Chapter 3
She lay in the bath and listened to the rustle of paper as Gerald conned through papers as he waited for her to finish her bath. Even that routine was dull and so exact as to be maddening. She would have her bath and then the drill was for her to yell out to him, "I'm running yours now, darling." To which the inevitable reply was, "Let me know when it's up to the overflow."
If he could but know the times she would have liked him in the bath with her...! She sighed. He'd probably have grumbled that there wasn't room.
She heaved herself up and down in the water by putting her hands just behind her lips and levering herself upward so that her dark haired pube rose above the level of the swirling, soapy water.
She watched her mount as the water sparkled and played with it. She could feel the warm tickle of it as it gushed in and out of her vagina, gently parting the firm lips of it with its insistent pressure. She looked down at her breasts. They gleamed brilliantly with the water on them. Her nipples, fult and lush like twin raspberries, stood poised on the silky creaminess of the firm globes beneath them for ail the world like ripe fruit that had been delicately tossed on to two orbs of smooth cream.
She lowered her fanny beneath the water. The water seemed to still and assuage the wanting ache of it a little. She ran her hands up over her hips to her waist where, thumbs behind, fingers before, she gripped the trimness of its deep curve. She spread her hand fiat over her belly just above her navel and slowly ran them bard up to beneath her breasts. As her hands met them she opened her fingers and slid them up and cupped them fiercely. She held them together and looked down at the deep, suggestive cleft formed by the crushing of them together.
He! nipples were hard and cold and pointed, digging into her hands as she clutched the firm mounds of her tils. She slowly moved her hands so that her palms massaged her erect nipples. A glow seemmed to spread from her breasts down her belly, between her thighs to her fanny. A steady, delicious pulsing began deep in the tight pinkness of her nest.
She looked towards the door. She hadn't a full view of the bedroom but she heard the sound of her husband's feet as he moved. She had left him in his dressing gown sitting on the edge of the bed examining some papers. She listened on for a moment He was quiet. A paper rustled. Slowly she slipped her hand down her belly and between her thighs which had now, sagged open... relaxed by the insistent pulsing of her cunt.
Carefully spreading her hand she dipped her middle finger deep into the soft eagerness of her quim. She shuddered and let her head fall back and raised her knees. Deeper and deeper into her aching gash slid her finger, the tip of it frotting her clitorus now erect like a tiny pink helmet in a sea of pulsing, quivering, striving flesh.
She was beginning to build towards on orgasm when she heard a step in the bedroom. She quickly withdrew her hand from between her writhing thighs and grabbed at the soap. Even in the speed of the moment the wry thought struck her as to why should she stop playing with herself just because her husband was about to appear on the scene.
The answer was quick and vivid. It would have been almost the same as being caught playing with oneself by one's mother!
The water still swirled suggestively from her recent exercises when Gerald appeared in the bathroom doorway. He leaned on the lintel and looked at her.
As always, he looked slightly embarrassed... almost as if he was looking at someone elses wife in the bath. "Nice?" he asked.
Her biting irritation at being disturbed at her onanim wasn't being eased by the nagging, reaching ache between her hard thighs.
"It's wet and warm," she replied.
"You... you look nice in the bath," he ventured.
She looked at him. "Nice and what! Nice and clean?"
"No! I mean, yes, you do look that. But I mean... well... very attractive."
She looked at him reflectively. Could anything ever change him? There he was, the very template of the Englishman, reserved, polite unshakeable in his belief that the English were the last expression of the designs of providence. Sex, to him, was definitely nice... that was to say pleasant. But there again, it was so nice that it really must be nasty. After all, wasn't it true that anything that destroyed the poised format and the relentless dignity of a chap, was well, rather not quite the thing?
"Thank you, Gerald," she said, reflectively, at last. "That's quite the sexiest thing you've said to me in ages!
"Now you're being sarcastic. I'm sort of trying to say that I do understand your point of view."
"And what is my point of view?"
"Look here, Margaret, let's face it. You are a bit sexier than me, so why can't we strike a compromise?"
She sat up in the bath, her lips curled in a sarcastic sneer.
"What do you mean? Not... not sex on Wednesday's too?"...............
"Look here, I've never seen you make any efforts to do anything," he said, hotly.
"Such as?"
"Anything."
"Like feeling around to see if you've got anything I can use?" she asked.
He was saying something but she didn't hear it. Was it her talking to Gerald like this? What had got into her to make her into an outrageous, sneering vixen in a few short hours.
A taunting obscenity sprang to her mind as a will ful explanation.
Perhaps it was what hadn't got into her!
The haunting thought of Tony in the loneliness of his dark tent flooded her mind and it was with a physical effort that she brought back her attention to what her husband was saying.
"...We've had rows before. But nothing like this. Is it because I'm going away? If it is, I really do think you might have told me before. It's a bit late in the day for me to cance! this job."
She merely heard herself saying. "Of course you must go away. lake no notice of me. It's just a mood, it'll pass."
