Chapter 5
The moist, shredded kleenex wad found its way to Polly's sniffling nose onee more. Intermittent sobs, chorused by the rattle of ice cubes in Myra's impatiently empty gin glass filled the room with depressive silence. Outside the expansive bay windows, leaves danced in the crisp October air with a freedom the distraught wife found agonizing.
Ted wouldn't make love to me last night. I did what you suggested, I let myself be aggressive and seduce him, but he still wouldn't make love to me! Oh, Myra."
Holding the wad to her perky nose, she grasped the other woman's warm hand for self assurance and comfort, and sobbed so hard her cheeks rouged for want of breath. "I feel so terrible!"
"Pull yourself together, honey. Tell me what happened." Myra's eyes glinted with lusty hunger. "Did he touch you, did he just refuse ... tell me!" Ted Atkins had been an object of Myra's fantasies for years; her empty belly congested needfully as Polly conjured up the courage to speak.
Polly sniffed loudly and as her chin trembled and dimpled with sadness, she studied the rapt expression on her college mate's face. To openly admit that Ted had wanted to put his mouth on her vagina and satisfy her in that animalish manner was not easy to express-even to Myra. Then, too, Ted would be irate beyond words if he knew she'd discussed their sex life with Myra. The two enjoyed an open hostility, fermenting since college days.
Polly's pearly teeth clamped over her succulent lips for a thoughtful moment. "He wouldn't put it inside. He wanted to use his mouth," she choked out in revulsion. "Then he got mad and left. Oh, I don't know where he went... out drinking I suppose, or out with that, that woman!"
Myra cocked an arched eyebrow, a smirk creasing the heavy red line of her lips. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander. Ever think of playing around, Polly?"
Polly's blue eyes saucered. "How could you suggest such a thing? I love Ted!"
Myra swung one lithe leg over the other, curling one foot under her rounded buttocks. "You're all broken up, your ego is about as big as a pinhead, and you can't quit feeling sorry for yourself!" Throwing back her burnished head, she drained her drink and sashayed toward the bar for a quick refill. "Do you think Ted wants a woman like that?" she snickered.
"Well, I'd never thought of it that way," conceded Polly in a tiny voice.
"You've got to make up your mind to rid yourself of jealousy and these stupid sexual hang-ups. They're needless baggage and until you can free yourself, your marriage to Ted will be pure disaster!" she promised in a thick voice.
A quick swirl of the swizzle stick and the lithe bodied woman, draped in a raw silk caftan, settled on the sofa. "Tonight I'm inviting one of my teachers over for dinner. I want you to stay and meet him, he's a very intelligent and handsome man." A seductive smirk twitched at the uptilted corners of Myra's luscious mouth. "I'm sure the three of us will have a great time. You can't sit home and mope forever!"
Socializing with Myra and enjoying an intimate tete a tete showed the two faces of Myra Belfry. An eccentric with a penchant for the macabre, she enjoyed the tantalizing effects of toying with people's minds, pitting them against each other and reveling in the outcome. That could make her a disarmingly spontaneous social butterfly. Other times, like yesterday and today, Myra was all heart, giving and open. It was that Myra that Polly had grown to trust. Still, she balked at the invitation.
"I really should pick up around the house a bit, but thanks." Hastily, she snatched up her purse and headed for the door.
Myra blocked her path. "I insist!" She pressed her lithe body against the wooden plank cracked open from Polly's hasty retreat. A gust of cold air rippled through Polly's blonde curls as Myra's pressured it shut. "Your ego needs a lift, God knows, and Ed would love to meet you! He's an expert on marriage ... you might call him a professor," she grinned conspiratorially.
Unnerved by the insistence (and how else could she get out the door?) Polly agreed on seven o'clock and headed for her silver Volkswagen. From the rearview mirror, she caught Myra's purple robed silhouette as she plucked the receiver from the cradle and nestled it to her gold-bedecked ear.
Dr. Dearborn hailed from the South. An ex-Baptist minister in the sultry lowlands of Atlanta, he'd masterminded a phenomenal church following garnered through a network of radio and television programs where his frantic, Christian plea for funds to build a church dedicated to the people, earned him a cool two million the first year. The funds and donations poured in, but the walls were slow in being erected. By the end of the third year, the 'Dr. Dearborn Christian Hour' was no longer logged on the Sunday morning radio lineup, and the public reached the logical conclusion that they'd been had.
A genius with cunning charisma, he'd turned his exploitive talents to a fresher institute which he lovingly termed the Sexology Institute of America, dedicated to happier, more Christian marriages. At least that was the voiced intention. In reality, the institute was a whorehouse of lust.
