Chapter 8

In the next few days, life for all three of the members of the household settled into a game of cat and mouse; Ray and Marty trying to see each other to have a sex session, and unbeknownst to them, Helen playing detective. She was positive that Marty was involved in a sex caper. She wasn't sure, but she somehow suspected that Tom, Ray's foreman, was mixed up in it. He had been cagey and evasive when she had called at the shop, and Helen suspected that he was covering up something. Another thing that increased her suspicions of him was the fact that lately Tom and his wife hadn't invited Ray and her over, nor arranged any double dates for a long time. Once, they had been very close—practically the only company that Ray and she ever spent any time with.

And Marty was acting so furtive, yet seemed to have a superior air about her, as if she were putting something over on Helen, if not Ray, also.

Ray himself was acting strange, Helen felt, and this added to her suspicions that he was in collusion with Tom, covering up an affair with Marty. If that were not the case, Helen was still certain that Marty was up to no good. She was on too good behavior, for her. She was meek and polite around Helen, and she hardly spoke to Ray, except in a casual way when the three of them were together.

Marty had not missed any more school—Helen made sure of that. She called the school often, checking on her niece and was satisfied that Marty was attending classes regularly. All she really needed, Helen told herself, was for her uncle to assert himself once in a while, to let her know that she had best keep in line, or she would be treated like any other delinquent.

Ray and Marty had worked out a makeshift plan. It wasn't satisfactory, but it was better than nothing at all. Two or three days a week, Ray would pick Marty up during her lunch hour, when she was free to leave the school, and they had awkward sex in his car, in as secluded a place as they could find. They didn't dare risk going to the lake again, for Ray could think of no plausible story that would account for both of them being absent at the same time.

They did get one break when Helen's club was to have its weekly meeting at her house. Helen knew that Ray did not like to be around a bunch of chattering females, and he usually went bowling or to a movie on the nights when she held the meetings at home. So she told Ray that it might be a good time to take Marty to a movie, or bowling. Helen didn't fancy the idea of her sexy young niece being snotty to her closest friends, and besides, she wore such heavy makeup and such short clothes that any decent woman could tell in an instant that Marty was a tart—and that she was gunning openly for any male she might entrap.

So they had one long evening together, and Ray drove to a lonely place beside a creek—a clearing in the woods, where lovers often drove in the summertime. But this particular night, they were completely alone. They spread a car blanket on the ground and undressed quickly, wanting to take advantage of every moment to make up for the many hours they had missed each other.

As they undressed in the dimness, the moonlight streamed down upon their bodies, imparting a greenish-white glow to their skin. They stood for a moment, just drinking in the other's lures.

"You're beautiful, Marty," Ray said with genuine emotion. "I love you. I don't see how I can go on like this, just sneaking an hour here and there." His hands found her breasts, cupping them and she moved close. "It wouldn't be so bad, if only we didn't have to be around each other so much, and not dare to touch, or kiss, or even say the words we want to."

"I know, lover," Marty said, her mouth smothering his lips in a sucking, demanding kiss. Her hand stole down and caressed his already hardening prick. She slowly knelt, his hands sliding up until they were around the back of her head. She began to tickle the head of his cock with her tongue, letting it rove downward once or twice, so that it ranged the length of his tool, burying itself in his pubic hair.

Ray began to writhe, and she tormented him no longer. She opened her lips and let his rigid staff enter, while she cupped his ass-cheeks in her hands and pulled him closer, his cock plunging deep into her mouth as she moved her head from side to side, covering every tiny part of his prick with sucking, teasing kisses.

He began to jerk and shudder, and he shot a load of jism into her eager mouth. He moaned and pulled her mouth down on his prick, and she sucked him dry of every drop, using her tongue at the end to wipe the head of his cock clean—even the tiny hole at the tip of it.

They laid on the blanket, with Ray sucking her nipple, running his fingers loosely over her vagina, letting one finger slip inside the wet, waiting lips of her cunt.

