Chapter 5
Had Shelly seen Tom that night she would have been utterly shocked. Tom, not a teetotaler by any means, enjoyed his evening cocktail but always limited his intake to no more than two, maybe three at the very most. He had gone far beyond his limit this evening.
Tom Wymore was drunk!
He had eaten no dinner, leaving Hannah to puzzle over the empty chair at the table normally occupied by him. He had pleaded a headache and had taken refuge in his bedroom with the bottle of bourbon at his side.
After Hannah had completed her housework, she turned off all the lights and went upstairs.
At Tom's door, she paused. A sudden feeling went through her she could not explain. She was in her early forties; a feeling like this had not entered her mind for some time.
Tom's door was open and she could see him lying on top of the bed, fully dressed.
Quietly, she approached the bed where he lay, her heart pounding and her throat dry. She stood over him for a long time, studying his face, his body, and feeling a deep pity for this much maligned man. And feeling, too, a strange emotion that had become more and more prominent in her thoughts over the past few months. She did not want to admit what she felt but she could not deny them. Her emotions went far beyond that of pity.
Suddenly she realized she was sexually hungry for Tom!
Gulping noisily, she walked slowly to the door, listened for a moment, then closed it, locking it as she did so. Then she returned to the side of Tom's bed, switched off the small bedside lamp and sat on the bed beside him.
Her brain pounded and she felt afraid. There was also a slight feeling of shame in her. What if he awoke and saw her there? What would he think about her sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark?
Decent women did not entertain ideas like the ones racing through her brain at this moment. She alternated between hating herself, feeling sorry for Tom, and feeling shame creep through her. But the overpowering emotion within her was the deep longing for this sleeping man, to have him hold her, caress her, make love to her.
She could not seem to control the movements of her hands as they slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Nor could she control them when they moved to Tom's sleeping body and began to undo his clothes. He groaned but did not awaken.
In a few moments, she had wrestled him out of his shirt, pulled off his trousers, shoes, and socks, and he now lay, still snoring heavily, in nothing but his shorts. Carefully, she tugged at the waist band, sliding them, inch by inch, off his hips and down his legs, until she pulled them off completely. She was panting heavily now, seeing the man she wanted lying so peacefully asleep on his bed-and so naked. It had been a long time since she had seen a naked man. She let her eyes rove over him hungrily. His cock was soft and lay coiled in the thicket of his pubic hair. Impulsively, she bent over and kissed it. It sent a shiver through her to feel the silky skin on her lips. A shudder ran through her. She took the cock in her hand and fondled it lovingly, occasionally giving it a quick kiss.
She trembled violently as she felt his prick begin to get hard. Quickly, she stood up and removed the remainder of her own clothes.
Hannah was not unattractive. She was a bit on the heavy side, yet she was not flabby. Her breasts were huge, bulbous things that hung in front of her like two melons.
Quietly, she lay down beside him, feeling her breath come in short, excited gasps and her heart still pounding furiously. Slowly and carefully, she nuzzled up to him, tingling in every fibre of her body. She put one arm over his chest and ran her hand around behind his head. Carefully, she raised up, gazed down at him for a moment, then kissed him lightly on the mouth. He groaned and turned his head. She pulled him back and kissed him again, more demanding this time.
The fear that had been in her began to disappear now, replaced by the demands of her sex-starved body. She snuggled closer, electric shocks streaking through her as her body touched his. She pressed her huge breasts against him.
She stroked his chest lightly, then let her hand trail down his stomach, then farther down. She gasped then, swallowing hard as she felt his prick; it had risen to full hardness and felt hot in her hand. In her mind, she was certain that he was awake and enjoying the love play she was giving him and the thought thrilled her even more. He wanted her, she told herself. Otherwise, why would he become aroused?
The ache and longing in her cunt was almost unbearable, and yet she toyed with him. She marveled at the idea of a male body beside her, and she caressed him lovingly until she could stand it no longer. But Tom made no move to her, gave no response other than an occasional groan and his regular snoring.
She rose on the bed, straddled him carefully, and let herself down on his stiff prick, carefully guiding it to her hot pussy.
Tom roused slightly then, mumbled something, and reached out for her. In a light rhythmic motion, she worked herself up and down, felt him respond under her, then sat down firmly to impale herself on the muscled shaft she had longed so desperately for. She wanted to yell out in delight as the rigid staff slipped into her. A delicious thrill shot through her, and she fell on him, kissing him hungrily.
He returned her kisses, pulling her tight against him, moving his hips with hers, working in perfect harmony, receiving and giving, until the moment when the time for utter ecstasy was at hand.
