Chapter 9
Sheila's life went on, outwardly calm and rational, while inside her brain seethed in a wild cauldron of sexual debasement. During the week, she played the role of Scott's wife and seemed to grow nervous as the weekends came around. As time went by, a change came over her that even Scott noticed. She looked different, a little thinner, a few rings around the eyes. Bruises on her hip were explained away by a fall in the garden while pruning. The neighbors were looking at Scott with veiled smiles and making vague references to, "Mrs. Baines and her friends." On some Fridays, Sheila seemed to disappear for the whole day and explain her absence by, "Oh ... I took a long drive out the valley to Greenfield. Had lunch in a charming little place."
Things mounted up. Friends said they saw her coming from the Pine Inn. When asked about it, she replied, "It must have been somebody who looked like me. I wasn't near the Pine Inn."
It was more her attitude than anything. As time passed Scott noticed that Sheila was strange on Friday evenings. She seemed exhausted, sated, and the look in her eye was strange and disturbing. Gradually it dawned on his male ego that something was not right. Something was wrong and something was going on that he didn't know about. He took to coming home at odd times, popping in, all smiles. Without notice, he would take her to lunch ... at the Pine Inn. All was normal ... nothing unusual happened ... yet he couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that something was going on just out of his hearing and sight.
It stayed with him, arousing his jealousy until he was not going to work but following his wife around whenever she went shopping downtown. He would park his car a block away and sit in it for hours, watching his house to see if anyone visited it while he was away.
Although his business suffered, he determined to watch on Friday. He spent the whole day cramped in his car, watching the house, embarrassed by the people who saw him sitting. He spent the whole day and saw exactly nothing.
When Sheila hadn't shown up at the proper time, Mike had called her house. "How come?"
"It's Scott. He's suspicious."
"What does he know?"
"Enough to make him follow me, watch me all day. He's sitting in a car down the block now."
"Okay. Nothing to worry about. We'll start the plan."
He hung up in Sheila's ear and she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. A sick feeling and that odd masochistic excitement.
The plan. She had agreed to it at one of the sessions with the three of them at the Pine Inn. The plan. She had agreed to the plan while Fred nearly crushed her in his huge iron arms and fucked her with that great cock of his that stretched her cunt as tight as it would go. The plan. Gleefully gloating, she had agreed to it after Marsha and Mike had gotten through with her and while Fred was fucking her and she was insane with the combination of powerful hashish and rampant lust. She had agreed while writhing on the bed. She had sworn she would be part of the plan.
Afterward, exhausted, dazed, she realized she meant it ... that she would go ahead with it. Mike and Marsha had too great a hold on her now for her to turn back. She agreed to the plan because, insane as it was, it was at least a chance and ... it excited her masochistically.
Once she informed Mike, the plan was put into effect immediately. Mike and Marsha rented a cottage in Carmel near the beach for a month. Mike went back up to the city to get his camera equipment while Marsha and muscular Fred set up light housekeeping. Fred jogged on the beach to keep in shape and Marsha got dressed to the teeth and went to visit Scott as Marsha Evans, new to town, a divorcee, and eager to invest her money. She visited Scott at his office in downtown Carmel.
She caused enough attention coming in, wearing a wild dress that was low cut and revealed her bulging breasts held quiveringly in place by a half-bra. The dress was slit up one side, revealing long sensuous legs sheathed in sheer black stockings.
"Mr. Baines?" she asked in that throaty voice.
"Yes," Scott took her in. It was a wicked face he looked at, with a wide sensuous mouth. Plenty of makeup-perhaps too much for his taste-but good features with a depraved look to the eyes. She smiled back at him boldly, almost brazenly.
"I've been told to look you up." She gave the name of a brokerage house in San Francisco that Mike had looked up. Scott was pleased and flattered that his name should be so well-known. He was also slightly ill at ease talking with Marsha. She told him her circumstances quickly, in a low voice, standing close to him and smelling of some devilish perfume. He invited her into his cubicle, just like the ones that all brokers had in the Carmel House. He could see some of his friends smirking. He tried to be as cool as he could. He sat down and Marsha looked at him through half-closed eyes, obviously admiring him. "Mmmmmmmmm. They didn't tell me you would be so handsome and so...."