She hardly realised that she had made this reas surance and she fell to wondering why she had made it. The conclusion was inescapable and having accepted it she never varied from her course or modified her designs.
She was glad Gerald was going. Something was going to happen between her and the boy now probably lying sleeping in his tent by Long Wood.
Now she knew it... and she knew just as well that if it wasn't him it would be someone else. Gerald wasn't enough for her... never had been. Would any one man be enough? That remained to be seen. She felt her resolve harden to the background of Gerald's rather insipid voice... speaking in the measured, inexorable sentences that were so ipressing in a dingy court where passion and life were slowed to the pace of reason and order. She would do it. She would abandon herself to sensation while she was still capable of responding to it. Not for her the regrets that sometimes seem to flood away the tranquility that should be the right of old age. Not for her the longings for "'what might have been". Who was it that had said." The best way to get ride of a temptation is to yield to it?"
Wilde... Oscar Wilde. But look where this philosophy had brought him!
The thought must have sobered her for she was again aware of Gerald rather plantively saying. "I don't think you're listening to a word I'm saying."
No point now in trying to outrage his code to startle him into the kind of activity that she so desperately needed. So she arose in the bath and said, "I'm sorry Gerald, I know I'm being awkward. Throw me the towel."
He tossed her the towel and as she bent to dry her hips she saw his eyes were upon her triangle of hair where it was alive with the sparkle of the diamonds of water.
Why not? Why not, she thought? If I'm abandoning myself to sensation why should I deny Gerald a part in it. Her lips parted. After all, he could fuck! The thought excited her and as she dried her fanny she made sure she parted the hair-bound lips so that he could see the soft, desirable pinkness that lay waiting for the ravage of thrusting sex.
He moved from his position at the door as if he would touch her.
Not knowing why, she moved anticipating and avoiding his touch. She pulled the chain of the bath-plug.
"There," she said, inconsequently.
"You could have left the water," he said, softly. "I don't mind bathing after you."
"Thank you," she said, avoiding his eyes and busying herself with her drying.
He put his left hand around her waist. Her flesh was cooling now and his hand felt warm... warm and unwanted.
"Darling," he said.
She looked at him. His face was pale, always a sign of incipient passion.
The last of the water gurgled away and she re-set the hot tap an stepped out of the bath. "Oh, do let me dry, Gerald," she said, "It's none too warm out of the water.
He look her in his arms and she folded her hands with the towel in them across her breasts and leaned back from him and regarded him gravely.
"1 wish I'd have undressed!" he smiled, sheepishly, twitching aside his dressing gown to display his black striped trousers.
"I suppose you do," she agreed. My God! Would that have stopped many men? The television serviceman who had taken brusque possession of her had told her that to function thus, standing, was known as a "knee-trembler!"
"Of course," she heard Gerald, "we could have knee-trembler!"
She stared at him and burst out laughing.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"Nothing," she gurgled, "it's just that phrase... from you! .............
"I learnt it in the Army."
She looked at him prettily, head aside. "Did you learn how to do it in the Army?" she asked.
"Are you trying to lure me into a confession of promiscuity?" he smiled.
'"No, into a demonstration of military practices," she countered.
She felt his hand slide down between their bellies. The back of his hand nudged her protuding mount. Me fumbled with his flies.
"Aren't you going to take your trousers off?" she asked.
"You asked for it Army-fashion!" he grinned.
For a moment she loved him. She clasped her arms lightly about him.
"What a bitch I've been tonight," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He was hard, very hard. She felt the rigidity of it, the base of it bearing almost painfully against the top parting of the lips of her fanny.
Had she ever herself been had standing! Goodness, was it going to come to Gerald teaching her something?
He moved slightly away from her and her eyes looked down between their bellies... hers flat and naked with the public hair a fierce blazon of blackness against the silky, slightly sallow creaminess of her skin... His hard and hairy where his flies were open.
His penis was out, jutting arched and dark against his trousers. Not exceptional in the matter of length it was thick and strong and filled her satisfactorily when its owner was willing to donate it to her service.
Her eyes gleamed as she regarded the nob, dark red almost to purple and swollen with the rages of expectancy.
A blue vein along the side of it pulsed and his foreskin was back and baring the smooth deliciousness of his masculinity.
As she put her hand down toward it she had a sudden strange feeling that she shouldn't... that it was a waste of time, that he would be disappointing, that she wouldn't have a climax, that it would be better to go to bed and dream of the dark tent down by Long Wood and wake up in the morning with sticky thighs and hot fantasies swirling in her lascivious brain.
But her fingers closed around his throbbing stem.
She feld his haunches arch towards her and his hands slipped around behind her to her buttock cheeks.
She knew more or less what would happen now.
He would part her buttock cheeks and let the edge of his hand idle between them. Then his searching fingers would ignore her anus and slip onward towards her fanny there to be ordinary and not very perse verant.
He little knew how she sometimes longed to have the cherry hued rose of her bottom toyed with, investigated and even penetrated... if only by the tip of his finger.