Unfortunates such as Myra Belfry-Johnson-Carlyle-Osgood-Rainier-Camdon unhappy in marriage and seeking a reason for successions of frustrations, paid hefty sums to learn the sexual devices of entrapment. Courses in 'Self-Fulfillment', 'It's Fun With More Than One', 'Lingerie', 'The Whip Doesn't Always Hurt', and other courses aimed at unscrewing the libido turned out graduates who, in their courses of study, had become disciples of the infamous Dr. Dearborn, more commonly known as Ed.
Now, as Polly knocked timidly on Myra's front door, it was Ed's handsomely chiselled, mustached face that smiled back at her. He wore a natty three-piece suit, conservative tie crisp around his neck. A deep tan from a Hawaiian holiday deepened his cheeks, giving him a healthy glow. His eyes danced like a cat toying with its tortured prey as she extended a warm hand which he pressed to his lips.
Polly choked, wishing she hadn't come. Ted had been sitting in his recliner, can of beer in hand, when she'd slipped unannounced out of the house. They might have spent the night discussing the problems of their marriage, instead of her running off for cocktails with one of Myra's lovers.
Myra gushed with social grace. In the crackling light of the fireplace, she oozed sensuality! A burgundy crepe evening dress with a slit running from ankle to thigh accentuated the ripe mounds and swells of her mature body. Her panther-like sensuality lent itself sumptuously to the sleek lines of the deep, blood red garment. Her burnished hair was brushed to a riotous glow, gleaming in the firelight. Her voice was thick and lusty when she said: "Ed, meet Polly, an old friend of mine from college. She's the woman I told you about-the one with the sexual hang-ups."
Polly blushed crimson and settled, unnerved and squirming, on the matching chair adjacent to Dr. Dearborn. What right had Myra to talk of her married life in these intimate terms! "Oh, Myra, please..." she hissed through clenched teeth, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her blue wool dress as if the spoken word sex were capable of undressing her in front of Dr. Dearborn's piercing dark eyes.
"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, Polly. We've been talking about sex for two days, and talk won't change anything!" Swaggering her hips, she plucked a log from the brass holder and leaning over until her creamy breasts almost spilled from the deep vee of her neckline, lay the log in the crackling flames. Straightening, she grinned at Polly. "We're all friends, darling, there's no reason to be embarrassed!"
Polly accepted a snifter of brandy, despite the fact that she hadn't eaten all day. Nervousness from last night's humiliation chiseled away at her appetite, and with Ted pounding around the house today complaining of a hangover and carefully ignoring her, it had hardly created an atmosphere for dining. The alcohol burned down her gullet. Beside her the fire roared, beading her satiny forehead with perspiration. Daintily, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, wishing she hadn't worn wool.
To her right, she felt Dr. Dearborn staring at her, his face set in a smirk, tight and haughty. The unnerving sensation that she'd walked into the middle of an intimate moment was difficult to dispel; the electricity between Dr. Dearborn and Myra snapped, with Polly the circuit breaker.
"We'll eat in a bit," promised Myra, grabbing the phallic-shaped brandy decanter by the neck and tipping it generously. "I hope you like clams, darling."
"Sounds fine with me," Polly's voice was small and tremorous. I wish he'd quit looking at me like that! One more brandy, and Polly excused herself to the bathroom. The brandy burned in her stomach and a light headed dizziness set in from hunger and the growing heat in the living room.
Polly took longer than usual dragging a hairbrush through her tight blonde curls haloeing her dimpled face. She tucked the brush back into her evening bag, set the alligator bag on the glass shelf, and stepped back to examine her image in the full length crystal mirror of Myra's dressing room.
"Oh, no," she groaned. The button of her dress had loosened and a wisp of white lace stuck up for Dr. Dearborn's hungry eyes to see! No wonder he'd been staring at her! With a grunt of dismay, she deftly closed it, a chill rippling through her body, followed by a crimson blush as she wondered how Dr. Dearborn had responded to the ripe swell of her creamy bosom pushed together in an exaggerated cleavage. After Myra's introduction about sexual hang-ups, he must have found her indecency amusing!
Examining the seams in her stockings for straightness, she hurriedly ironed her dress free of wrinkles. It was so hot in the living room, the wrinkles had steamed in, she feared, snatching her evening bag and deciding return to the living room via the kitchen to get a glass of water. Her mouth was dry from the brandy. She pressed the door open with the force of her sweating palms. Abruptly, her eyes spitted and her jaw dropped in shock.
