Chapter 7
Ruth's comfortable, motherly nature had undergone abrupt transformation. When she answered the door she snapped: "Don't stand there like a fool so everyone can see you." She pulled me inside, slammed the door, then scuffed along the corridor to the lounge, leaving me to follow her. She wore men's slippers that flapped like a seal's flippers, and a grubby bathrobe. She was bundled up like dirty laundry.
"We've got to talk," she said. Her eyes ran around the room looking for something she didn't find. She hadn't glanced at me once. Her hair was straggly and her face shone with over-night cream. "We might as well talk in the bedroom," she snapped.
The bed was disarrayed and the window shut There was the musty smell of woman's sweat that's simmered under blankets all night. She pulled down the bedclothes, bunched up pillows, flung off the bathrobe and stretched out stark naked. Her eyes kept running around the room as though scared mice would scuttle out from the. floorboards. And she couldn't keep her hands still. They shredded invisible linen. "We've got to talk this over," she said.
"I'm sorry it's all a mess, Ruth."
"I'm sorry too," she snapped. "That doesn't help, does it?"
"When your husband's calmed down," I said, "you have a talk with him. Explain how sorry we are. Try to smooth it over."
She snorted. "A waste of time. He doesn't have to calm down. He's as cold as ice. He's been planning this for months. We walked right into it!" She glared. "Don't stand there looking awkward. Sit down."
There was only one place to sit. On the bed.
Take your clothes off!" she said exasperatedly.
I undressed moodily. I'd never seen her like this. Where was all her motherly affection?
"Now we can talk," she said, as I sat on the bed. She took my hand, guided it to her crotch and pressed my fingers into her crevice. "Keep stroking," she ordered. "Gently! Don't go mad!"
She was dry, but almost at once she moistened. My prick was half-hearted but as soon as her crotch became squishy, and my fingers sank into hot membranes, it alerted and quivered.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," she told me, less acid now she was enjoying a soothing friction. "But I've got it figured out. It'll solve your problems too, Mike."
My heart leaped.
"We must act quickly," she said. "I can't let him show me up before my friends. I'll send a letter to everyone saying we've agreed to separate, and that I'm going to marry you. That'll catch him on the hop. He'll tell everyone he's divorcing me, but I'll spike his guns. Everyone knows I can't stand him. And we'll get married right after the divorce."
The word marriage made me cringe. "You said it would solve my problems, Ruth?"
She was surprised I was so dumb. "Don't you understand? You just tell those girls you're marrying me. Don't be scared. They can talk to me if they want. I'll soon tell them!"
There was anguish inside me. "What about my family?"
"Relatives are always a bother. You must learn to live your own life. They'll come around in time!"
"And my job!"
"That's no problem. I have a little business. It's nothing to do with Roger. A hardware shop. I'll put you in it. As soon as you've learned the business I'll sack the manager. How's that?"
"Fine," I said numbly.
"I won't be receiving the money Fm accustomed to," she pointed out, seeking my sympathy. "But you're strong, Mike. You're intelligent too. There's many ways you can make the business pay more. We've two lazy youths doing nothing around the shop. We have to have them because occasionally something heavy has to be lifted. But you could do their job in a quarter of the time it takes them to load a van. That would save their wages. And why pay overtime? If you get in early you can open up, and lock up too!"
"If I get in really early, I could scrub out the shop and save charwoman's wages," I suggested.
She didn't suspect sarcasm. "You won't have tune," she regretted. "There's so many things to do outside business hours, stock up the shelves, prepare deliveries and write invoices. You'll keep the books, of course."
"It seems like a job I can get my teeth into."
"It'll be time-consuming, Mike. But you'll get used to it. So tonight I'll post off this letter telling everybody we're getting married as soon as I get free from Roger. I'll put a notice in the newspapers too."
What was the point of arguing? I didn't want to marry Janet, I didn't. want to marry Lillian and I didn't want to marry Ruth.
I didn't want to marry anybody! The closer I came to marriage the more it looked like a treadmill. There were three of them now planning how I'd work myself to death while they lay in bed and ate chocolate creams. But that advertisement worried me. Ruth might put it in the evening papers.
"Announce it in the Sunday Times," I said. "During the week people only scan the newspapers. On Sundays they lie in bed and read it from back to front."
