Chapter 3
The phone was ringing as Helen Hibberd turned to re-enter her house after waving her daughter good-bye. She still wore her troubled frown as she hurried to answer it ...and the frown changed to a start of surprise when she realized that the caller was Harry Franks, head of the Claims Department of Anthony's insurance company and her husband's immediate boss. Was Anthony home, he asked. No, of course not, Helen answered with a tinge of annoyance. Surely Harry must know that Anthony had left for San Francisco; he was the top man there, wasn't he? Why, he'd probably arranged the trip to the Coast himself! In fact she was sure he had; Anthony had mentioned it before he left! And now here he was calling up to ask ...Helen shrugged her shoulders. It was a mad world!
But there wasn't a thing she could do about it but be polite. "I'm sorry, Mr. Franks-he's in San Francisco," she heard herself saying sweetly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Well-uh-no, I guess not." Frank's usually bluff voice was strangely hesitant. "Unless ...perhaps, Mrs. Hibberd-or may I call you Helen?"
She sighed. He was going to, anyway, so why argue? "But of course," she said politely.
"Okay. That's fine, just fine . .. look, Helen, I was just wondering if I could ...that is to say, there's a contract here that I'd like to show your better half."
"But he's on the Coast. I just told you," Helen said patiently.
"Yeah ...yeah, I know. But I thought, if I could-uh-just stop by with these papers that he'll have to sign ..."
"Couldn't you just leave them on his desk in the office?" she asked. "If you put them on top of all the other stuff, I'm sure he'll see them first thing Monday morning. Then he'll be able to go over them right there, where all his files are and-and that way he'll be able to sign them almost as soon as he gets back."
After a short silence Franks replied: "Of course you're right. The wives are always right. You know, quite frankly, we depend a hell of a lot on your judgment to keep your husbands really on their toes! And I must say, Mrs. Hibberd-uh-Helen, that you seem to be one of the most alert, the most understanding of them all. That was why I thought it might be a good idea to come over with the papers and maybe go over them with you first. You see, really we consider you to be the better half!" He gave a short bark of laughter when Helen didn't reply, and then added: "Okay?"
"Well, of course I'm flattered by what you say," she answered in a puzzled voice, "but I really don't understand what you're getting at."
"Just this. We think Anthony relies on you a lot for advice...." She started to protest, but his booming voice cut across her words. "No, no-it's true. And we're expecting you to give that husband of yours some real good advice on this deal. So I thought if you just looked the papers over and had them real handy for him when he gets back..."
"But he won't be back until Monday. That's almost a week, Mr. Franks!"
"Harry!" he interjected. "Call me Harry, and I'll call you Helen. Okay?"
She'd already told him it was okay, Helen thought angrily. What was the matter with him? And what did he want? Certainly not her business advice ...and he surely wouldn't want her to advise Anthony either; it was a standing joke in the family that she had about as much business acumen as a jackass, that she couldn't be trusted with a shopping list, let alone balancing her own check-book! So what was he after? She heard him breathing heavily down the line. "Okay?" he asked again.
"Okay what?" Oh, yes-she was to call him by his first name. "Okay, Harry," she said wearily.
"That's great, just great," he said. "So I thought that if I could maybe just drop by for a few minutes and talk to you ..."
"You said you wanted to go over some papers," she reminded him. - "Sure, sure. That too. Now what do you say if I call by in about fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour?"
Helen sighed. She would have liked to answer, "Never!" but after all he was Anthony's boss. What else could she do? "Make it a little later," she said at last.
"About an hour, then?"
"Very well. About an hour." She hung up and walked into the living room. She supposed she would have to go upstairs and dress before he came, but she could afford to relax a little. She picked up a magazine, glanced at a feature entitled How To Understand Your Teenage Daughter, found it less than helpful...and fell to wondering again about Shirley and the boy she was with. She had forgotten her doubts in the confusion of Frank's telephone call. But now, although she allowed her mind to dwell on Shirley and the Seifert boy, her thoughts kept returning to her husband's superior and his puzzling call. Just what could be on Harry Frank's mind ...?
What was on Harry Frank's mind was, quite simply, Helen herself-Helen talking to him, Helen going over papers, Helen naked, or better still, Helen thrashing beneath him in a bed while he rammed his rock-hard cock deep inside her cunt until it bludgeoned against her cervix.