Myra was standing with her back to Polly, her firm breasts pressed tight to Ed's chest, their arms twisted together. They were kissing and squirming their bodies together, both of them grunting and groaning together like a couple of mating animals. Polly pulled her head back instantly, hearing the ominous whine of a zipper being pulled down. Of all indecent things! If Myra had wanted to seduce her doctor, couldn't she have done so in private; why did Polly have to play voyeur? Like two high school students, they were pawing each other.
Polly was transfixed on the lusty disgrace. She could see the quivering flesh of Myra's smooth ass cheeks and sleek thighs as they ground hungrily against Ed's bulging loins, and Ed's muscular thighs were pressed against the five-times married woman with unmitigated desire.
"You really think she will?" Polly heard Dr. Dearborn whisper throatily. "Naw ... I can't imagine it. . ."
Myra's husky retort was broken off in a thick laugh. For a moment, Polly thought she might faint with outrage. Suspicion and disgust rose bile-like in her throat. Who were they talking about? Certainly Myra wasn't cruel enough to mock her guest after the opening jibe about sexual hangups! Polly choked with the fear of being discovered spying on the two lovers.
".. .pull the wires ... that's all it takes..."
Myra was quick to reply, and did so in a hushed giggle. "Yess ... she will... we'll make her!"
Dr. Dearborn snickered. "Mmmm... sweet blondes ... love 'em!" Then he swept Myra back into his arms again, oblivious to the seething guest pressed to the doorway. He mashed his mustache-tickling lips down on Myra's succulent ones, and Polly gawked in mortification as the doctor reached one examining hand down to one of Myra's rounded buttocks and give it a salacious squeeze. Horrified, Polly watched as his outstretched middle finger dipped into the crevice, slowly caressing up and down between her trembling ass cheeks. In answer, Myra's thighs began to grind automatically, at first from side to side and then in ball bearing circles as she ground her abdomen into his bulging loins, faster and faster.
Polly's throat tightened in disgust. She could stand it no longer! First the scathing insult, then leaving her alone while they mauled each other's bodies in the kitchen! Revulsion sprinkled through her brain. Pressing her purse against her chest and her lips into a straight line, she dipped into her handbag and fingered her keys. She would leave without announcement if they didn't cease their rapacious display this second! Gritting her pearly teeth, stole one more peek before retrieving her own coat from the hall closet and saying goodbye to Myra once and for all.
Their moans chorused, waning and waxing in the full moon of their passion. Yet Polly had to admit that a tingling warmth had begun deep in the heart of her womb, sharing Myra's passion. Last night's frustrations were heavy in her belly. Her nipples beneath her whitelace brassiere were hardening into nubs of sensitivity. She hated herself for feeling this involuntary emotion, feeling soiled... like the afternoon with the filthy magazines!
The irate house guest didn't try to tip toe back to the living room. The click of her high heels against the hardwood floor echoed through to the kitchen, separating the passion-aroused lovers in startlement. It was a tight-faced Polly that Myra found sitting demurely next to the fireplace. Quickly, she filled her friend's glass with the amber liquid.
"The doctor and I were heating water for our steamed clams," smiled Myra smugly. "I hope we haven't left you alone too long."
'That's okay," chirped Polly, irritated to the bone. "I'm really not very hungry... in fact, I'm not feeling very well. Thank you for the drink, Myra, I think I'll be going." Polly started to rise off her chair, fighting dizziness.
"Please, no. . ." Myra was one shade light of contrite. Her eyes fled to the bay window and she blocked her guest's view of her car parked in the drive. "It will only be minutes ... and Ed would be so disappointed if you left. We've got so much to talk about!"
The iron curtain of escape was pulled shut, and Polly, quite against her will, settled back on the chair. The eerie, discomforting feeling that she was the subject of a cruel game of "Get the Guest" popped into mind and Polly was drawing several comparisons between Virginia Wolfs character and her own hostess, when her ears, preened for suspicions, caught the sound of a door closing, very slowly and deliberately hushed.
"Ah, here's Ed now. Let's have another drink!" They made small talk about the Sexology Institute and, after her fourth brandy on an empty stomach, Polly felt a warm vertigo ripple in her stomach. She realized she was quickly approaching inebriation. She needed coffee, she needed food; she didn't need these two people gawking at her with silly smirks.
Impatiently, she crossed her stockinged legs in a whoosh and tapped her fingers on the chair's arm. She felt them staring at her. Their two heads multiplied to four and in a burst of panic, she realized she was too drunk to drive. They were deliberately getting her drunk, it seemed, and starving her, too!
Ed and Myra watched Polly's eyelids droop and her head nod from heat and alcohol. Dr. Dearborn could see she was very uncomfortable, but too polite to complain. Not that complaints would help replace the pulled wires in her car. Yes, she was here for the night, like it or not, and after Myra's juicy tale of marital eruptions, tonight would promise to be a wild evening of Myra's games.
