Chapter 2
The meeting was conducted according to Robert's Rules of Order, with Serena presiding as Chairwoman. The discussion of the day was the possible acquisition of a rather unusual Surrealistic masterpiece, discovered by one of the women at an auction.
The painting was to go up for sale the following day. Mrs. Smythe-Holmes was positive that it would be a gem for the library.
Serena stifled her yawns, and smoked excessively, trying to avoid the delicacies she had prepared for the group. She listened to them talking about "abraded sensibilities,"
"A sense of outraged decorum," and "scandal," until she almost screamed from the futility of it all.
"Ladies," Serena said firmly. "We are all out of order. Alice, darling, you had something to say, and then you Alicia, and then you, Patricia. Anyone else who wishes to contribute to the conversation shall raise her hand, and the Chair will acknowledge you."
"I move that...."
"No, Alice, the motion has already been made and seconded. We are discussing, Alice, discussing!"
There were a few raised eyebrows, and some nods of approval among the older women. Serena was noted for being easy going, with a charming, slightly bored look about her, that the ladies in her social set took for her particular style of savoir faire. Little did they know! Her present firmness was pleasing to them.
Serena chaired the rest of the meeting firmly, watching the women's bodies, assessing their sexual assets, frankly, something she would not have done at seven-forty-five this morning, just before Marie arrived.
Serena knew that she had been assessing female bodies for quite some time. As a matter-of-fact, women, especially attractive women, had always turned her on. In the last few years however, she was assessing feminine sexual assets, not as a woman proud of her own assets, but in a comparative sense.
Serena knew she had been going to pot, passively, resignedly, and, until the advent of Marie, inevitably. She could always spot the flaw in a body, and she knew as she looked these women up and down, now, that it was because she was painfully aware of her own self-induced flaws.
As Serena contemplated the women, she noticed Alicia twitching in her seat. It wasn't the twitching of a woman impatient to speak, she thought, smirking. Either Alicia had got some very good nookie the night before, or she was anticipating some of same.
Serena's pussy was weeping for hunger. The old Serena would have known where to go to get what she wanted, and it would have always been available to her, but now that she was a respectable married lady....
Just what the hell was respectable, she thought, suddenly disgruntled. If only she could make herself over. But that was not what she wanted. Her heart cried for the unvarnished hellion of old, the charmer.
Serena had made a decision this morning. She didn't want to be a new woman, to make herself over. She was going to dig to find the old Serena, the sexy, brazen, gorgeous, daring woman she used to be. And she was going to find the old Serena, because she knew the old Serena had captured her husband initially, and she intended to recapture him, and Marie too.
Serena always insisted on having her cake and eating it, too, and Serena always got her way, before she had transformed herself into a plastic model, to please her husband, and her husband's displeased family.
But Serena was also unsure about her decision. She wondered just how perverted she was. There had always been that doubt, and that doubt had added titillation to her sexual adventures. But this was a different story. She didn't know if she loved her husband when she married him. She knew he came from a well-to-do family, and Serena was attracted to his social graces, to his education, his charm, and his manners.
Serena had decided to capture both worlds. She certainly missed the old one. Her pussy twitched again, as a motion was made to adjourn the meeting, the decision about the painting being tabled while several of the women went to the auction house to study its merits. There would be a hurried breakfast meeting at Alicia's house in the morning to resolve the issue.
Luncheon was served on the patio. Serena toyed with her food, but ate nothing. And finally, at about one-thirty, the women said their goodbye's, and Serena sighed with relief. The ordeal was over, for now.
Before pursuing her plans, which had been formulated clearly during luncheon, she decided to check in on the children. As she reached the children's romp room, where Marvin said they had been all morning, James Jr. came rushing toward her, crying.
"Mother, she hit me!" he cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Marie.
"Well dear," said Serena, smiling down at her handsome son, the image of his father, "you must have deserved it."
Then, after a few cursory comments, and questions, to determine if Marie were happy, she sailed out of the room, bent on her own quest for ultimate happiness.
Her first stop was the bedroom. She kicked off her shoes, and lay back on the bed. She was supposed to meet Mrs. Penrose for an afternoon shopping spree, but instead, she called Mrs. Penrose and told her that she was exhausted after the exciting meeting, spending some time describing the issue at hand.