He stood in his apartment beneath a hot shower, running his hands over his stocky body, lathering his penis, his balls, feeling them swell as he handled them and thought lasciviously of his underling's wife. He was going to have that woman, he thought with exhilaration! He was going to have her within the next hour or two, screw her silly, fuck her as she'd never been fucked before! Oh, he'd heard all the stories about her ...he'd heard she was the original frigid woman. And he'd seen that poor slob of a husband of hers come slinking into the office with his tail between his legs after one of those nights-those too frequent nights- when the missus wouldn't come across. He'd even felt sorry for the poor bastard, but not for very long. He figured it was his own fault if he couldn't make out, if he couldn't work out the way to handle it. The way
Harry Franks could....
The idea had come to him on vacation in Mexico-or, to be more exact, it had been given to him by a raven-haired woman in a market with an impudent smile, who had buttonholed him and confided that she had the secret of all the world's joy for sale in the little sachets of herbs and drugs in the tray she carried slung around her neck. This magic powder, she assured him, would make him aba-sol-utely irreesisteeble to women! He needed only to slip a tiny pinch into a girl's food, or better still her drink, to arouse her to heights of passion he had never dreamed of! From then on, of course, it was-uh-up to the senor. But she was sure-with an insolent and lascivious stare at the bulge in his pants that her words had already stimulated-that he was quite capable of handling that himself! Franks haggled over the outrageous price demanded, and it was only when she told him of the special extra quality the aphrodisiac possessed that he finally gave in and bought a packet of the stuff. For it appeared that the elixir was also in some way an hallucinogenic...it made the lover appear to the woman who had been given it not as himself but as the man she most desired!
Franks was grinning to himself as he left the marketplace. Jeez! What couldn't he do with this little bombshell! He thought of trying it out on his wife-who was, he had to admit, a lousy lay-to find out who her dream man really was. But then he thought-no! Why waste it on that old bag? He would keep it for Helen Hibberd, whom he'd been lusting after ever since the first time he saw her, years back when her husband joined the firm! And tonight, with old Anthony safely away in San Francisco, would give him the opportunity to try it out----
It should be child's play, he thought gleefully as he dried himself, dusted talcum over his meaty body and sprayed himself with the expensive deodorant his wife left ostentatiously on the bathroom shelf ...but what was going to take place in the Hibberd home was to be strictly adult entertainment! Slipping the magic packet into his pocket when he was dressed, he called downstairs to his wife: "I have to go out and see someone about that damned Benson contract."
Marsha Franks looked up from the detective story she was sharing with the television and a large box of chocolates. "Oh?" she said absently.
"Yeah. Dammit, I wish to hell I could get some sort of job where I didn't have to work these godawful hours," he said with simulated disgust. And then he left, letting the screen door bang after him, to hurry down - the driveway and clamber into his car.
Helen Hibberd, dressed now in a crisp lemon-yellow dress that zipped all the way up the front, was sitting in the living room, still wondering what on earth was on her husband's boss's mind when she heard the hiss of tires and the squeal of brakes that announced his arrival in front of the house.
What could be the reason for his visit! she asked herself. Business? It didn't seem likely ...unless of course he was planning to give her the business! She wouldn't put it past him, she thought, remembering how he'd tried to maneuver her into a corner at last year's Christmas party. Well, she'd taken care of him then and she could do it again. She didn't really think he'd be that barefaced ...but if he was, she would just ask him-politely; he was, after all, Anthony's boss-to leave. She must be careful not to drink too much. One Scotch, two at the most, and weak ones at that. Plus the fact that she must see that her guest didn't overindulge either; he might be just like Anthony!
She opened the front door as Franks hurried up the driveway. "Hi!" she called out with a forced smile. "Nice to see you again!"
"Nice to see you," he answered heartily, "and what a splendid sight it is, at that! You're looking gorgeous tonight, Helen. Good enough to eat, if I may say so-which reminds me; have you had dinner?"
"Yes, there was some steak in the icebox ...and that looked good enough to eat too. So I ate it," she quipped weakly, in an attempt to turn the conversation away from her looks.