Marty felt a sudden desire overwhelm her, and she scrambled to her knees, spreading her legs wide.

"From the back first, honey!" she directed, "then up the ass! I want you that way—I just want to be everything—everything you want or need!"

There was a desperate need that echoed in her voice, and even though she didn't quite understand her own needs for anal intercourse, Marty sensed somehow that this one position was especially meaningful to Ray, for she was sure that it really satisfied him and that he had never done it that way with another girl. It was their "special" way, and it expressed their deep lust and love for one another more than any other way.

Ray got behind her on his knees and guided his hard cock into her pussy. She was lubricated and hot, and after a few lunges his cock was moving in and out of her cunt easily, rubbing the inner recesses and the lips, making contact occasionally with her clit. She bucked like a young mare for a time, then she balanced herself on one hand and reached down and began to masturbate herself, as she felt the hot waves of orgasm begin to lap at the sensitive clit and the inner regions of her cunt.

Ray was ready to come at the same time, and both were making noises that meant nothing, yet told of a world of passion that was consuming them.

Suddenly, from the darkness, a blinding light enveloped them for a split second, then left them sightless as the afterglow lingered in their eyes.

"Goddamn!" Ray cursed, his addled wits quickly adjusting to the situation. "That was a flashbulb! Somebody took a picture of us—with both our faces showing!" He stood up, his tool softening rapidly. Marty was stunned and terrified, and she collapsed on the blanket, torn between fear that nauseated her and the frustration of having been close to climax, then being rudely jolted into the realization that they had been caught and even photographed in the act!

Ray stood peering into the darkness, unable to see because of the destruction of his night vision by the blinding light of the flashbulb. He tried to stare down the road they had taken to reach the glade, but he saw nothing but deep shadows. After a few moments, he heard a car motor spring to life in the distance, and then they heard the car moving rapidly away and, in a moment or two, the sounds died completely.

Ray was on his knees beside Marty. She had sat up, and was staring at him in the faint light of the moon. Her face held a worried frown, and Ray looked grimly at her.

"I'm scared," Marty said in a little-girl voice.

"I am too," Ray said grimly, "but we can't panic."

"What do you think it was—who?" Marty mumbled.

"I don't know. Maybe somebody that Helen had follow us. She's been acting awfully suspicious lately. I wouldn't put anything past her."

"She hates me, I know she hates me." Marty was beginning to feel sorry for herself. She was already feeling like a martyr, thinking only of herself, and not of Ray. "What shall I do, Ray?" she asked, unconscious of the fact she had included only herself in the question.

"Nothing we can do, but wait. Whoever it was will use the picture soon, for whatever purpose it was intended. All we can do is play it by ear—stay cool, and see what it's all about. C'mon, let's get dressed."

Marty shivered, pulling on her panties. "I'm scared. I can't look her in the eye, Ray. I just feel like I want to run and hide."

"It's too late for that!" He snapped, rapidly donning his clothes. "We've just got to go back and act like it never happened. Maybe it was just some nut from town, who gets his kicks out of watching people fuck, and takes pictures so he can masturbate later, while looking at them." He knew in his heart that he was fishing for straws. He didn't believe it was a stranger. He believed that it was tied in directly with Helen, and his mind was already racing, trying to envision what she would say, and what he could possibly say in reply. A photograph was something you couldn't argue with.

On the drive back, they were both silent for most of the way, feeling gloomy and frightened, with a trace of anger at themselves for having allowed their passions to place themselves in such a vulnerable spot. As they neared the house, Ray pulled to the curb and shut off the motor.

"Look, Marty, honey," he said, his hand on her shoulder, "we've got to play this cool. When we go in, we'll smile and say we had a good time at the movie. I have to see Helen's eyes—be alone with her for a little while, so I can tell if this was her doings or not. You just do your best to act natural. Will you try, honey?"

Marty nodded, shivered again, but not from the cold. She was already thinking in terms of having been discovered, and she wondered what they would do in that case. She voiced her fears.

