been demolished in a few brutal moments, and she was unable even to consider what to do with herself now. With everyone gone, she found herself shivering from the terrible emptiness of the house. Finally she moved.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, and the sound of her voice in the echoing house only reminded her more of her loneliness. "I've got to do something," Her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace caught her attention as she stood up. Her tears had streaked make-up down her cheeks, producing an Indian war paint effect that was ludicrous. Relieved at having something definite that needed to be done, she headed upstairs to the bathroom. In a few minutes she had removed the telltale tracks down her cheeks. A cold washcloth reduced the redness of her eyes from her crying. Checking her reflection critically in the mirror, she decided not too much showed.
Still wearing her robe and pajamas, Carol busied herself with straightening up the kitchen. Frowning over the waste, she dumped the cold, hard bacon in the garbage. Resolutely, she refused to contemplate the empty day facing her. With less success, she tried to ignore the hungry itch in her groin. For weeks she had been looking forward to their anniversary, and the session with Marje the day before had done nothing to reduce the hunger Carol felt for her husband. She was going over the top of the stove with a rag for the third time when her mechanical moves were interrupted by a soft tap at the back door. Tightening her robe, she went to answer the door.
Standing on the porch was a handsome youth Carol thought looked vaguely familiar.
"Mrs. Anderson, I'm Mike Santucci, a friend of Jack's."
"Oh, yes, Mike," Carol replied as she tightened the belt of her robe self-consciously.
"Jack said you were putting in a fish pond in the backyard and needed someone to dig the hole, remember?"
"Oh, yes, of course, I'm sorry. Why don't you come in?"
"No, thanks, Mrs. Anderson. I was going to do the digging tomorrow, but I can't, so I wondered if it would be all right to start today."
Carol thought for a second. "I don't know why not. Do you know where it's supposed to go?"
"I think so. Jack said there were stakes and string marking the spot."
Carol pointed past him, feeling the hot rake of his eyes over her chest before he followed her finger. "Right in the back corner there, by the garage. Do you need tools?"
"Yes, Ma'am, I'm afraid so," Mike replied.
"You'll find everything you need in the garage. Just set the sod aside in the shade, will you?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Sorry to bother you," Mike apologized.
"That's quite all right," she reassured him. The memory of his dark, flashing eyes and curly black hair lingered in Carol's mind as she closed the back door. Shaking her head, she went back to giving the kitchen a thorough cleaning. After finishing the cabinets and beginning to work her way down the counter toward the sink, the heat of the sun streaming through the window began to get to her. Deciding there was little harm in it, she stripped off her robe.
Reaching the sink finally, she was rinsing out the washcloth for the last time when she happened to glance out the window. Mike had stripped off his shirt, and his darkly tanned torso glistened with perspiration as he swung the pick to break up the hard earth. The flexing of his muscles awakened new fires in Carol as she studied the youth. She recalled that he normally played football at high school, and took on jobs such as this one to build his strength in the off-season. His Levi's were tight, hugging his well-muscled legs and thighs. His hips were trim and masculine, his waist narrow. As he bent to pick up a large rock, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged. Carol found herself panting slightly as she studied the healthy youth. He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead with one forearm and she caught a glimpse of his handsome profile. His chest was heaving slightly from his breathing. The rippling of his muscles as he moved easily, again swinging the pick, made Carol's breath catch in her throat.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, trying to tear her eyes away from the boy. She again bent to the sink, but her eyes kept returning to the youth. Finally, she threw the washcloth down. Gathering up her robe, she went upstairs and tried to put Mike out of her mind as she made the bed. Instead, she found herself standing at the window, staring down at him as he worked. His youthful masculinity made her tingle, made her nipples stiffen with interest. He faced her now, and her eyes continually strayed to the bulge at his crotch. She knew if he looked up from his work he would see her at the window in her almost transparent pajamas. The thought that he might look up made Carol's breath catch in her throat. She was disappointed when he failed to do so.