Mrs. Penrose decided that she would go to the auction house to look at the scandalous painting with which the Ladies' Auxiliary hoped to deck out the library, instead.
Serena lay back on the bed, and dozed. And her dreams conjured up the old life, as the mirror this morning had done. Even the gnawing hunger was a familiar sensation-a reminder to Serena that life hadn't always been so posh.
It had been a private party, the one that Serena was dreaming about. She had had a particularly successful show that evening. The dancing company was in Madrid. After the show, when she went backstage, she had found a huge bouquet of roses with a note attached.
It said, "You are adorable. I shall meet you at twelve p.m. at el Cantador."
Not, "Please," or "May I?" None of the timid, adoring requests of most of her fans. It was a command. And Serena adored commands!
The dozing Serena stirred on the bed, her head moving restlessly from side to side, as she remembered dressing quickly, and walking the short distance from the theater to the night club. She was filled with a sense of adventure.
Aside from the command, there was no way of knowing what the man looked like, or who he was, and Serena really didn't care. When she arrived at the door, the doorman looked at her, and bowed.
"This way, Senorita. You are at table 'one'.
Serena's eyes danced, and her heart beat excitedly. She couldn't wait to meet the man, and she gasped with pleasure, as she saw him, sitting alone at a beautifully situated table.
He rose, dark eyes glowing, his black hair refracting blue highlights in the dim candlelight with which the room was lit. And he was handsome! Serena's heart rose to her mouth and she swallowed hard, as she felt her pussy cream.
"Good evening, Serena," he said, smiling sexily.
"Good evening, Senor. I am sorry I cannot return the compliment of knowing your name."
"Manuel."
"Oh," said Serena, slightly abashed at his brusqueness. "How did the doorman know who I was?"
"He knew," Manuel said, snapping his fingers for a waiter. Without consulting Serena as to her wishes, he ordered wine, and dinner for the two of them. It was superb, and much to Serena's liking, but as the meal progressed, she became slightly anxious. The man proffered no stories, made no jokes, told her nothing about himself, and Serena, who had been rattling blithely on, was suddenly silenced. Dessert and an exquisite Spanish wine passed, appreciated in silence. Again Manuel snapped his fingers for the waiter, who presented the check, which he signed. Then he rose abruptly, and taking Serena by the elbow, he escorted her out of the night club, and into a waiting limousine.
They drove for about an hour, arriving finally at a palatial residence that looked like a leftover from the age of the Spanish Grandee. In silence, they sipped cordials in a huge, high-ceilinged room, with a massive fireplace.
Then Manuel got up, and approached her smiling.
"You are the kind of woman I desire," he said. "I knew, the moment I laid eyes on you, that I would have you."
He pulled her roughly out of the velvet chair in which she had been sitting, and kissed her roughly. Then he smiled at her again, and steered her toward the huge, marble staircase in the great hall.
Serena's heart was pounding in her chest, as he steered her up the stairs, down a long corridor, and into a huge bedroom, with a canopied bed. The room was beautiful, furnished in heavy mahogany and teakwood pieces, the soft polished sheen of the wood offset by the heavy, clear red drapes and bedspread.
This was the kind of adventure that Serena adored. And it was certainly different from any she had ever had before, in her travels. Her cunt was creaming for this tall, handsome, silent man. And her sexual excitement was heightened by the knowledge that this man was not going to be gentle.
"Get undressed," he commanded, as he began to remove his own clothes. Serena decided to play it to the hilt.
"No," she purred, embracing the post of the canopied bed. The man raised his expressive, thick dark eyebrows.
"No?" he questioned.
"No." said Serena, smiling coyly.
"Then perhaps we will have to undress you ourself," said the man, smiling, the glow in his eyes deepening with an impending lust, that made Serena shiver.
He had removed his jacket and tie at this point, and he desisted in his undressing efforts, as he moved swiftly to Serena, still embracing the bed post.
With one swift, not-too-gentle movement, he had ripped her black silk gown off her back. Serena wore no underwear. Her perfect, well-trained dancer's body did not require any. Nor had she worn any panty hose.
She gasped at the suddenness of the move, and then she became angry, fire lighting her dark brown eyes.
"Look what you've done to my dress, you bastard!"
She didn't know she had been slapped in the face, until she felt herself bouncing on the soft mattress of the bed, stars in her eyes. He moved like a matador, and he had the strength of a bull. Serena gazed up at him with wide-open, surprised eyes.