"Ray, what if—what if Helen does see that picture. What will I do? What will we do? Can we just—ran away?"

Ray noted the selfishness of her fears, and he shook her shoulder roughly. "Just don't worry about that!" he growled. "Just try to act natural now. Let me take care of whatever comes. You just keep from bawling, or getting mad at Helen if she accuses us, and blabbing the whole thing! You hear me?"

Marty winced under his fingers, and nodded. Her eyes were bright with fear, and when Ray pulled the car into the driveway, they did not even kiss. They could tell from the sounds coming from inside the house that the last of the women were leaving, and they entered by the back door.

Marty quickly went down the hall and into her room, where she sat in the darkness, trembling, straining to hear whatever conversation took place between Ray and Helen.

The women had gone, and Ray sat at the kitchen table, nervously sipping at his cup of coffee. He was trying to steel himself for Helen's onslaught, but he was thinking more clearly now, and he wondered if she were behind the picture-taking sneak. Whoever had taken the picture would hardly have had time to come back and give it to Helen. Maybe he had been right in his surmise that some weirdo had taken it. His confidence grew as he thought it over more carefully. Helen wasn't that smart, Ray reasoned. It made sense to think that they had run into an unlucky accident, and that within a few days, he might be blackmailed. But that was far more preferable than to have to face Helen, in the face of the damning evidence. Because they had been doing it dog fashion both their faces must have shown very clearly in the picture.

Helen walked into the kitchen, glowing with satisfaction. Her party had gone well. She poured a cup of coffee and seated herself opposite Ray, smiling happily.

"How'd it go?" he asked without real interest.

"Marvelous! Simply grand. We got so much accomplished toward our winter projects." She was bubbling with enthusiasm and pride of accomplishment. She was in a little dream world of her own, and as Ray studied her face, he was more positive than ever that she knew nothing of the blackmail scheme. If she'd have been behind it, she would have already been screaming at him.

"Did you and Marty have a nice evening?" Helen asked absently, hardly pausing before she went on, "Mary Shultz had the most interesting idea to raise money! We're going to ..."

"I'm pretty beat," Ray interrupted. "Long day tomorrow. Mind if I go to bed?" He stood up and waited for her answer.

Helen stood also. "I'm pretty tired, too. All that excitement and fussing—but we did get so much done! I'll clean up tomorrow. I'm coming to bed too."

While Helen was in the bathroom, with the water running in the sink, Ray darted down to Marty's room, opened the door and snapped, "I was right. Some kook or something. Helen doesn't know a thing, so relax. Talk to you tomorrow."

He went quickly back to his bedroom and got into bed, leaving Marty lying in the darkness almost faint from the relief. She didn't think about any consequences, so long as it hadn't been a trap laid by Helen.

Ray, in his bed, was not so calm. He wondered who had taken the picture? It was an incriminating piece of evidence, and he went over the list of people whom he felt might not like him—or Marty, or those who might be motivated simply by greed.

When Helen crawled into bed, she was naked. To Ray, this was the signal that she wanted intercourse. He thought to himself that she sure picked a fine time for it. He was so worried, he wondered if he could get a hard-on, or keep it long enough to bring her to orgasm and get the ordeal over with.

Helen cuddled close to him, her hand moving to caress his cock, which for her, Ray knew, was the ultimate in brazenness for a woman.

"Make love to me, honey," Helen coaxed, kissing his ear. "It's been a long time. You seem so busy—so preoccupied lately—make love to me, please." He hated it when she whined or begged for fucking, and he got up and went into the bathroom, telling her that he was going to wash good. Instead, he sat on the toilet seat and played with his soft cock, imagining he was entering the soft, hot pussy of his niece, or that he was shoving his rigid cock to the hilt in her tight asshole.

When his prick was hard and ready, he quickly got into bed and climbed atop Helen. She lay there in the dark, her legs spread, but her body unmoving, waiting for him to go through the unchanging ritual of fucking her in the old-fashioned position.