"The Sunday Times" she agreed.
I sighed with relief. I'd averted Nemesis for a few days.
"So that's that, Mike," she said with the air of having arranged our future.
"I'll still be a Correspondent,"' I pointed out. "Where do I get a thousand pounds?"
She gestured airily. "Don't worry. You don't own anything, do you?"
"I've a few pounds in the bank."
"So. No problem. After we're married everything will be in my name. Even when they make you bankrupt they can't get anything. What belongs to me is mine; they can't touch it for your debts. So don't worry!"
"But although I'm bankrupt, I'll still have to pay?"
"The court can seize a percentage of your wages. But we'll fix that. I'll pay you only a small wage. What they'll get out of it won't be worth collecting."
"You're clever, Ruth. You think of everything!"
She was flattered. She smirked. "Not many men can get the better of a woman."
I was still stirring her up and her pussy was squelching nicely. She'd disposed of business and was shunting her thought onto sex. "Now let's talk about you and me, Mike!" A warmer note softened her voice. She'd fixed it all. I was to marry her and climb up on the treadmill. I'd work sixteen hours a day, most of it heavy laboring, and I'd be paid peanuts. If I was real good maybe I'd have enough pocket money to buy a Coca-Cola in a cafe. Now I had to sex her up to prove my gratefulness.
"I missed you terribly yesterday, Mike," she said softly. Her fingers strayed to my thigh. My prick twitched happily; the bastard! "I missed you so much!" She'd been waiting all week and then Roger had brutally broken up our session. I didn't doubt she'd missed me.
"A strange thing happened this morning, Mike," she said dreamily. "When you don't hurry away, as you did yesterday, I'm happy to wake up alone in the mornings. I'm used to Roger climbing over me and putting it in. But, this morning of course, he didn't. Not that he ever gave me pleasure. I always had to give myself a thrill, afterwards. But ... " she flushed.
"You can get into a habit, even when it isn't pleasurable. I missed that hot, piercing feeling." She was stroking my cock beautifully. "Do it the way Roger did it," she urged. "Put me in the mood." Her fingers tightened on my cock and pulled it about like a drill sergeant shoving a raw recruit into line. My pride resented it. But my big, fat prick had no pride. It didn't care that it was being humiliated. And I had to go along with it. I climbed over her the way she wanted, poised, and then hammered a nail up inside her. Her calves twined around mine, her fingers gouged into my bottom cheeks and she wriggled around to get comfortable. "That's it!" she said with satisfaction. "Now screw me!"
It was like screwing a slippery jelly. Roger's nail had stretched her crevice into a horse's collar. My prick couldn't touch sides.
Her fingers pressed the rhythm she wanted into my bottom and her loins pistoned demandingly. "Screw me," she panted, "Screw me!"
Where was the Ruth I knew? Where was her motherly affection, her tender undressing, .the happy lounging back while she simmered my prick in her hot pussy-juice, and bubbled her little orgasms around my knob?
Ruth's character had changed. And her screwing style had changed too. I was surprised she .could feel anything at all. But she must have done because her fingers kept gouging into my bottom rhythmically, almost thrusting my prick up inside her. So together we hammered my nail into her while she had lots of jolly little orgasms. It Was fun for her, but frustration for me. But finally she had a big orgasm and afterwards went completely limp. Her legs splayed apart bonelessly and her hands flopped at her sides. But she urged: "Don't stop! Don't, stop."
She wasn't even being frictioned by my knob. It skimmed up and down inside her almost afloat in pussy-drool. She could only be getting stimulus from my pubic bone, which was grinding rhythmically against the union of her pussy-lips. I concentrated upon grinding my pubic bone into her. "Lovely, Mike" she whispered, her face dreamy. "Lovely." She was still as limp as a dishcloth but was having a chain of little orgasms. They ran into each other.
"Wonderful like this, darling," she panted. "In the future, we'll always do it this way."
Even my prick shuddered at those words. Now I was on a sex treadmill. She wasn't exerting a muscle. I was doing everything. And she was content for this to go on indefinitely. All it needed now was for me -to pop a chocolate cream into her mouth.
