Chapter 3
LINDA COULDN'T MAKE UP HER MIND AS to what she wanted to wear. Her husband had said that it wasn't such a big deal to go to the boss's home for dinner, but she did want to look her best. Tony Thornton's lovely wife had been beautifully dressed the few times they'd met at the used car lot, so it wouldn't do to appear at the handsome man's home in just any old thing.
Linda, fresh from a refreshing shower and a brisk towel-rub, was standing midway between the bed and the closet. She swayed over and sat down on the side of the bed. Why should she be so anxious to dress to please Rod's handsome boss?
She fell backward on the bed and closed her eyes, a little involuntary shudder rippling through her nude body. That was a question she'd better try to get settled. Tony Thornton's dark orbs weren't the only greedy male eyes she'd felt stripping the clothes from her body. That he'd seemingly mentally raped her wasn't a first, either.
But the way she'd felt during and after being mentally raped was close to being a first-since her marriage to Rod, anyhow. It was the first time she'd actually let her mind play around for more than a few minutes with thoughts of how sex might be with a man other than her husband.
Maybe that had something to do with the fact that she'd finally admitted to herself that there was something seriously wrong with her marriage, in the sex department, at least. She guessed that was just as much her fault as it was Rod's, though-maybe even more. She couldn't really blame him for not having the nerve to talk or even let herself go when they were having sex.
Sometimes she was sorry she hadn't allowed Rod to screw her before their marriage. He'd tried. And how he'd tried! She hadn't thought then that it would turn out that he'd be so inhibited.
She had let him do just about everything except put it in. Not that he'd done all of the exciting things she'd heard and read about, of course, but they had used their tongues when kissing, and a few times she'd let him pull her hand to his stiffness. She'd refused to touch his hard tool when he'd once taken it out of his pants, though.
On several occasions she'd let him put his hand inside of her panties and feel of her crotch. That had been in the dark, though, and when he'd tried to slip his fingers in, she'd pushed his hand away. She had let him play with her breasts, but she'd pushed his mouth away from her hard nipples. She'd been afraid that she'd get so hot she couldn't stop herself from going all the way. She'd promised her mother, and herself, that there would be a wedding before she had intercourse.
She hadn't done what could truthfully be called teasing. She'd let Rod know that she wasn't going to put out until she was married. He'd known that she was afraid that if she did he wouldn't marry her afterward, even though she hadn't actually put the idea into words. So, if he'd married her just to screw her, that was his tough luck.
Still, no matter if she had loved Rod and wanted a home so badly, she'd done wrong by lying. She'd have to give him credit for not saying anything about her not being a virgin, though. Maybe that was one of the reasons they couldn't or didn't talk about sex.
And, guessing again, she mused that it could be that Rod hadn't been all that experienced. It was possible that he hadn't realized that he hadn't broken what some people seemed to regard as a sacred thickness of skin. She had been tight. He'd had trouble making the penetration the first few times. And she'd read that in some cases there wasn't any bleeding during the deflowering process.
So, looking at it that way, Rod might not even know that she'd lied. That thought didn't do much to blot out her feeling of guilt, though. Nor did she think it would give her the courage to sit down and have a long heart-to-heart talk with her husband.
What the hell could she tell him? That she wasn't cold or frigid? That sometimes she had the almost overwhelming urge to push his face and mouth down between her legs when he was nibbling at her breasts? That sometimes she even felt that she'd like to kiss him all over?
Linda opened her eyes and sat upright. Her hands had gone to her thrusting titties. The nipples were stiffly erect. She slowly ran her fingertips back and forth across the taut tips. Was it possible that Rod was getting sex from some other girl or woman?
Her period had been over the night before. There had never been any false modesty in their marriage. They didn't try to hide their naked bodies from each other, so he'd seen that she was all right when she was getting ready for bed. But he'd just hugged her for a few seconds, kissed her good night, and turned over and left her staring into the darkness.
The logical thing to have done-then and at other such times-would have been to tell him what she wanted, but the five years she'd spent listening to her mother's constant preaching had prevented that.
There it was, Linda thought, dropping her hands from her heavy mounds. She'd once again gotten around to blaming her prudish mother for something she was old enough now to have the guts to change. She didn't have to feel any kind of shame for enjoying sex with her lawfully wedded husband. That was stupid.
She had enough sense to know that her mother had been wrong about many things having to do with sex. It was silly to keep on believing that decent wives only allowed the sex act for procreation, in the one basic position, and that a husband didn't respect a wife who enjoyed sex as much as he did.
Once again Linda fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. But how could she be sure that Rod wasn't the type of a man her mother had described? Once she talked or behaved in bed in the manner her mother considered indecent, there would be no way of retracting the words or the actions. Then where would that leave her? Without a husband? With a husband who didn't respect her?