"He's young enough to be your son," Carol muttered to herself angrily. The thought merely excited her further. "It's insane," she muttered, trying to turn away from the window, but failing. She tried to think of her husband, and immediately felt a flash of anger. "It would serve him right," she said, not aware she was speaking out loud. Moving mechanically, she went back downstairs. Her hands were shaking as she reached into the liquor cabinet for the gin. She tried to tell herself that she was mixing the gin and tonic because she was thirsty. The smooth taste of the gin that quickly seemed to steam through her veins made even that rationalization unnecessary.
"Don't want to scare the boy away," she muttered, going back upstairs for her robe. She tied the belt loosely, then went to the back door.
"Mike," she called out in a voice that seemed to choke her, "you'd better take a break and come in out of the sun for a while."
The boy leaned on the handle of the shovel, panting slightly. "I'm all right, Mrs. Anderson."
Mentally cursing his reserve, Carol argued. "You won't be if you get sunstroke. You'd better come in for a drink."
"Well ..." Mike hesitated.
"Don't worry. You're more likely to get the pool done if you don't pass out from the heat, believe me," she assured him, trying not to show her nervousness and desperation.
"I guess you're right," he finally agreed, leaning the shovel up against the garage wall. As he approached the house, Carol began to panic. Then the gin she had drunk, combined with the desire that the sight of the youth kindled, calmed her down. She seemed to be outside herself looking in, and her mind clicked like a computer.
"We've got some soft drinks in the basement playroom, if that's all right," she suggested.
"Thanks, Mrs. Anderson; that's great," Mike said. His eyes brushed casually across her chest. She found herself searching for some way to prevent any possibility of failure. "Go ahead downstairs. I'll bring glasses and ice," she suggested, her cunt itching with excitement.
"I'm kind of dirty," he remarked, looking at his soiled hands.
"There's a bathroom down there if you want to wash up," she told him hurriedly. After he headed down the stairs, Carol hastily rounded up two glasses and filled them with ice. Before taking them downstairs, she dug into the liquor cabinet and added two shots of vodka to each glass. The clear liquid looked exactly as if some of the ice had melted.
She got to the playroom with the glasses to find Mike standing in the center of the room, gazing around. "Gee, this is really nice down here, Mrs. Anderson," he said.
"Thank you. Why don't you sit down while I get the drinks? Is ginger ale all right?"
"Fine, thanks very much." Mike wandered around the room, then sat down on the couch.
Carol fought to keep her hands from shaking as she poured the ginger ale and carried the glasses to the couch. She burned inwardly as she felt the youth studying her as she walked. She knew a large stretch of bare leg flickered in and out through the front of her robe. Setting the glasses on the low coffee table, she sat carefully on the couch a discreet distance from the youth.
"Boy, this is the best ginger ale I ever had," Mike said, making Carol flinch, afraid he could taste the vodka. She relaxed when he went on. "It really was hot out there."
Carol gulped, trying to quell her nervousness. "I'm glad you like it. I was afraid you might collapse from the heat. You were really sweating." She fumbled for words, trying to find something to say. "I guess that ground is pretty hard."
"Yeah, work like that can really make you hot," Mike said.
Carol had the insane idea that he knew exactly what he had just said, that the double meaning was intentional.
"I . . . I understand you do a lot of work like this," she said.
"A bit," Mike acknowledged. "It keeps me in shape, and I can always use the money."
Carol could feel the vodka warming her, and sipped her drink anxiously. Mike had finished half of his already and leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. One of his hands was near Carol's back and she thought she could feel it. She glanced at his well-muscled chest. Young as he was, he already had a few wisps of black hair there.
Carol got jerkily to her feet. "Gee, let's have some music," she suggested inanely. She felt his eyes on her as she went over to the combination radio-record player and switched it on.