Franks chuckled heartily. "A comedian yet!" he joked, slapping her playfully on the shoulder. "Well, if you've eaten, maybe you'd dare to sample this!" He handed her the bottle of whisky he was carrying.
"Well, that's very kind of you," Helen said, taking the bottle gingerly. Darn it, she thought. If he had brought a bottle, that meant that he intended to drink a lot himself ...and now she couldn't make an excuse and pretend that she'd run out of the stuff! She remembered the advice she had so often drummed into Shirley about men and liquor. She must be careful tonight to follow it herself. ...
"Please sit down," she said, leading him into the living room. "I'll go fix you a drink." As she went into the kitchen, he sank down heavily on the couch.
Twisting the top off the bottle he had ""brought, she splashed a generous measure over ice cubes in a glass and called out: "Soda?"
"On the rocks."
Helen sighed. Pouring herself a weak Scotch and soda, she placed the drinks on a tray, added a dish of salted peanuts, and carried the tray into the living room, where she placed it on a low table in front of the couch and then sat down in a chair opposite, "Cheers!" she said, raising her glass.
"Cheers, Helen!" Franks raised his own glass and allowed his eyes to rove up and down her luscious body, resting on the ripely swelling spheres of her breasts outlined beneath the tight lemon material of the dress, the full, sensuous hips, the slender, tapered columns of her legs. Jesus, he could hardly wait to slip that Mexican love potion into her glass ...and then shove his long, thick cock deep into her soft belly! But he'd have to wait; he couldn't afford to make her suspicious at this stage. For a long moment he sat there tongue-tied, wondering what the hell to say to this lovely creature who was sending lust-crazed bolts of fire through his loins. It was almost a laugh; here he was, at Ms age, with all his experience of women, sitting like a gauche, adolescent trying to screw up enough courage to kiss a girl! Yet he couldn't for the life of him think of how to open the ball, of what to say!
He was jolted back to awareness by Helen's cool voice. "Now just what was it you wanted to see me about?" she inquired.
"Oh yeah ...well, Helen, as you know ...as I told you on the phone a little while ago..."
"You said you wanted me to look over some papers," she reminded him.
"Papers. Yeah, that's it. The papers . . ." Seizing the excuse, he bent down, unzipped his briefcase, and began rummaging inside. Then, finding some printed contracts and a sheet of paper covered with figures, he pulled them out and smoothed them on his fleshy knee. "Now," he said, "if you'd just go over these with me-uh, perhaps it'd be better if you came and sat beside me here." He patted the couch with a boyish grin.
Helen made a small grimace and rose to bring her drink over. As soon as she was settled by his side, he shuffled through the papers, picked up a pen, and began checking off a row of figures. "Now," he said, "as you can see, the claims situation over the past five years with the McClusky account..."
"Oh," she interrupted him in surprise, "I imagined it would be the Benson account you wanted to talk about. That's the one that Anthony is ..."
"Later," he said, recovering himself quickly after a moment of dismay. "I'd just like you to go over these first. ...Benson and McClusky, they're the two sides of the same coin, one good and one bad ...you'll see from the balance made out . . ." TM paused, glanced at the two empty glasses on the tray, and said: "How about a refill?"
In her turn, Helen seized on the excuse. She couldn't make head or tail of the figures-coin or no coin! "I'll get it," she said briskly, beginning to push herself to her feet.
"No, no. Let me. Don't worry, I can find my way around." He cut short her excuses and rose hastily, taking the empty glasses into the kitchen. Pouring Scotch into both glasses, he added ice, soda for Helen, and then-taking the packet from his pocket-allowed a pinch of the dark-colored powder to fall into her drink and stirred it vigorously until it dissolved. This done, he hurried back to the couch.
"Cheers!" he said, handing the refreshed and drugged drink to her.
Helen took it unsuspectingly and lifted it to her lips. The whiskey had an odd flavor, a little bitter somehow, and for a moment she thought Harry must have mixed tonic with it instead of soda. She tasted it again. No, that wasn't it ...but it definitely didn't taste like a normal Scotch. She looked expectantly at her guest, to see if he had noticed anything, but he was pouring over his figures again, apparently unconcerned. She shrugged and continued sipping.