It was too much of a gamble to take. She'd waited it out for six months. She would keep on waiting and hoping that Rod would make the first move. Maybe one night they would somehow let themselves go when they were hot, and then discover that they'd both secretly wanted to indulge in the more intimate erotic activities. She could dream, couldn't she?
The preaching had started when she was fourteen. And the shame. Her mother had caught her right in the act. The boy had been on her, in her, pounding away, and her mother had pounded the poor fellow's bare butt with a broom. In a way, it had been funny, but it sure as hell hadn't seemed funny at the time.
That had been the third time she'd let the boy screw her. He was fifteen then. Hal Evans-she'd never forget that name, or the boy. The best she could remember, his penis had been just about as big as Rod's. Maybe not. Maybe it had just seemed to be that big because it had been such a tight fit. The first time, anyhow. The second time had been wonderful. The third time had just begun to feel wonderful when her mother had started banging away with the broom.
At fourteen, her body had already developed enough to get admiring stares, even from older men. Her big knockers, as some of the boys had called them, had been a source of embarrassment to her since before she'd turned thirteen.
She had been something of a tomboy from as far back as she could remember. She'd always been a good athlete. Playing basketball, baseball, and football with the boys, she'd been exposed to plenty of rough talk, but nobody had ever done more than cop a feel now and then. Actually, she couldn't remember giving sex much thought before Hal entered her life.
Sure, she'd been aware of the difference between boys and girls. She hadn't been stupid. But her sexual desires apparently hadn't developed as fast as her body. Just after her periods had started, just before she'd reached thirteen, she hadn't been curious enough to do much experimenting.
While bathing, she'd discovered that parts of her body were sensitive, and she could remember caressing her nipples now and then, but she'd never deliberately played with herself the way she'd heard some girls did. A couple of times always managing to get away with it without being seen she'd caught boys playing with themselves. That had been strangely exciting.
She'd even heard boys laughing and teasing each other about what they called jacking-off or beating their meat. She'd seen the white stuff come shooting out, and for a long time she'd had the idea that a female somehow shot off like that.
Maybe she had been kind of stupid, after all, or just not sexy enough to be all that interested. Anyhow, she'd been physically innocent when Hal had somehow sensed that she Was ripe for her first sex experience.
He'd been from out of town, visiting his cousin for a few days. She couldn't remember the cousin's name. Anyhow, Hal had been the first boy to really ask her for a date. She'd gone to a movie with him. It had been in the afternoon, during the summer, and she'd met him down the block where the gang played baseball on a vacant lot.
Looking back on it, she knew that was when she'd gotten a crush on a boy for the first time. His smile and his voice had made her insides kind of flutter. Puppy-love. Only he'd turned it into puppy-sex. Not, of course, that she'd ever blamed him. If she had said no, or fought him off, he wouldn't have screwed her. She'd always been sure of that.
He'd been the first boy to really kiss her. He'd used his tongue, and his hands, and her body had seemed to awaken from a deep sleep. A corny way of putting it, maybe, but all of her senses had seemed vividly alive for the first time.
If Hal hadn't screwed her, she would have used her finger or some other object to relieve the tingling itch that started almost from the moment he darted his tongue into her mouth. (And she had masturbated from then until she married Rod.)
She had sex with Hal for the first time behind a signboard, on another vacant lot. He'd kissed her a few times in the movie house, and she'd willingly gone with him behind the big sign. She'd been eager for more of the thrilling kisses. And within three minutes she'd just as eagerly parted her legs when he'd said that he was going to slip his cock into her cunt.
He'd used those exact words. Then he had frowned when he encountered the resisting membrane. He'd said something about having known she was a virgin, but that when it came right down to it, he wasn't sure he wanted to take the responsibility. He'd really been a very nice guy-a youngster with a hell of a lot of compassion to go with his passion.
She'd taken matters into her own hands-or into her own pelvic area, might be a better way of putting it. In any case, she'd surged upward and split the thin obstacle with one swift movement. He'd grunted with momentary pain, and she still felt it had probably hurt him more than it had her.
There had been very little pain for her, and very little blood, but there hadn't been all that much pleasure, either. For her or for him. It was all over too quickly. A few jabs, and he'd climaxed. She hadn't She'd taken care of that in her room that night, though. She'd used her finger, twisting and squirming her butt like crazy, losing herself in the glorious sensations she was to experience so many, many times afterward. Twice that night she'd fingered herself to a spasmodic release.
The next day, again late in the afternoon and behind the signboard, Hal had screwed her again. He'd lasted long enough to make her come twice before spurting and pulling out his limp dick. She'd wanted more, and had been disappointed when he'd said that it would take too long for him to get hard again.