He was standing over her, his legs slightly spread, the white collar of his evening shirt open at the neck, revealing a very hairy chest. Serena could feel the sticky residue of her cream between her thighs, which she had bunched up until her knees were almost pressing against her huge, lovely breasts.
"A woman does not address a man in those terms. They are disrespectful, and unbecoming. I shall have to teach you a lesson in manners. American women need such lessons, more than women from other countries," he said, his hands going to the buckle on his belt.
Serena watched, fascinated, as his long, powerful fingers undid the clasp of the silver buckle, and removed the belt from the waistband of his trousers.
She tried to move away from him, her face already wincing as she anticipated the first blow. She knew it was coming. She had hoped for it. It was part of her kinky nature to enjoy beatings, as long as she was not maimed or bruised.
The man raised his arm slowly, the belt snaking with brutal, coiled strength along his forearm. Then, with a practiced, deft flick, the belt landed on her folded haunches.
Serena screamed with the pain, and before she had finished her first scream, the belt landed again. Serena was holding onto the bed post for dear life, bracing herself against the smarting kiss of the leather belt against her bare flesh.
Her large, white haunches quivered, as the belt landed again, each blow leaving a red welt where it landed.
"N-n-nooooo, please," cried Serena, holding up her arm to her face to ward off the blows. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"Apologies are easily rendered. Reparation is another matter," growled Manuel, as he swung again, this time hitting her exposed tit.
The blows came fast and heavy, as Serena squealed, and writhed on the bed. And as the pain mounted, so did her passion.
At one point in Manuel's effective thrashing, she reached over, attempting to get to his crotch, to lower his zipper. She had been watching the growing bulge in his pants, with growing desire. And she wanted his cock, wanted it now, now.
"Oh, please," she murmured, trying to ward off the blows and get to Manuel's cock at the same time.
"Hahhh!" Manuel husked fiercely, grabbing her grasping hand with his free one. He wrenched her hand away from his zipper and threw her against the headboard of the bed, violently.
Serena cracked her head against the heavy wood, and was momentarily stunned. "So, you would behave like a whore?" Manuel hissed, dropping the belt. Swiftly, he removed his clothes, and as his pants were pulled down over his thighs, dropping in a lump at his ankles, his cock popped out, massive, angry red, and throbbing. Serena gasped as she saw his massive weapon.
"So," Manuel repeated, "You want to behave like a whore? I will treat you as one, you brazen slut!"
Roughly he reached over, and grabbing her ankles, pulled her down to the middle of the bed. Then he threw himself on top of her, and with no more foreplay than the whipping which had whipped her pussy into frenzied excitement, he thrust his huge cock into her, until his balls were slapping against her ass cheeks.
Serena moaned, from pain, and from the pleasure the pain was giving her. Her pussy was sufficiently lubricated so that Manuel had easy access, but his massive dork, and the violence of his thrusting were causing her acute discomfort, and that discomfort was further enhancing the rills of pleasure that were running through her.
She was still seeing stars. Her body ached from the tension of resisting Manuel's driving belt, but her pussy was starting to turn a mushy warm, soft glowing ball of fluff, and the fluff was spreading, easing out her tense and tortured muscles, as the warmth spread, slowly at first and then, as Manuel humped furiously into her now writhing hips, growing more insistent.
Serena was moaning as she drew her knees up, to get more of Manuel's huge, hot hammer into her creaming pussy. She reached up and threw her arms tightly around his sweating, thick neck. She felt his sweat pouring off his body, dropping onto her bruised and battered flesh.
Manuel increased the speed of his fucking, his head now buried in her neck, his teeth biting hard on her earlobe.
"So, whore, how do you like to be fucked like a whore."
"Mmmmm...." husked Serena, giving herself up to the pleasure that was driving through her in huge waves, rendering her mad with ecstasy.
"Slut, cunt! You think you can tease a man with that body, and not give yourself to him. Take it, you sleazy whore. Take ... my ... cock!" And with each word, Manuel drove into her, beating her creaming pussy with the violence of his fucking.
Serena started to wail, as her orgasm hit her throat. She felt her pussy muscles contracting and expanding around Manuel's thrusting pleasure pole. She felt her whole body go stiff as the flashes of sweet hot ecstatic pain drove through her. She arched her hips up onto Manuel's sex-sword, feeling herself pierced to the most secret depths of her womanhood, feeling the pain grip her and drive her to pleasure; feeling the pleasure explode within her into a thousand slivers of quaking, writhing delight.