The music of a local pop station blared out suddenly, making her jump. Keeping her back toward Mike, and pretending to adjust the set, Carol loosened the belt of her robe and arranged the neckline so it was more open. She whirled suddenly, making the robe flair out, which showed off her shapely legs. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt certain the boy would be able to hear it. A new, sexy roll seemed to take over her hips as she returned to the couch. Mike stared goggle-eyed at her partly open robe, and Carol pulled her shoulders back to better display her full breasts to him.
"Sh . . . sure is nice of you to invite me down here, Mrs. Anderson," Mike stuttered, unable to tear his eyes from her bosom.
"It's my pleasure," she assured him. "How's your drink? Need any more?" She made a show of bending down to look at his half-full glass. Resolutely, she refrained from looking up at him, knowing that her robe was falling away from her breasts, knowing that he could see her dark nipples through the filmy pajama top.
"N . . . no thanks," Mike replied. "M . . . maybe I'd better be getting back to work now."
"No . . . no," Carol almost shouted, then softened her voice. "What's the rush? The fish pond can wait. It's awfully hot out there." Moving carefully, she rounded the coffee table and sat down close to him. She cast a furtive glance at his crotch. Despite his crossed legs she could see the beginning bulge. Her senses flamed at the feeling of power she felt over the boy. As she looked at him, a brief memory of her husband flashed through Carol's mind and she furiously brushed it aside. It was Frank's fault she was this way now, she thought angrily. Deliberately she crossed her legs, causing the robe to fall open more and bare one long, shapely limb all the way to the thigh. As she did this, she leaned back, arching her spine Her neck trapped Mike's arm against the back of the couch.
"Mmmm, it's hot," Carol murmured, feeling Mike's stare.
"Y . . . you're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Anderson," Mike whispered hoarsely.
Carol rolled her head and peered at him through slitted eyelids. "Thank you, Mike, but I prefer to be called Carol."
"Cer . . . certainly, Mrs. An- I mean, Carol,"
Mike stuttered. His eyes were huge as he stared at her.
"Whoosh, it certainly is hot today," Carol ad-libbed desperately. "This robe of mine is just too warm. I think I'll take it off. You don't mind if I take off my robe, do you?"
"Not at all," Mike replied, his voice breaking.
Carol stood up, and self-consciously walked over to an old hall tree, untying the robe as she went. Keeping her back to the boy, she removed the robe and hung it up. She could feel his eyes burning into her back, studying the globes of her barely concealed buttocks. Gritting her teeth with nervousness and excitement, she turned to face him. The music caught her attention, and she began to dance to it. "Dance with me, Mike," she ordered softly, holding her graceful arms out to him. He staggered to his feet and moved to join her in the center of the room, stumbling slightly over the edge of the gym mats as he did so.
Carol was boiling as she subjected herself to the youth's scrutiny. She might as well have been naked for all the cover the pajamas gave her. Her nipples were hard and pointed against the silky fabric, the material slipping across them with every move.
The music ended and they both stood frozen in place. Carol looked deep into the youngster's dark, flashing eyes, her invitation and challenge obvious. With a gasp he took a step forward and grabbed her, his strong arms crushing her against him. His lips bore down on hers in a ruthless kiss, and she opened her mouth to his driving tongue. His hands roamed over her back as they kissed, and she pressed her groin against his. His bare skin felt hot and slick as she gently scratched his back with her carefully manicured nails. Her passion flamed higher and higher as the kiss went on and on. She was gasping and breathless when he finally broke it.
"Oh, yes," she hissed as he nipped at her neck with his teeth. She collapsed onto the mats, dragging him with her. As they sank down they separated slightly, and his hands moved along her rib cage until his thumbs were pressing the swell of the base of her breasts. Carol leaned backwards away from him, giving him full possession of her big womanly mounds. As his hands crushed the masses of flesh, her nipples peaked sharply, boring into his palms as he massaged her through the pajama top. Her fingers sought and found the tie at her throat and pulled it. She spread the silken fabric back, completely baring her chest to him. As he took possession of both her breasts she shrugged the pajama top off entirely. She was ablaze with passion now, and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, and pulled him down on her. As his weight crushed her to the mat, his lips found her ear and nibbled at it, sending new jolts of pleasure through her. She growled deep in her throat, thrilled that he was as good a lover as he looked. As his passion increased, he got better and better.