That night she'd fingered herself again, only she'd been able to make the blissful sensations go on and on. She'd done more experimenting, discovering the most sensitive spot, her clitoris, and had concentrated on that base of sexual stimulation. She had, she guessed, behaved as if she were the first girl to ever discover the joys of masturbation.
And, to be perfectly honest, for five years or so she hadn't really suffered because of not having a stiff penis to take the place of her finger or the various inanimate objects she'd used. Maybe, come to think of it, that had a great deal to do with her inhibited sexual relations with her husband, because she could still find as much or more pleasure playing with herself. Probably due to the habit developed over the years, and to the fact that she could let herself toss and twist freely when she was inducing the thrilling climaxes.
Not that she didn't greatly enjoy being screwed by Rod. She did. She loved to have him slip his hardness in her and pound away. She usually climaxed, no matter how fast he was, but she felt that there should be more to it than that. But how did a wife go about telling her husband that she'd like to try the more erotic intimacies, without taking a chance on causing the inhibited husband to think she was a whore? That was what her mother had called her, among other things.
Poor Hal. He'd wanted to go some place else, but she'd been hot, hot, hot. She'd practically dragged him into the garage. There was a sleeping bag on the concrete floor. Her father, who had preferred fishing and hunting to eating, and maybe even to screwing, had never found out that she'd started her third sex session on the sleeping bag he'd neglected to put away.
He'd never known about the other two sessions either, for that matter. She guessed her mother had kept the promise not to tell him. That had been included in the deal she'd finally made with her angry and disgusted blue-nose parent. No more screwing until she was married. She'd promised. And, strangely enough, the promise hadn't been all that difficult to keep.
She'd been wearing blue jeans, panties, and a cotton sweater that day in the garage. The jeans and panties had been dangling around one ankle, and her sweater had been pushed up over her titties. Hal, his pants and shorts somewhere around his knees, had just slipped it to her when her mother started yelling and hanging the broom on his butt.
She'd had her eyes closed. Even as she'd opened her eyes, she'd lifted her hips, trying to follow the pleasure-giving tool that was being pulled out. Hal's dick had gone limp even before he'd struggled to his feet. With the broom still banging away at him, he'd tugged at his pants and shorts and scurried out the side door.
Her mother had quieted down quickly. She'd never remembered the exact words her mother had used in anger, but the loud sentences and phrases had been liberally sprinkled with terms like bitch, slut, and whore. She'd been surprised to hear her very prim and proper mother talk in such an ugly manner, somehow or other, the ugly talk had seemed much worse than the thrilling act of sex out of wedlock.
She'd had her sweater pulled down over her breasts and her hands covering her pussy when her mother looked again. Her tits had been throbbing, and her hot inner flesh had been quivering. Her mother had started speaking softly, shaming her, threatening to tell her father, ordering her to cover her nakedness and to get in the house.
Inside the house, listening to the preaching that was to go on for years, she would have promised just about anything to get away from her mother. The interruption hadn't lessened her passion. She'd only told one or two lies, saying that it was the first time Hal or any boy had put it in her, and that she hadn't really liked it.
Her mother, seemingly not knowing what else to do, had finally gotten embarrassed and had told her to go take a bath. She did, relieving herself twice during the process.
Coming back to the present, Linda realized she'd been caressing her titties and her thighs. She swung her long legs up and around without opening her eyes. Flat on her back, she lifted her knees, parted her legs, and squirmed her ass against the clean sheet. Rod wouldn't be home for almost an hour. There wouldn't be time for sex then, even if she could surprise them both by suggesting that they screw before going to the Thornton's for dinner.
Thinking about her first sex experiences had her hot as hell. Maybe she had a right to blame her mother for what she was going to do right then. It had become almost a compulsive obsession.
In high school, dating only the boys she'd heard were easy to handle, she'd kissed and necked-and then had masturbated as soon as she was home alone. Arid now, even after being married, she was still doing it.
Linda had slipped a finger into her hot moist twat and was slowly stroking her slippery swollen clit. She started to caress and fondle her throbbing titties with her other hand. She began squirming her ass and hips in harmony with her stimulating finger.
Within a few seconds she started to come. She moaned and wriggled wildly. She let herself go completely, gasping and crying put as the delightful spasms lifted her buttocks several inches off the mattress.
Then, sagging limply, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She should stay right there and let her husband catch her with her finger buried in her pussy, she thought. Maybe then she'd find the nerve to talk about sex, to tell him about the exciting things she wanted them to try.
But even as the thoughts flickered through her mind, she removed her finger and rolled off the bed. One habit was just about as difficult to break as another, and the habit of obeying her mother's instructions as to how to be a decent wife was just as strong as the one that had her diddling herself with disgusting regularity.