Sure enough, his hand parted her bottom cheeks and dipped down towards her fanny, brushing accidentally in passing her quivering anus.
"Sorry!" he muttered.
She could have killed him!
She stiffened as the edges of his fingers parted her gash and slid lengthwise along the soft moistness of her furry groove.
The tip of his forefinger found, more bij luck than judgment, the erected tip of her clitorus. She closed her eyes and shuddered with delight as he pressed the tiny helmet and stroked it softly.
"Faster!" she moaned, "Faster!"
His finger darted to and fro over her burning bud until her thighs were writhing and she was moaning in ecstasy.
Suddenly, before she was really aware of what he was doing, he turned her, seizing her almost rougly by the hips and swinging her around. He swiftly bent her forward before she had any chance to resist. For a moment she tensed, fully expecting to feel the bite of his nob against the pleated ring of her bottom.
"Keep still!" he muttered. He had one hand in front of her, his fingers parting the hairy lips of her delicious cunt. The other hand she could feel groping excitedly between her thighs at the back. She felt the burning touch of his swollen nob at the lush portals of her mossy grotto.
So this was how it was done! This was a "kneeresponse to the fierce delight his tool, raving deep into her gaping quim, aroused in her!
It thrust aside the spasm contracted walls of her love soaked vagina and whipped every nerve of her body into an orchestra of screaming lust! As the root of his member ground hard against her clitorus she gave an extra yelp of abandoned joy. She reached behind her and pulled his thighs hard against hers, as if to drag his throbing cock even deeper into the now deliciously sticky maw of her writhing, pulsing cunt. Bent forward as she was she could see his balls as they swung between her thighs.
She pushed her buttocks back violently in time to each frantic thrust of his loins and was rewarded with feeling the soft thud of his balls as they beat against her thighs.
In and out of her pulsing nest surged his pennis... on the outward stroke allowing the quim lips to close to the size of the very tip of his nob and then driving it back into her until his hair bumped hard against her hairy pube and her cunt was stretched around the thickness of his prick base and almost all of the root of it to his balls was dipped into her soft, sweet wetness.
She moaned and shrieked as he drove his shaft in and out of her burning quiver, his balls swinging through to bump against her hair half way up the triangle. She writhed and twisted, rubbing her fiery fanny against the hot rigidity of his cock, seeking to extract every last gramme of sensation from the pistonlike strokes with which he was riddling her.
She arched to meet him as he suddenly gave a moan of ecstasy. Her buttock drove hard against his trousered belly. He gave one last mad, burning thrust that sent his penis up inti her like a blazing flambeus and then she feld the swift torrential gush of his come as it was flung up into her by his orgasmic spasm.
For a moment she couldn't believe it.
"Don't finish! Don't finish!" she screamed. "I haven't come yet... Oh, Gerald... make me come!"
She wriggled her quim around his penis, but it was already softening rapidly.
He gave one or two more feeble thrust into her and she plunged her bottom backward to try and engulf the last remaining stiffness of what had been a moment before a burning lance deep in her vitals.
But it was useless. One of her mad backward thrust drove the pilyfully limp prick out of her gash and although she madly tried to scrabble it back with both hands there was nothing left to re-penetrate her gaping fanny.
She wheeled on him in a paroxysm of fury.
"You bastard!" she screamed. "You useless, sexless, impotent bastard! You can't even finish me when you've got me this far."
Her hands were almost tearing at her fanny, her fingers, two together, driving into her quim as she tried to wank herself to the climax denied her by his premature ejaculation.
He looked at her in horror and remorse as he watched her fingers clawing and working at her fanny... fingers grey with his sperm.
"Get out! Get out!" she screamed.
His limps penis hanging dejectedly from his gaping flies, Gerald turned and stumblingly left the bathroom.
Margaret turned and swiftly sat herself on the bathroom stool. She thrust out her legs stiff before her. Her hands worked dexterously between her thighs... thighs now wet with his love-juice. She threw her head back and closed her eyes.
A dark tent! A .rough blanket under her silky buttocks! The hard while pencil-like prick of a boy darting in and out her hot, gushing, loving quim. "Oh, make me come... Oh, make me come!" she cried aloud. In her ecstatic fantasy she could almost feel the surge of the boy's hard young loins as he pressed his cock inexpertly into her burning ring.
She thrust out madly with her feet and her buttocks left the stool in a spasm of delightful torment. She was thus rigid for a moment.
Then slowly her bottom sank down again to the stool and her hands slipped down from between her scintillating thighs. A shuddering gasp dribbled from her lips and she slowly bent her kness in relaxation.
She looked at her wet fingers and then slowly wiped them on a towel.
Her own love juice mingled with her husbands hung like grey pearls on the black hair of her fanny. She slowly opened her eyes and looked towards the bedroom.
The expression on her face was hardly pleasant and might have shocked her could she have seen it. It was the expression of a woman who would stop at nothing rather than ever re-live the last few moments again.
She rested the heel of her hand on the moist hair of her fanny and closed her eyes. "Tomorrow he'll be gone," she murmured.