Scott, caught off balance, flattered, stuttered, "W ... well, and so ... what?"
"Sexual." Marsha almost hissed the words and Scott felt his cock give a little leap of uncontrolled excitement Because of the way he lived, it had been a long time since he had talked to or been in contact with a woman like Marsha. He liked it in a dirty wild-party kind of way.
He cleared his throat. He had better get rid of Marsha Evans as soon as possible. He didn't know what her game was, but he didn't think it was going to do his Carmel reputation any good. "Ah ... how much were you thinking of investing, Miss ... ah ... Mrs. Evans?"
"Marsha, call me Marsha. I don't know. I don't know anything about investing. How about fifty thousand?"
"F ... fifty." Scott shut up and fought for control while his mind hysterically calculated the commission on fifty thousand dollars. "Well, that's a substantial sum. I think I can make some suggestions along those lines ... Mrs...."
"Marsha." She leaned forward, showing more of her cleavage, her voice throaty and appealing. "Listen, Scott, if you're going to handle fifty thousand dollars of mine, you're going to call me Marsha. Any man that fools around with my money is going to have to fool around with me. Now." She looked around, wrinkling her nose. "I don't like this place. This is no place to talk. Why don't we have lunch and you can tell me what I should do and we can-" She leaned forward, touching his arm, "-get to know each other."
She gave him her address and lunch was agreed to. When she left, every male in the place was watching her. They flocked to Scott's cubicle, wanting information. Scott played it cool and vague.
He picked Kalisa's down on Cannery Row for lunch. He didn't really admit to himself why he picked Kalisa's. It was out of the way and he wasn't likely to run into anyone he knew. Besides, Kalisa's was right across the street from Doc's laboratory of John Steinbeck fame. Kalisa's used to be a whorehouse frequented by Steinbeck and his cronies back in the heyday of Cannery Row. Now Kalisa herself ran a good restaurant that kept as much of the original flavor of the whorehouse as possible. Scott told Marsha all about it and she smiled at him for a long uncomfortable minute before she said, "How appropriate. Scott?"
"Yes?"
"We're going to have an affair."
Her quiet husky voice and her knowing smile made Scott cough. At her insistence, he did something he had rarely done before ... he had a cocktail at lunch. He had three of them before they canceled lunch and drove away in his car. Marsha was almost laughing out loud: he had been so easy, a push-over. "Let's drive to a sleazy motel someplace. Let's make it nice and illicit." She cuddled up to him, grinning.
At the motel, Scott was nervous and half drunk from the cocktails and the idea of sex with a wanton women. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her strip with his mouth open. She just didn't take her clothes off, she stood facing him and slowly, teasing, provoking, wiggling, she stripped.
She stood naked in front of him, wildly, lewdly beautiful, rubbing the palms of her hands up and down her long curved thighs, breathing deeply, looking at him with a hungry gaze.
He gasped when she put her hands behind her head and wantonly, obscenely, put her hips out and rotated and ground her hips back and forth. With a lascivious smile, she turned her back and bent her knees, thrusting out her twin buttocks and wiggling them in front of his face.
Scott was stunned by lust and his unexpected luck at having such a woman all to himself. Before he could move, she was on her knees in front of him, her hands cupped to her breasts with the nipples taut and pointed. He cupped them in his own hands, finding them soft and warm and pliable, and Marsha reached between his legs and unzipped his fly, groping for and finding his prick. She pulled the erect thing out of his pants and immediately buried it in her mouth.
He felt the velvet-hot shock of her mouth and groaned aloud. It had been years since anyone had done that to him. Inwardly, deep down, he cursed his wife Sheila. She was always so stiff in bed and eager to get it over with. Now he had to fight against his lust and excitement in order not to cum in the girl's mouth. He looked down in amazement at her naked body crouched below him, between his knees. He saw her breasts dancing and jiggling and her head bobbing up and down and heard the wet sucking sounds she made with her mouth and felt her hot wetness and he roared. "Aaaahhhhhhhgggaaa!!"
He seized her head with both his hands and pumped his premature cum into her mouth, reveling in doing such a savage thing. She sucked him dry down to the last drop and he fell back on the bed, still fully clothed.