I was sweating with frustration and my prick was fuming. It had dug away non-stop a long time and was frantic for recognition. "Suck me, Ruth?" I suggested.
"But it's so lovely this way, Mike. I don't want it any other way!"
"How about you rolling over? I'll go in up the back. It'll be a new thrill."
"You are enjoying this, aren't you, Mike?" There was reproach in her voice that could easily become anger.
"Yes," I said. "But ... "
"Don't forego your own pleasure to please me, darling. This makes me very happy. And don't hold back on my account. When you can't hold back any longer, don't be afraid to let yourself go. I'll probably have an orgasm too."
Hold myself back! I couldn't even rub myself up!
"You move beautifully," she whispered. "You thrill right through me!"
I was screwing nothing, stabbing my prick into melted grease. This was the end of Ruth. Once I got out of there I'd never come back. She could stick her tread milling shop and her tread milling cunt up her ass. Only one thing prevented me getting up and, leaving at that moment. My big, fat prick. It was sobbing and wailing with frustration. It craved satisfaction. At least it was inside a pussy, and wouldn't leave it.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. I masturbated without using my hands. I pictured a beautiful film star. She smiled at me warmly as I approached, her lips red, and her blouse molded to her firm breasts. The hard nipples prodded through the fine fabric. When my fingers went to the button below her cleavage she pursed her lips in breathless desire. I unbuttoned quickly, and pushed back her blouse. She stood proudly, hard breasts flaring at me, nipples taut and arrogant. She smiled and her long tongue moistened her ripe lips. My hands went to the zip of her skirt and she stood astride, her hips sturdily receptive. The zip hissed and the skirt whispered down her slim thighs. She stepped out of it. Her eyes were challenging and she smiled provocatively. She thrust out her pelvis and a shallow depression formed in the middle of a satin-skinned belly within which her navel nested coyly. Her panties were a wisp of flimsiness, a mere triangle with bows on each hip. The flesh glowed through it warmly except where the opaque panties were strained so tight it outlined the ripeness of her love-lips, and the crevice between them. I stared entranced and she responded sexually to my admiration. A small wet stain appeared on the crotch. It grew rapidly, expanded quickly, thickly coating her love-lips. They glowed warmly through sticky nylon that had become transparent. Beads of glistening drool gathered within her crevice and began to trickle down in long, silvery threads. My fingers went to the panty bows. I tugged. The dainty triangle fell away from her groin, the crotch still clinging stickily to her love-lips. I adored the sleek, black hair that fleeced her Mount of Venus while I watched the crotch slowly peel away from her love-lips. Then the panties dropped down between her parted thighs and I relished the bared, slipper)' love-lips, demurely parted and expectant. I took a deep breath. I stepped forward. I rested my hands on her hips. I whispered my fingers down over her cool buttocks and then gripped them tightly. She gave a deep sigh and thrust her breasts hard against me. The nipples rubbed and rolled against my chest like little pebbles. She was panting and her hips were braced expectantly. I took another deep breath. I poised. I lunged. I went deep inside her. Right up. Right home. It was explosive. I was suddenly spurting. And Ruth was sobbing in my ear as she erupted too. Her arms flung around my neck, crushing me in a chocking embrace. Her legs twined around me, her ankles crossed and her heels bore down upon my buttocks.
I shot and shot. I fucked a dream girl. Fucking a dream is better than no fuck at all. If I'd depended upon Ruth's pussy to trigger me off, I'd have been there yet, still hammering away with my nail.
I was exhausted. Not from coming. But from the sheer physical effort of pistoning my loins so long. I couldn't understand how Roger could have lived with it. Perhaps he'd screwed a dream girl every night. But one that he'd trained to make him come within seconds.
"That was lovely!" said Ruth, smoothing her fingers across my wet brow. "It was good for you too. I can tell. You're so tired!"
"It's you," I said. "The way you love would tire any man."
"You flatterer you!" She giggled coyly.
My legs were rubbery and my back ached.
"Have a little nap, darling," she soothed. She brushed my damp hair back off my forehead.
I opened one eye and looked at the clock. Half-past-three. I'd been due back at the office hours ago. But even if I rushed back I'd only have to climb on Janet's sexy treadmill.
"Wake me in an hour," I murmured, and closed my eyes.
I was asleep before I knew it.