He was pointing out more figures to her, drawing a relationship between columns on two separate sheets of paper, and she tried hard to concentrate. But she never had had a head for figures and these, the way he explained them, seemed less comprehensible than most. They even began to move, shifting up and down, from side to side, on the page as she looked. She passed the back of her hand over her forehead and screwed up her eyes. Maybe she needed glasses? And how strange that her brow was sticky and damp! Again she stared at the figures-silly little columns of numbers marching up and down the paper like those ten thousand men in the old nursery rhyme about the Grand Old Duke of York! How did it go? "...he had ten thousand men. He marched them up to the top of the hill-then he marched them down again!" The brassy military tone whirled through her head as she tried desperately to concentrate, fixing her eyes on those numbers-or were they really English soldiers?
At last her eyes closed-it seemed of their own accord. Her head was spinning and her mind began to reel. The English soldiers were marching crazily through her brain-or were they columns of figures on a page? She leaned back on the couch a little, wishing she could sleep, hoping that Franks wouldn't notice ...and then everything went blank.
Perhaps she slept, she could never be sure. She only knew that, later on, the man sitting next to her had his arm around her. She couldn't remember him putting it there. But somehow it gave her great comfort, though she was uncertain why. She blinked her eyes. Everything seemed kind of hazy-she couldn't even be sure at first who it was sitting next to her on the couch with his arm around her like that. But then of course it seemed perfectly obvious; why, it was Anthony, of course! Her husband. Who else would take such a liberty?
She let her head fall on his shoulder and started to croon softly with pleasure. She had never felt like this before about Anthony, never experienced the hot throbbing between her legs that was spreading like wildfire through her entire body, the little stir of quickening blood deep within her veins ...she sensed with a purr of contentment the air on her skin as he pulled down the zipper that ran the length of her dress in front. Dazedly, she tried to help him. He seemed so gentle now, not at all like he had been those other times when he'd been drinking too much. And now, as Harry Franks eased the dress off her shoulders, ran his hands down the awakening mounds of her breasts, and over her belly to the fleshy folds of her cunt, he smiled with gleeful satisfaction. It had cost him a pretty penny to buy the love potion from the Mexican girl in the marketplace-but it was working better than he had dared hope. It wouldn't be long before he possessed this woman he had lusted after so long. Already her body was beginning to respond to his caresses as his hands stroke her skin into a cauldron of desire.
Deep in her drugged mind, Helen knew that she wanted him, wanted him as she had never wanted anything in her life. Her body ached to be touched gently, to feel him as he thrust up inside her-as he would, she knew, and soon, dear God, soon-so that the terrible "longing that was thundering through her veins would be silenced. Now, though, it was building unbearably as his maddening fingertips played lasciviously over her half-clad body. She had known her dress had been removed-she had even helped this wonderful man she had married to take it off her-and yet she was still hazily aware that she still wore her brassiere, her panties, even the garter belt and hose that she had donned to greet Anthony's boss when he came with those papers he wanted her to see. But he was no longer here-though Helen could no longer remember him leaving-and her beloved husband was sitting beside her, stroking her sensitive skin. His thrilling touch sent sharp flames of desire dancing through her, and she wanted more than anything in the world to please him, to make him as happy as he was making her. What better way, she thought foggily, than to take off the rest of her clothes?
She slipped her hand under the narrow strap of her brassiere, and slid it off her shoulder ...finding herself unutterably pleased when he helped her to unhook it and release her breasts from the constricting garment. She guided his hands to the thin elastic waistband of her panties, then aided him as he eased the flimsy nylon gown over her hips. She stood before him for a moment, knowing somehow that he wanted to look at her as she was then, in nothing but her high-heeled pumps, her garter belt, and her stockings. And then, with his help, she removed these too.
Frank's hand roved over her magnificently swelling breasts, down the smooth, flat plane of her stomach, to her firmly rounded hips. His touch sent tiny flames of sensation searing through her now-erect nipples, tremored shudders of excitement in her tight, hot vagina. She felt moisture welling up between her pussy lips to seep down between her legs ...and she took immeasurable pride in the fact. "Oh, Anthony darling . . ." she crooned, leaning over him as he sat splay-kneed on the couch before her to tangle her hands in his hair. She pulled his head toward her until his lips touched her throbbing breasts and his tongue flicked out to run lightly, tantalizingly over the resilient snowy mounds. He fastened his mouth over one of her taut, rose-red nipples and began to suck hard on it, taking it deep into his mouth while she moaned with an ecstatic pleasure she had never before experienced.