With a shudder, she pressed her knees against his body, felt him quiver with her, then felt the warmness grow inside her as his hot fluid spurted from his cock. For Hannah, heaven had suddenly taken her in.
After long moments, when her panting had subsided somewhat, she withdrew his cock from her, kissed him once, then got off the bed. With a few quick motions, she pulled the bedclothes over him.
Smiling slightly, she gathered her clothes, and silently left the room. As she wiggled into her nightgown, she felt a deep satisfaction within her. She knew this would not be the last time for her and Tom to enjoy love. She felt he must have been awake, that he had been fully aware of who was in bed with him.
But when Hannah shook him awake the next morning, he gave no indication that he knew what had taken place the night before. The bottle, almost three-fourths empty, glistened sickeningly at him from the bed stand. He averted the questioning look on Hannah's face and closed his eyes, as though hoping the entire horror of the previous night's drinking would go away. He frowned, trying to recall if the sex session had been dreamt or real. He looked to the side of the bed where Shelly usually slept. It was empty. No doubt he had only had a rather vivid dream, he thought. He looked at the bottle and winced.
"Are you all right?" Hannah asked.
"Yes, yes! Leave me alone, will you ?" He waved his hand in a shooting motion. She backed quickly out, closing the door quietly behind her. Disappointment was in her. She was sure now that Tom had remembered nothing of what had taken place the night before.
Tom struggled to his feet. He made his way to the bathroom where he surv-eyed the bloodshot eyes that peered blearily back at him from the mirror. He felt worse than he ever had in his life.
Shaving was a chore. He tried to keep from looking at himself, but somehow, his eyes met, cascading more shame over his conscience. Getting drunk was a serious sin to him. After he had stroked off the stubble, he showered, put on fresh clothes, avoided Hannah on his way out the back door, and went to his office.
In his condition, the problems he had laid aside the day before now became magnified. He made mistakes. He was irritated with himself and snapped at those around him. All in all, it was not a good day for Tom.
Late that afternoon, after struggling through an almost impossible day, he called home. Hannah answered and he was surprised to hear that Shelly was home. Somehow, he had forgotten about her when he left that morning. He didn't know whether she had been home during the night or not, inasmuch as he hadn't seen her, he assumed she had been out.
"Where were you last night?" he asked, as Hannah turned the phone over to Shelly.
"I was right here, Tom. Of course, you wouldn't know. Really! How long has this drinking been going on?"
"It hasn't been going on. Last night was the first night. I guess I was just overly tired. You were home? Where? I didn't see you?"
"You didn't seem too tired to lift the bottle last night. Yes, I was home. I was in the spare room. You don't think I'd sleep in there with you and that ... that stench, do you? Honestly!"
Had Shelly turned around, she would have seen Hannah's face turn pale and her hand flutter to her mouth. Hannah had been sure Shelly was not home; she would not have done what she did if that were the case. Could she have slipped in without being heard? Could she have heard what was going on in Tom's room? Hardly, she told herself. Shelly was lying.
"Will you be home tonight, Shelly?" Tom asked pleasantly.
"Of course. And be on time, will you? I invited the Weldons over."
"Tonight?"
"Yes tonight. Eight o'clock," Shelly snapped. "And, Tom ... no drinking."
"You know I don't drink that much, Shelly. For heaven's sake. Why such a big issue over one night?"
"Well, just don't drink at all. It's not becoming to you. After all, you're a grown man, you know."
"Yes, dear," he replied resignedly.
Shelly's anger was a sham. In truth, she was delighted. Tom's drinking assuaged her conscience. It erased whatever feelings of guilt she might have had over her longing for sex with someone else.
The Weldons arrived promptly at eight and the evening, at least for Tom, was pleasant enough. For Shelly, it was an outright triumph. Bill Weldon was thirty-one, about six feet one, with jet-black hair that set off his well-tanned face. He had huge arms that seemed to ripple with every move he made. Shelly had become acquainted with Mrs. Weldon at one of her club meetings. Up to now, she had never seen Bill Weldon. When she opened the door to let them in, she knew immediately she must, above all things, possess this big, bull-like man.
Of course, Shelly dominated the conversation with news of her clubs and whatever else she could think of that involved Shelly Wymore. But Tom was accustomed to this and even if the Weldons may have been bored, they showed no signs of it. For Tom, it was good to have his Shelly home for an evening, and regardless of who or what she talked about, at least it was Shelly talking. Because he was sometimes exasperated over her or disappointed that she was not home with him did not mean that he was not deeply in love with her.