That's what he admired about Myra-her mental agility in playing with people's minds. Therapy had unscrewed her libido, and he'd watched a woman nearly frigid for contempt of men blossom into a sensual flower, earthy and vibrant and lustfully delightful!
Now the doctor's mind was filled with a wild desire to fuck the Titian haired blonde. His penis and testicles ached furiously with the need to slip his cock inside her pink pussy and plant his steaming cum deep inside her tender belly. That and other amusing tortures of her pulchritudinous body and spirit. And Myra had led him to her!
Myra fanned herself with a flapping hand. "The fireplace radiates a lot of heat ... it must be ninety degrees in here!" She blew down her neck. "Here, darling, have some more brandy ... it's great for the appetite!"
"Oh, no thank you...." Polly's voice was weak, her head swimming. "I really should get home... I'm not feeling very well."
Dr. Dearborn fanned his cheeks with a linen handkerchief plucked from his suit coat pocket. He stared by the fireplace where Polly sat in a slumped, drunken dizziness, her cheeks flushed, forehead dotted with perspiration. She could catch her head in mind-roll, blinking her tired eyes to alertness. Her fingers were white knuckled from hanging onto the chair's arm, as if that alone were keeping her from slumping to the floor.
"How long have you and your husband been married?" he queried, smiling disarmingly. "You really should take some courses at the institute." He turned to his accomplice. "A course in joys of oral sex," he said nonchalantly, ".. .would suit you fine, don't you agree, Myra?"
His words came as if from miles away, out of a blue haze of heat. Myra tittered; Polly burned. "I don't think that's very funny," she objected. Her mouth was dry, her voice thick, her tongue lazy. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really have to get home ... I'm not feeling very well...." As she rose clumsily out of her chair, Dr. Dearborn shot off the sofa and eased her down.
"Please, you've only just arrived." Deftly, he plucked her empty snifter from the end table. "Have another drink with us... it's so good for the appetite." Myra nodded, the queen of seduction glorying in her approaching hour of triumph.
"No ... no more brandy." The words tumbled with effort from Polly's mouth. She braced her dimpled chin in her upturned palm and blinked at her ex-college mate.
Myra smiled cattishly. "If you won't go to school, Polly, we're going to bring the institute to you." Polly blinked as Myra worked at the side zipper of her tightly molded evening dress, pulling the burgundy bodice down over her creamy shoulders. "First we're going to take a look at our bodies and forget embarrassment." Standing up, the red-haired woman peeled out of the clinging dress, pulling it down over the ripe mounds of her breasts cupped in lacy patches of black lace hugging her slender ribcage, down over the flat bowl of her belly, over the black lace strip of her garter belt with its lacey straps holding up fishnet stockings. Around the elastic bands of her bikini panties, black tendrils of pussy hair sprouted. With a sigh of rejection, Myra let the garment puddle at her feet. She kicked the Vanderbilt labeled dress with the toe of her shoe and fell back on the sofa, crossing her stockinged legs.
"God, it feels great being free of clothes!" She sighed heavily, mindless of Dr. Dearborn sitting a hand's reach away.
"Myra!" Polly sobered up quickly. "There's a man in the room...!" Any admiration or kinship Polly might have been seduced into enjoying with Myra Belfy was quickly evaporating.
"You mean you don't undress for Ted?" piqued Myra. "No wonder he's bored with you!"
Polly's blue eyes slitted. "You've no right to talk to me like that, Myra, no right at all!" She was sitting on the edge of her chair now, cheeks red with anger and alcohol.
Myra's eyes rested levelly on Polly's flushed cheeks. "Some people learn naturally, some have to be taught. Unfortunately, you fall into the latter category. Some day you'll thank me for this, Polly. I have no reason to be ashamed of my body."
Cocking an eyebrow, she poked out her glossy lips and drew a deep breath that made her melon-like breasts swell and threaten to burst the flimsy strip of black lace, showing all but the tips of her puffy nipples. Brazenly, she ran blood red fingertips over the nearly naked creamy flesh. "Hmmm ... I'm cooling off already."
"I'm not ashamed of my body, either, Myra... but I don't strip in front of men. That's-that's animalish!" Her curls bobbed in the heat of anger. How could Myra insult her like this?
"In college you never liked sex either, Polly. Really, I don't know what Ted saw in you...."
Polly gulped. Indignity and rage sent adrenalin charging through her veins, chilling her to the bone. The need to escape Myra's insults was strong, but the need to defend her marriage and sensuality raged stronger.