Once again she called out her husband's name, imploring him to take her. "Oh, Anthony darling ...do it again ...yes, Anthony my love, do it to me, do it to me ..."
Franks pulled her down on the couch, then pushed her gently backwards until she lay spread out on the cushions. Shoving her unresisting thighs wide apart, he crouched over her recumbent body and allowed his head to drop to within a few inches of her moist, hot vagina in its nest of hair. Helen moaned, once more whispering her husband's name, as he licked out suddenly with his tongue at the narrow quivering slit...then he rested the palms of his hands against the soft, trembling skin of her inner thighs and slowly pried the fleshy, wet cuntal lips apart with his thumbs until the moistly throbbing furrow was completely exposed to his hungry devouring mouth.
Now his tongue shot out again to flick at the quivering clitoris snuggling within her scalding secret flesh, to circle it and swirl maddeningly against its taut, fleshy bud while his lips sucked lewdly at her cunt, drawing the warm, soft folds deep into the cavern of his mouth. He began to work his tongue up and down the length of the narrow wet slit as the muscled walls of her now gaping vagina clasped moistly around it, pulling it deeper and deeper inside. "Anthony!" she cried wildly. "Oh, Anthony..."
Harry Franks grinned salaciously above her tensed, passion-incited body. God, he'd never experienced anything like it...never expected it...never had a woman so hot, so demanding in his life! And he was the man to give her what she wanted; it added immeasurably to his pleasure to know that he had her completely at his mercy, in a way the real Anthony never had! As his lips rounded over the tight little cunt-hole in her madly squirming pussy, he thrust his tongue deep inside and she mewled passionately, closing her thighs convulsively around his moving head. Her heels pressed into his back, forcing his body close to hers, his head even deeper into the heaving open vee of her nakedly writhing loins. Jesus, the bitch was hot! The frenzied sexual excitement shuddering through her spurred on an answering ecstasy in him; his penis hardened to a stiffness he had never known before, grew explosively, almost beyond his control. He had to fuck her; he had to fuck her now!
Helen pulled at his head again, drawing it closer up against her trembling pussy mound as her updrawn legs opened and closed convulsively around it. She moaned once more, calling out her husband's name. She had never known he could make her so ecstatic, so happy. She loved him; she truly did! And now it was her turn to make him as happy as he was making her ...she splayed her legs wider still, opening her secret treasure to the man she thought was Anthony. The sheer sensuality of the movement, the opening, inviting gesture, drove Harry Franks into a state of near-frenzy. He couldn't stand it any longer-he was going out of his damned mind! He raised himself above her and dragged himself off the couch. Through drug-fogged eyes, she saw that he was taking his clothes off. But why shouldn't he? He was her husband, wasn't he? They had been married for, oh, so many years; after so long a time, what secrets could they have from each other? What was there to conceal? She watched as his shirt dropped to the floor, his pants, his shoes, his socks, his cotton undershorts. She gasped in amazement as his thick rigid cock sprang free of his undergarments. It was so big! She'd never realized her husband was so generously equipped! And now it was throbbing, its head blood-swollen and smooth, its whole length stiff and purplish, as he grasped it between his finger and thumb and guided it down toward her wetly glistening pussy-hole, eagerly awaiting the entrance of his rock-hard staff.
Once again Franks crouched over the lewdly-splayed naked body on the couch and slowly massaged the heavy foreskin back and forth over the jerking head of his penis as she lay beneath him, whimpering in her need. Her arms snaked around his back, pulling him close, her legs shot out again, clasping his body tight to hers as she moaned in wild abandon. Now his rigid cock brushed against her sparse pubic hair, drenched with the moisture seeping from her cuntal passage. He planted his hands on her shoulders as she locked her ankles behind his neck. Looking down, he could see between their bodies the throbbing lips of her vaginal slit opening wide in invitation ...in hungry desire...for fulfillment!