When the Weldons left, Tom put his arm around Shelly's shoulder as she came and sat on the arm of her chair.
"It was nice to have you home for a change," he said, patting her shoulder gently.
Shelly ignored his remark. Instead, she said, "The Weldons bore me. She and her kids. You'd think that's all there was in the world ... the Weldon children. And did you see that dress? It looked like something her grandmother handed down to her! Didn't you find them boring, darling? What sort of work does he do? Drafting or something? How dull. Tom, we should really avoid people like that. They have no position, no aims. I would have asked her back again but I don't think I could stand her. I wonder how she ever got into the club anyway?"
During a lull in the one-sided conversation, Tom said, "I thought they were very interesting. He was telling me about...."
"Interesting? Tom, you'll just have to get out more. I think you're beginning to stagnate."
"Well, I liked them," he said patiently. "Did they invite us to their house?"
"Oh, naturally. She'd like to have us over. Who wouldn't? I don't plan to go. After all, what can either of them do for us? They're going nowhere."
"Do they have to do something for us? Can't we just visit with people without trying to gain something?"
Shelly looked at him pityingly, as though she were observing the mentally retarded. "Tom, you don't have the right outlook at all. People like that are a waste of time. I don't care to hear about her stupid kids. Furthermore, what on earth do you find interesting about drafting? Sounds terribly dull to me." She paused to take a breath, then said, "I wish you wouldn't see him again, do you understand ?"
"He doesn't do drafting the way you think. He's a very good architect from what I hear. There's a difference, you know." He took his arm away and walked to the liquor cabinet. The clinking of glasses drew Shelly's attention, and she frowned as Tom brought out a bottle.
"Care for a night cap, dear?" he asked, holding up the bottle.
"No, and you're not having one either, do you hear?"
Without a word, he replaced the glasses and the bottle, looked at Shelly with a hurt look in his eyes. He sighed, then left the room.
Fifteen minutes later she came into the bed room. She was undoing the zipper at the side of her dress as she came in. When she looked at Tom, she stopped and glared. Her face turned livid. "Tom!" she yelled.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his shorts with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. He smiled sheepishly at her and dropped the bottle into the wastebasket. "Night cap," he said simply, and fell back on the bed.
"Ooh, you're disgusting!" she hissed. She turned and stomped from the room.
Tom only groaned. He pulled his body across the bed and pulled the covers over him.
After a grueling day at the office, Tom returned home to find Shelly gone. A light dinner was all he could manage, and he found himself groping in the liquor cabinet shortly after. Then he switched on the television set and settled into his favorite chair. It was an action he was to repeat numerous times in the days ahead.
Shelly, in the meantime, had been busy, but her activities did not center around her club work. Since the night the Weldons had been over, she had made a visit to Mrs. Weldon and, without revealing her purpose, established where Bill Weldon worked, where he ate his lunch and what time he got off from work in the evening.
Shelly located Bill Weldon's office building easily enough. She waited outside until it was time for him to get off work. There was a small foyer in the three-story building and Shelly took her position just to the left of the one ancient elevator, a spot from which she could watch both the entrance and the elevator.
She had picked a perfect day for her accidental meeting. A light, cool drizzle was falling which would be her excuse for stepping out of the dampness and into the building where Bill Weldon worked. Once the casual meeting was accomplished, Shelly was sure the rest would be easy. She had seen how Bill had looked at her the night at her house, and she had made sure she had returned the obvious flirtation. This man, this huge, beautiful man, must be hers, she vowed, even if it was just for one night.
Each time the elevator came down, Shelly's heart beat faster. Then, when the time came when she knew Bill would be down, she stepped back into the rain to make it appear she had just arrived. She turned her back to the elevator but turned her head slightly so she could see who was coming out of the car.
Finally, after what seemed like hours to the impatient Shelly, Bill Weldon stepped from the elevator. He glanced her way, appraised her with a puzzled look, then came slowly up behind her.
"Well, hello, Mrs. Wymore," he said, smiling. "What are you doing in this part of town?"
Feigning surprise, Shelly moved a step away, frowning. Then, with a sudden smile, she said, "Why, if it isn't Bill Weldon. You startled me for a moment." She looked deep into his eyes, trying to convey the meaning of sex immediately to him. "Why, ah, I was looking for some things in one of the stores. It started to rain so I stepped in here to get away from the chill. It's so nasty out."
"I'm glad you did," he said.
"Do you work here?" she asked. She was smiling and there was an innocent look on her face.
"Sure do. Second floor. It's not much but we're growing and we hope to be in new offices some time next year."
"Gee, I didn't know I'd run into one of my neighbors here. It's rather a pleasant surprise."