Polly's chain of thought chugged off, riding the bumps and valleys of inebriation, roaring back in time to find some semblance of reason for Myra's heartless attack upon her lifestyle and very being. What had she ever done to Myra to deserve this scathing attack?
'Ted loves me," she choked defensively. "We-we have a good marriage!"
Myra cocked an eyebrow, maintaining her temperament and playing the role of catalyst to the hilt. Tucking an errant strand of red hair behind a gold-dangled ear, she smirked at Polly. "That's interesting. So you're secure. What about boredom? Look at you, Polly. You dress like a nun. I've tried to give you advice, but you just won't listen." Myra let out a deep sigh and crossed her legs.
"You want me to have the same cheap emotions you do? Married five times and raking them for their money!" she charged back.
"My emotions aren't cheap, Polly. They run deeper ... very deep." Myra shot a meaningful glance at Dr. Dearborn who sat drinking up the melodrama unfolding before his lusty eyes. "Don't they, Ed?"
Polly tried to clear her mind of brandy, tried to still her heart and gather the strength to rise from the chair and leave Myra's house for good. But her misaimed brain was burning, her limbs shaking and legs unsteady. She wondered what Ted would think if he were sitting here listening to Myra gnash out the preciousness of their marriage with the heel of her foot, like it was a smoldering cigarette butt fit for the gutter. Alongside that raging thought, galloped the fear that Myra might be right. Ted had found another lover because he was bored with her sex. Gulping down a trickle of bile, she glanced down at the modest blue wool gathered over the rich swells of her breasts. She sniffed. Hurt, anger and the butterflies dancing drunkenly in her stomach rampaged through her body.
She lifted her saucered eyes to the satin smoothness of Myra's swan-like neck, down to the creamy cleavage pushed temptingly together by the lace brassiere, down over the bowl of her dimpled belly smoothed by the strip of black lace holding up fishnet stockings. A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart as she wondered how Ted would react if he were sitting here now. Who would be the one to trap his attention ... Myra's sensual, lithe body, or her breasts modestly hidden behind blue wool. The damning thought brought a whimper of real pain.
Polly could not deny that the burnished haired woman sitting immodestly in black lace brassiere, garter belt and high heels was a tempting sight, despite her growing disdain for the woman. Shamefully, she recalled the ticklish excitation that had rippled through her neglected belly when she caught Dr. Dearborn and Myra mauling each other in the kitchen ... the image of them groveling nakedly together had terrified her. She had clenched shut her blue eyes and prayed to be free of those loathsome lurking thoughts.
If only she'd refused that last brandy! Could she make it to the car? Struggling to keep her vision in a straight line, she grabbed the arm of the chair like a rock climber grasping a pylon, and hauled herself to her feet. Her rubbery ankles collapsed under her and she toppled over, nose down in the carpet. She felt strong hands tugging at her, tossing her lifeless body back into the chair. To her right, the fire burned her cheeks and unconscious streams of Joan of Arc, the martyr, flitted through her mind. Well she could identify with that hapless character. Polly Atkins, the savior of Myra Belfry's lust!
Now the confused, helpless woman sat slumped immodestly in the chair, her dress yanked up over her thighs to show off a warm expanse of naked thigh above the rim of her stockings. Her sleek legs were spread slightly apart so that Dr. Dearborn's flinty eyes could see the narrow wisp of cloth covering her pouting mound of Venus. He licked his tensile lips under the hairy line of his moustache, feeling his cock leap for joy, pounding with lust. Myra was playing the goading bitch, driving the poor drunken mass of confused flesh into a defensive state of paralysis. She was glued to that chair, drunk beyond redemption. His for the taking!
"Polly," tutted Myra. "I've never seen you so drunk and rumped!"
Polly touched her hand to her burning fire head; it was clammy. She squinted, shook her head to clear her senses and wondered if her ears and eyes were deceiving her.
"I want to show you what a real woman looks like, Polly ..." hissed Myra between glossy, pooched lips. Gulping the dregs of brandy, Myra swaggered to her feet; a bit tipsy herself, she rocked on her four inch high heels. She pirouetted in front of her incredulous guest, cupping her lace covered breasts with her hot hands, running her palms down her slender ribcage and over her smoothly rounded hips to come together at the mount of her hot and ready cunt.
Myra licked her lips and smirked at Polly. "This is what a woman is all about. .. and my little Pollyanna, you will realize by the end of this evening that you've got one hot little pussy that's probably drenched, begging for a hard cock to satisfy you. It's a lesson you have to learn to be free... and Myra," she winked, "is one helluva teacher!"