Finally, he tore himself away from her. Carol lay on her back, arms spread, relishing his study of her. He reached for her panties and she lifted her hips, letting him tug the filmy garment down her shapely legs. Naked before him now, Carol lay totally open to his study. She looked up at him hungrily as his fingers fumbled with his belt. He tore his pants down, tangling them around his feet.
His shorts went next, and his big, strong cock leaped into view, hard as iron as it stood out from its bush of black pubic hair. As he tumbled to the mat beside her, one hand reaching for her breasts, the other her cunt, she took the big staff in her hand, measuring it with her fingers. For seconds that seemed like hours to her they felt each other, one of his fingers driving deep into her moist and ready channel. He knew exactly what he was doing when he pressed her onto her back and knelt over her.
"Take me," she hissed, spreading her thighs wide for the boy as he settled between them. His cock drilled into her cunt, its first touch bringing a gasp of joy to her lips. Inch by inch he drove into her, panting heavily as he did so. He tried to support his weight with his arms, but she dragged him down, reveling in his weight mashing the air from her lungs. As he drove deeper and deeper into her, his youthful vigor and enthusiasm made her blaze even hotter.
When he drove to his full depth in her, their pubic bones crushed her clitoris between them, sending a new, exciting wave of pleasure blasting through her. Then he began to piston in and out. Carol was so horny that she climaxed immediately, searing waves of joy rolling over her, wringing a cry from her lips. And still the young boy pounded at her, their flesh slapping together in an ageless, joyous rhythm. Faster and faster he slammed into her, raising her upward toward another orgasm until, with a final, powerful jolt, he drove into her one last incredible time. As his cock began to twitch and spurt, hosing her guts with his cum, she climaxed again, her cunt spasming around his pulsing rod as unspeakable pleasure engulfed her.
For a long time they lay in a heap, panting, until Carol had to gently roll him off her. His cock was still hard in her cunt, and she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him inside her. A proud smile played across his lips as he studied her.
"You're quite a man," Carol acknowledged.
"And you're quite a woman," he replied.
Carol squeezed down on his cock with her cunt. "This wasn't your first time, was it?"
He chuckled deep in his throat. "No, Ma'am," he answered, and made his cock twitch inside her. "And it isn't the last, either."
"Oh," Carol gasped at the feeling of his rod jerking slightly inside her. "You're not done yet!"
"No, Ma'am," Mike replied, beginning to move again. He moved slowly now, just slipping his cock in and out of her a fraction of an inch each way. He was arrogant in his youthful power and stamina.
Carol gasped as he moved in her. She could feel every tiny motion of his prick, and a new climax began to grow in her gut, spreading flames through her belly. Ever so slowly he moved in her, and Carol spread her legs wide, welcoming his deepest penetration. His teeth flashed in a fierce grin as he began to stroke harder and harder into her.
Carol could feel the juices of their first coming drying between the cheeks of her ass as her next climax built. Faster and faster Mike moved, driving Carol higher and higher until she climaxed again, and then kept on climaxing as he continued to slam into her. Finally he slammed into her one last time, and Carol felt steaming jets of sperm shoot high into her for a second time. Her climax shot even higher until she almost blacked out. She felt his spurtings dying away inside her, then felt his cock begin to shrink. All efforts to keep him in her were futile. His cock wilted completely, and Carol's own muscles betrayed her by squeezing the limp mass out. Tears of loss trickled from under her eyelids.
Limp and exhausted, she sprawled nude on the mats as Mike got up. She opened her eyes and looked up at the youth. He almost seemed to sneer at her as he pulled his pants up and fastened them. She wanted desperately to say something, to explain to him, but the words caught in her throat.
"I gotta get back to the fish pond, Mrs. Anderson. Thanks for the ginger ale."
As he left the playroom, Carol rolled over on her belly and began to sob softly.