Slowly, while he lay moaning with a grin on his face, she undressed him and then attacked his cock again with her mouth in such a greedy way it seemed she would never get enough. Slowly, with deft teasings, she nursed and sucked his cock back to enormity and he shoved it up her waiting, squirming cunt.
They fucked on the bed and on the floor. They fucked all over the motel room and he fucked her in every position possible. He fucked her until he was in a state of exhaustion and he finally came in her cunt, jerking and moaning, spilling what hot sticky cum he had deep into her cunt.
Fatigued, half-drunk, sobering, drained, he let his head sag back on the pillow and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
Something wouldn't let him be. He awoke and craned his neck in exhausted amazement. Marsha had his cock in her mouth, sucking him off, raising him to a blood-gorged hard-on once again. She got up on top of him and guided his sore cock into her cunt and writhed in slow motion over him, bending over to whisper amazing suggestions in his ear. She could, she whispered, fix it so he could have two women at once ... her pause was lascivious ... she could do such a thing if he would like it.
For a reply, he found himself moaning and his face twitching as his sore cock shot his cum once again.
The plan.
Scott had no idea that he was victim of a plan. He saw Marsha almost every day, meeting either at her house or in a motel. He forgot completely about his own suspicions of Sheila ... he simply forgot and could only feel his own guilt whenever he was with her. He tried to be good to her and to make up for his infidelity in little gifts and lots of attention.
Sheila did her part of the plan by being sweet while asking, "Say, I bumped into Bernice Cartwright today and she said she saw you down on Cannery Row with an attractive and wild-looking woman."
"Who? Me? No, it wasn't me. I haven't been down on Cannery Row in months."
"Must have been someone who looks like you." Sheila smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Days went by in which Scott sat in his little cubicle at the stock exchange and wondered what was happening to his life. He was making money for Marsha Evans, lots of it. He was also making money for himself. He was also having an affair with a woman he regarded as little better than a slut. She was insatiable and was always wanting to try new things. He wondered about her life and how she knew so much about sex and yet he couldn't say he didn't enjoy being with her and her audacious tricks: she wanted to go to a movie and fuck in the balcony and she wanted him to drive his car on the freeway while she sucked him off.
He had to admit he couldn't get enough of her. Yet she was vile and almost perverted in the things she liked to do. She kept hinting about a girlfriend who, if things were right, would go to bed with the two of them. "Just think," she would hiss in his ear, "two of us doing everything you wanted."
He was more worried about himself than anything else. He was terribly worried about being caught and found out. It would ruin his life and his marriage, yet he worried about himself more than anything else. He found he actually liked doing filthy and bizarre things with Marsha. He loved it. He enjoyed tying her to the bed and doing what he pleased. He was thrilled with the strange suggestions and ideas she whispered in his ear. He didn't know whether to believe her or not, but he was aroused and excited by what she said.
She even told him of an orgy one afternoon. She was particularly wanton and teasing that afternoon, sucking and fucking right up to the point of his cum, then stopping and resting and talking lewdly, driving him insane with desire. She talked about orgies and admitted being at several and told him in detail about them.
"There's going to be one next week."
"Where?" Eagerly he took the bait.
"Here. On the peninsula."
"Yeah, but where?"
"Why?" she teased, lying by his side and playing with his rigid cock. "Are you interested?"
"Maybe," he confessed, his buttocks twitching as she played with his cock. "Where's it going to be?"
"On Cannery Row. In an abandoned cannery. It's all arranged."
"H ... how many people will there...."
"Be there fucking?" she asked, finishing his question. "Lots." She rolled on top of him, squirming her cunt against his cock. "You and I could be there."
"How?"
"Easy. Just take me."
Scott thought for a frantic second before shaking his head. "I ... I just couldn't."
"Now it's my turn. Why?"
"Well ... somebody might recognize me.
"It's a costume ball, you ninny. Masks and all that. Nobody will recognize you unless you want them to."
"Well ... there's my wife."
"You can't get away from her?"
"Well ... yes, I guess I can. Hell, why not?"
"That's my tiger!" Marsha said, laughing in her husky way.