Her orgasm was a long and fierce one, and as it subsided slightly, fading away slowly, ponderously, she felt Manuel's cock grow and twitch in her slowly relaxing pussy.
He started to come, grunting, muttering obscenities in her ear. He came violently, hammering his hips into her bruised and swollen pussy, torturing her with the violent driving of his pleasure pole. She felt his come spurt into her still-creaming snatch spurting up, up into her woman-hole, easing the inflamed walls of her brutalized snatch.
As he came, he reached under her buttocks, and pulled her hips up onto his driving dork, which was slamming home heavily, giving Serena a sexual beating such as her cunt had never known before.
His assumption was that she would acquiesce. She certainly did! She could feel the orgasmic rills still rippling through her, as Manuel, in an incredibly protracted orgasm, ejaculated long, thick, and massive streams of cream into her cunt.
She could feel his sweat pouring off him, onto her, bathing their two bodies, causing lewd, wet, smacking sounds as their bodies met in the copulatory ritual that has been the center of man's attention since the world began and Adam began playing with his penis, and Eve with her cunt.
Serena was moaning heavily, as Manuel pounded mindlessly into her. Their combined come-juices were slurping around in Serena's cunt, coating Manuel's cock and making it gleam on the out-stroke. The wet, sticky noises filled the air, adding to the heavy sexual atmosphere.
Manuel had turned into a mindless beast.
As Serena felt another orgasm sweep over her, she realized that Manuel was still coming. She hugged him close. She would probably never see him again.
Finally, he collapsed on top of her, gasping, wheezing, his chest heaving with the attempt to fill his tortured lungs with air. Serena had almost fainted with the violence of her own orgasm.
She lay passive beneath his powerful body, his victim, his prey, his property, a mere piece of flesh for him to do with as he would.
And he used her, brutally all night. And Serena came all night, came in great gushing waves of cream, and writhing, and moaning, and screaming. At dawn, he got off her as abruptly as he had mounted her. He sauntered to the bathroom, and took a shower, casually, inviting her to join him.
In the shower, he made her scrub his back, and wash him, and when she had finished, he left the shower, and got dressed.
When she came out of the bathroom, there was a lovely new dress on the bed, to replace the one so violently torn from her body the night before.
Serena writhed on her bed, and awoke with a start, sweat pouring from her body. She had come in her sleep! As she lay there, trembling, feeling the after-spasms of the orgasm, she had a sudden, surging, intense desire to meet Manuel again.
Dark, passionate, abusive Manuel. Anything would be better than her husband's indifference, his bland approach to sex.
Then she sat up. Maybe she could find an appropriate substitute for Manuel, right here in her own, dull, meticulously ordered house.
She smiled, and got up to take a shower. The late afternoon sun was streaming through the windows. Serena did not want to go down to the dining room.
She buzzed the intercom, and Martha answered.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Martha, 'do not set a place for me for dinner. I am not feeling well, and I think I shall rest in my room for the evening. Instruct my husband that I am not to be disturbed."
"Yes, Ma'am. Is there anything I can do for you? Some soup?"
"No, Martha, it's nothing serious. Just exhaustion. I want to sleep."
Serena didn't want to sleep. But she didn't want to eat either. Serena had decided to get back into shape. She knew she would need to be in shape for the gymnastics she intended to indulge in. She took a quick shower, and using the service staircase she slipped out into the quiet evening, and walked to the woods, to be by herself, away from the constraints of decorum.
She needed to think, not about who she was. She had been out of touch with herself for a long time, but she was assured of her self-possession, and eventually, as she worked at it, also of her physical assets.
What she needed to plot was, how to seduce Marie. And more importantly, how to seduce her husband-again.
As she walked easily through the woods, smelling the fresh earth under her feet, and sweet smell of flowers blooming, she smiled.
Yes, after nine years of marriage, it was time for a second honeymoon. She felt her pussy quiver again at the thought. She reached "a brook, which wound through a steep incline, down into a pool, where the family swam frequently during the summer months. It was still and limpid, as she reached it. She bent over it, looking into its mirrored surface. She patted her chin ruefully, noting the blurred outline.
Soon, she promised herself, soon....