In his frustration, yet with deep relief, Ray took his wife savagely, plunging his cock in deep and hard and fast, one hand cruelly kneading the cheek of her ass, while the fingers of the other raked over her nipple and small breast. He heard gasps come from Helen—gasps that he hadn't heard for years. She suddenly came alive under his body, writhing and moving her ass to take more of his cock. It surprised Ray, for she was usually as unmoving as a board. Their lovemaking had become uninteresting, just a function to relieve physical need and tension. But tonight, Helen was different, and she suddenly proved it by pulling his face down and sticking her tongue deeply into his mouth. She surprised him and she tantalized him and, in a moment, Ray was returning her passionate tongue kisses, sucking and toying with hers, feeling his passion rise. It was a new feeling, and Ray surrendered himself to it completely. Helen began to mumble through the kisses, saying, "Oh, Ray, you're so wonderful! Ray, Ray—fuck me good, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

It was so strange to hear her use the word that it brought him to the peak of passion, and he lunged viciously into her cunt, wanting to make her come fully alive as a woman—the way Marty always did—with abandon and sheer joy. He pulled her legs up, and Helen got the message. She locked her legs around him, and he raised her body by the ass, using both hands to pull her closer, so he could plunge his cock deeper into her.

Later, he thought that it must have been a deep sense of guilt that made him screw Helen three times, but at the time Ray knew only that she had become suddenly alive and sexy, like she had never been before, even during their first days of marriage.

Before the last one, Helen even bent and took the head of his cock in her mouth! It was a timid gesture, and she quickly released it, and clung to him tightly, as if afraid she had displeased him. "I tried, anyhow," she said. "Maybe someday I'll be able to—to go all the way, that way."

She excited Ray, like a new toy would a child. He wondered if he hadn't been missing a lot by his neglect of Helen, and by his longstanding disinterest in her body.

After they had both had an orgasm for the third time, Ray masterfully spread her legs and crawled down and inserted his tongue in her cunt. She had always shied away before, but this time she welcomed his probing, flicking tongue, and he nibbled and sucked and plunged until he felt her clitoris explode in a wild series of twitches, and then she came, collapsing with the pleasure of it.

That night, for the first time in years, Ray and his wife went to sleep in each other's arms, like young lovers.

Next morning, Ray had already left for work when Marty entered the kitchen. She was astonished to meet a sparkling-eyed, vivacious Helen, who smiled and waited on Marty with a new air about her. She chatted gaily about her hen party the night before, and hoped that Marty had liked the movie, and when Marty left for school, she was more suspicious than ever. She was sure it was an act that Helen was putting on to cover her suspicions, or to throw Ray and her off the track while she plotted to destroy them.

Marty would have been even more astonished had she known that Helen's liveliness and pleasantness stemmed from the good feeling of having been satisfied sexually by the man she loved. To Helen, it was the opening of a new door, to new joys. She promised herself that, at least three times each week, she would approach her husband in this abandoned, needful manner, and that she would eventually learn to do all the things that pleased him sexually, for it had given her a new outlook on life.

But surprises were the order of the day for Marty. She had been so shaken by the events of the night before, then shaken more by Helen's about-face, that she almost welcomed the classrooms, for it meant that she could get her mind off the confusing things that were piling up in her life.

But at noon, she was jolted out of her deliberately contrived peace, by a note that a boy slipped to her. It was sealed in an envelope and had no name on it. When she opened it, she found there was no salutation and the note was typewritten. It said: THE WRITER HAS SOMETHING TO TRADE. WILL TAKE KEY IN RETURN FOR INTERESTING PICTURE. That was all. Marty shook her head at first, befuddled by the cryptic message, but then it dawned on her like a thunderbolt striking—the note was from Bill Brady, and it had been him, or someone he had paid, who had taken the flashbulb shot of her and Ray the night before!