"Do you have a ride or can I give you a lift home?"
"I, ah, have my car. Thanks anyway," Shelly replied. "But I was beginning to think longingly of a nice, cozy bar. This is the perfect day for a quiet hideaway. I don't suppose you'd be able to stop and have a drink with me?" The seductiveness in her eyes was on full force, and she held her breath for fear Bill would not take the bait she had so enticingly offered.
"Sure would," he smiled. "It's a beautiful thought. After a day up there," he jerked a thumb toward his office with a sign of distaste, "a good drink always sounds good."
He took her arm and together they walked down the crowded sidewalk. There was a bar in the next block called The Amber Inn and Bill suggested they go there, pointing out that it wasn't the fanciest place in town but that it was comfortable and secluded. "Might not look good if we're seen by too many people," Bill laughed, then winked. "You're pretty well known around town, you know."
"I'm seen with a lot of people," she said. "People are used to it."
The Amber Inn was crowded. There was no place at the bar for them to sit. Shelly noticed that most of the customers were men, although there were two women squeezed between a couple of burly men. Bill looked across the dimly-lit room, then eased Shelly to a booth almost at the rear. Most of the activity seemed to be around the bar and only two other couples were seated in the row of booths along the wall.
"There," Bill said, "you sit tight and I'll see if I can get us a couple of drinks. How about a Manhattan? That's a good drink for a day like this."
"A good choice," she smiled.
Shelly looked around the crowded room. She saw no one she knew. She pulled her raincoat from her shoulders and bunched it up on the seat beside her.
Bill was gone only a short time. When he came back he was holding both drinks in one hand. "Here," he said, "take one." Then he set his glass down, pulled off his topcoat and hung it on the hook at the end of the booth. He sat down beside her instead of across from her, then changed his mind and moved to the other side of the booth.
"What was that for?" she asked, "Two things. It looks better and, also, I want to look at you. Okay?"
Shelly was pleased with this comment and smiled as she nodded.
"Now, then, what shall we drink to first?" he asked, holding his drink up.
."How about drinking to the rain? Rain sometimes does a lot. of good."
"Fine. Here's to rain, a good drink in a friendly bar and, most of all, to good company," Bill laughed. When they had touched glasses, they both sipped lightly, then set their glasses down.
"That toast sounded like you're lonesome," Shelly said. She ran her fingers up and down the side of her glass slowly but did not look at him.
"Me? Lonesome?" he asked, seeming surprised. "Not on your life. What made you think that?"
"Your remark about good company, I guess."
"Well, it's true. I do like good company, especially beautiful women."
"Sometimes good company is hard to find."
"Now you sound lonesome. Better have another sip. Warm you up, make you feel better. Or is it the rain that makes you feel depressed?"
"I didn't know I was depressed, but you could be right about being lonesome." Obediently, she raised her glass, looking over the rim at him as she sipped slowly and deliberately. She observed his strong hands and his muscular shoulders and let the thrill pass through her unchecked.
When she casually looked away, she could see from the corner of her eye that he was appraising her closely. He appeared to like what he saw. She could see him watching the rise and fall of her breasts, which she made certain to push out even more as he looked. She was confident that he was interested in her in a way that was anything but that of a neighbor and casual friend. She turned and looked at him with an approving smile, letting him know she had seen him watching and letting him know, too, that she approved wholeheartedly.
"It's funny," he said, suddenly reaching out and taking one of her hands, "but we've lived so close for so long and never met before."
"Disappointed?"
"I sure am."
"Why?"
He looked at her with a knowing look. "I think you and I could make beautiful music together," he said. "Tell me, is there any reason why we can't go somewhere and make up for lost time?"
"You'd like to show me your etchings?" she laughed.
"Well, that's the general idea. How about it?"
Shelly knew the man-trap game well. Offer, offer, promise, promise, and then suddenly deny. The natural instinct of the female was more distinct in her than any two others, and she made the most of it. She knew her manner and her remarks would have the desired effect on Bill if he had intentions of taking her to bed. In a sudden fear of losing out altogether, she knew he would make his move, for an offended woman is not the type that gives a man her pleasures willingly.
"Let's go," he said suddenly. "I know a place."
Without another word, she got to her feet, handed her coat to him so he could help her into it, then stood waiting while he fumbled with his own coat. Had he looked at her at that moment, he would have seen the smile of a lioness, for Shelly's satisfaction was almost complete. The affair in bed with him was only an anticlimax to what she had come for. But of course, she would enjoy the anticlimax to its fullest for the heat of passion was already burning her face.