He shoved himself forward, pushed open the inter-folded lips of Helen's vagina, flicked his hips forward, then pressed again until the huge bulbous cockhead grazed them. She gasped with pain at the abrupt invasion ...and then, as he rammed it deeper, gave a choked scream. The sound of her agonized voice sent thrills of sadistic pleasure coursing through Frank's body. Okay, he would make the bitch scream for mercy ...to pay her back for all the times she had evaded- and avoided-him in the past! He might never have her again, but this time he would screw the frigid bitch into a helpless, whimpering mass of desire, begging for everything he had to give her. And he would begin by ramming his cock all the way in ...right up to the hilt!
Flexing his muscles, he arched his hips and lunged forward in one sharp, energetic movement to send his lust-inflated cock racing into the depths of her fearfully cringing cunt. She shuddered beneath him on the couch, lewdly impaled on his hugely pulsating shaft, as the hot searing pain of his entry tore cruelly at her insides. "Oh, no I" she cried despite herself. "Oh, Anthony darling ...NO!"
But Anthony's boss stretched his arms out to pin her shoulders to the cushions while his widespread knees held her thighs apart and the hotly pulsing cockhead burrowed deeper and deeper into her belly. Helen screamed again, more loudly this time. She had never felt anything this deep, never felt the tight lips of her cunt stretched this way before. Dear God, Anthony was going to split her wide open! For a moment she tensed her thigh muscles tightly together in a futile attempt to ward off the pain of the relentlessly invading, fleshy instrument fucking deep inside her ...then her plundered cunt gave in completely and clasped itself glove-like around his sperm-bloated shaft. As he began a slow rocking movement, sawing the hard, thick cudgel in and out of her soft flesh, he felt her body coming to life beneath him, felt the climax of all that he had so long desired approaching.
He could hardly contain himself as she lay back shamelessly now, legs splayed wide as her head rolled from side to side in passionate delight. The sharp pain of his entry had died away, and in its place there was a maddening electric tingle that began somewhere deep inside her and spread like so many tiny lightning bolts through her entire frame-rising to set the hair-fringed lips of her cunt afire, enveloping her milk-white thighs, her gently swelling belly, her sensitive, heaving breasts. She rotated her hips insanely from side to side, skewered on the thick, fleshy rod as she ground her buttocks deep into the cushions of the couch in wild .abandon.
Harry began to fuck in and out, driving his hard, throbbing cock deep into her belly, withdrawing it until only the wetly seeping tip was left clasped inside the scalding elastic sheath of her cunt, plunging it back into her obscenely sucking vaginal passage. Helen groaned in wanton passion, mouthing her husband's name over and over again. At last, she thought, at long last, she was sharing with him the wonderful joy she had been denied for so long! Anthony had become the lover she had dreamed of, gentle, tender, and yet eliciting the most passionate response she had ever known from her sensually alive body?
A half-crazed smile played around her lips as these hallucinations raced through her drug-blurred mind. She began to thrash and buck madly against his savagely invading thrusts ...and then suddenly her warm, thick juices were flowing around his deeply imbedded, jack-hammering cock and at last she panted out the words in a strangled shriek:
"Oh ...oh ...oh! Oh no! Oh my God, my darling ...my darling Anthony ...I'm dimming ...I'm cumming ...yes, I'm o c-c-cumming!"
Her body jerked in a series of violent uncontrollable spasms; her back arched up off the couch-and then another shudder tremored through her racked frame and warm, wet cum flooded over Harry's lustfully pounding penis to seep down between her legs, trickle into the narrow perspiring crevice between her trembling buttocks and over his sperm-bloated balls onto the cushions, Her legs opened obscenely wide and she lay quietly for a few moments, panting, her squashed breasts heaving beneath his hairy chest. Then she stirred again, feeling the hardened length of his desire-swollen staff still skewering deep into her ravaged belly.
She opened her eyes ...and through the film of drugs and drink saw her own dear husband hunched over her, felt the insane stirrings of sensual pleasure once more as he ran his hands over the smooth, soft skin of her breasts and hips. Gasping at the touch, she began to plead softly with him; "Oh, darling ...darling Anthony ...Anthony darling, do it again ...do it to me, darling ...it's so wonderful; do it to me again, please!"
Above her contorted face and unseeing drug-fogged eyes, the leering face of Harry Franks cracked open into a malevolent, triumphant grin. And for answer he rammed his plank-stiff cock into her quivering belly with all his strength.