Anger filled her for a moment, but it rapidly gave way to fear! If she refused to return Brady's key, and he showed the picture to Helen, it would blow the roof off her world! She wondered how he had known they were going to be there, but that seemed unimportant for the moment. She had to get that photo, at all costs. Yet, a streak of stubbornness took hold of her. Blackmail was a nasty situation, but perhaps there was another way to get the picture, and still keep the key. She still had an enticing body, and in the few times she had run into Brady at school, in spite of his attempts to scowl at her, she had seen the lust in his eyes. He still wanted her sexually, and perhaps she could make him want her enough to relinquish the picture, and allow her to keep the key he prized so highly.

A soft smile was on her face as she knocked at his office door and went in without waiting to be bidden. Bill Brady sat at his desk pouring over some papers, but he showed no surprise when she walked in and closed the door behind her. He was pretty sure that she would come running, once she had seen that picture. Now, as she stood posing provocatively, her pelvis thrust forward, her breasts jutting out, with the "come-to-me" smile, Brady could almost read her mind. She was going to try the same bait with the picture that she had with the Phi Beta Kappa key.

"I got your note," Marty said softly.

"Note? What note?" Brady wanted to enjoy having the whip in his hand—a bigger whip than she knew, yet.

"Let's not play games, Bill. You typed a note and had a boy give it to me a few minutes ago. You said you wanted to make a trade—remember?"

Brady grinned wickedly. "Oh, that note? Yes, I guess I did. Now—do you have the key with you?"

"You know I don't. I never carry it. I've never shown it to anybody. I keep my word."

"But you are interested in a trade?" Brady ignored the slight sarcasm in her last phrase.

"I'm always interested in deals that can get me something," she replied calmly, the smile still on her mouth. She was growing more sure of herself now, seeing that look in his eyes as they moved up and down her body.

"Well then, let's get down to business." Brady tried to act stern, but that lush body, and the memories it stirred within him, was disconcerting.

"I have a picture of you and a man, in a somewhat revealing position," Brady continued briskly. "You have a key which I foolishly agreed to let you have in return for a—couple of favors. I want the key. You want the picture. Simple as that. Even trade."

They exchanged icy, challenging smiles as Marty mentally appraised her chances of coming out with the picture and the key. It wasn't that the key was so important now, but that Brady was challenging her. He was trying to escape from the lure of her body, and that hurt her pride and got her determination boiling.

She nodded suddenly. "It's a deal. I'll have to get the key. It's at home. I'll meet you at your place, and we trade. Fair enough?"

The teacher was wary. He didn't trust her. He'd already seen what a bitch she really was, and what a ruthless person lay beneath that soft, girlish exterior.

He stood up and leaned forward, piercing her with his eyes. His voice was harsh and his face grim as he said, "At my place at seven, but—no other deal. No fucking, no sucking, no playing. I've got over you, Marty girl. I've gone to the bathroom enough to wash the shit of you out of my system, so no hanky-panky—no bedroom tactics. Just bring the key and I'll give you the picture, then you get your hot little ass out of my life! Go and fuck yourself, or maybe your uncle! Got it straight?"

Marty had been calm throughout his denunciation, but at the mention of her uncle, she froze! He knew that the man in the picture was Ray! How? And what might he do, after he once had his key back? She had no guarantee that he wouldn't continue the blackmail. Perhaps he had other copies of the picture. And what about the negative? Her mind was racing and she was close to panic.

This was getting too complicated for her to handle alone. She had to talk to Ray and get his advice. Ray always knew what to do.

Meekly, she nodded, the smile now gone. "All right. I'll be there. But—" she made one last attempt to gain control, "I want the negative."

"Don't be childish," Brady snorted. "That was taken with a Polaroid flash camera. There's only one copy, but if I have to use it, one can be more than enough. You just show up with the key, and we're square. Now, get out. I have a lot of work to finish before the class bell rings!"

He seated himself at his desk and picked up his red pencil. He missed the baleful glare she shot him just before she closed the door and walked out.