Chapter 2
For the rest of the evening, Adele spent all her time just making herself up to be attractive for her husband. When Martin was safely out of the shower, she returned to the bathroom and took a hot bath, just letting her voluptuous body soak for the longest while. A great many thoughts roamed through her head-remembering the electrifying masturbation scene in this very bathroom only moments earlier-but she shrugged most of them off. For the time being all she knew was that she was somewhat stirred up-by the weather, the sunshine of spring, or call-it-what-you-will. But if Bob made love to her that night, perhaps that would help her to relax.
She was, after all, a woman, she reminded herself yet one more time. So there was nothing immoral about relaxing through sex with her own husband. No, there was nothing basically immoral about sex-so long as it was carried on only with one's own spouse. Indeed, her puritan parents had had ten children, of which she had been the youngest girl.
She paused to ponder that for a moment. Just why was it that all the puritans, whom sophisticated, worldly people so despised, invariably had so many children? But that sophisticated people preoccupied with sex usually had very few?
She shrugged and ran her fingers into the deliciously hot water. Then she ran them tantalizingly over her long, voluptuously turned legs. She smiled as she remembered something. A boy she had known briefly in high school had once referred to her legs as "Junoesque" and made other references to her body in relation to the Greek goddesses.
But never with these, she thought with a feline smile, lifting her enormous breasts in her hands and squeezing them together. The Greek goddesses had all been more normal in their bosom development.
Fortunately Bob had not been at all put out on their wedding night when he had first learned of her abnormally large breasts. Previous to that she had usually gone out tightly bundled up, as her mother and father had warned her severely that excessive display of a girl's sexual attributes was a fierce temptation for Satan.
But Bob had been tolerant, so she had not felt nearly so ashamed as she had expected to be. He had fondled them gently, and only sucked on them a little, and she had been surprised at the excessive titillation which could be provoked through the manipulation of her nipples. He had been a perfect gentleman, and ever considerate of her wishes, her modesty, and her respectable upbringing. So he had not been cross at the gigantic size of her breasts,' and had only treated her with kindness, just as if she was normal, so that after a few years she had actually lost some of her self-consciousness.
And then Martin had come along, and with his birth their sexual activity had slacked off as well.
Not that it had ever been particularly excessive. For one thing, she had warned Bob continuously when he attempted any of the usual male tricks her mother had warned her of. For example, when he tried to make her get on top she had adamantly refused and withered him with her scorn. It wasn't "nice" for a girl to be on top, and she knew that very well. So after that initial attempt they had always had sex in the "normal" way, with her lying on her back and her legs spread to receive him.
A few times he had also tried to get her up on her haunches for sex, but she always had her wits about her and put him off. She had discovered immediately that the least resistance caused his erection to soften, so he became relatively easy to control. All she had to do was object lightly to one of his obscene suggestions and he wilted in her favor. So she soon was in command of the bedroom situation. He had learned early that she was not merely his to "use" as he saw fit.
Now she probed her fingers lightly into the moist slit between her legs, and began thinking again.
Not long after Martin was born, Pamela had come along, another beautiful child that any mother could be proud of. Yet at the same time Adele often wondered if she knew all about her own daughter that she should. Pamela, after all, was well-developed for a girl her age-as she herself had been-and people were noticing her. Then recently-when Adele had explained to her where babies came from-Pamela's personality had taken a curious turn. It was hard to put her finger on just what was the change involved. All Adele knew for certain was that it was there, that something had altered.
She sprinkled water on her outsize pendant breasts.
They hadn't actually wanted another child at the time, so Pamela had actually been something of a mistake. Still, they had loved her all the same, and she had fitted in so well, after all.
Adele sighed and stood up, water dripping everywhere from her magnificent body. In the mirror across she could see her enormous motherly breasts, her square shoulders, her nicely fleshed ribcage, the dark muffy curls of pubic hair and the long, long columns of her legs. She knew that she was extravagantly put together in every proportion, yet it was only recently that she had begun studying herself occasionally in the mirror.
Just in the last year, in fact. This last year, when she had become so inexplainably irritable and quarrelsome and taken to noticing her son and following him around more and more like a nettlesome mother hen.
She recognized the change in her own personality, but she wasn't sure where it had come from or what to do about it. Did her husband notice it? she wondered. No, his nose was always in financial papers, checking his market holdings. He was a man more interested in numbers than in people, she thought. He probably hadn't noticed anything.
She toweled herself thoughtfully. Then how did she look to her own children? she wondered. A nagging old bag? Maybe they hadn't noticed anything. Could she be going through menopause? No, not near so early. After all, she was only forty.
She toweled between her legs and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Then she smiled. She wondered if Robert would be surprised tonight. They hadn't made love-that is, she hadn't let him make love to her-in several months. Maybe it had been four months, indeed. Wouldn't he be surprised to suddenly find her "turned on"?
But why should he? Wasn't she his wife? Nothing terrible about a wife wanting a little sex from her husband. Everybody knew that was "normal". Even doctors said so.
So she would vamp him. For some reason she was itching between her legs, altogether abnormally for a woman. Blame it on the weather or whatever. But she would use some perfume, and a diaphonous nightgown, and perhaps she would rouse him from his usual somnolescence, she thought.
Maybe.
She smiled at her reflection. Well, it would be a change for her to suddenly come on strong, but on the other hand there was nothing immoral or illegal about that. And anyway, she was entitled to a slight departure from the usual procedure after twenty years of marriage. She cupped her breasts and smiled. Darkness would fall soon. And then they would be alone in their bed, together.
She sighed and spread her fingers down into the hairy nook between her legs. And then husband Robert would give her some nice legal, moral satisfaction.
"Are you done with the paper, Daddy?" asked Pamela, her arms around her father's neck, her long blonde hair falling off on either side onto his squarish shoulders.
"No, dammit, you can see I'm not done with it," Bob Davis said crossly. He caught the scent of some perfume from Pamela and considered how well it matched her natural aura of youthfulness. "What's that you're wearing, baby?"
She put her cheek against his. "Like it? It's called Tigress."
He frowned and crossed his eyes to look at her. "That's not for a little girl like you, dumpling. You know your mother would have a fit if she caught you wearing it."
"I know," she breathed, looking over his shoulder at the paper. The Dodgers had lost the previous day, three to two. That was about all she got from it.
It was nice having Pamela's arms around his neck and her cheek against his, thought Bob, even though it did interfere with his reading-except that suddenly he noticed something else. There was a tingle in his penis. Alarmed, he looked at her.
But no, it couldn't be her fault. He rattled his paper and cleared his throat. It must have been a fleeting memory of that business with Madge down at the office, in the back of the stock room. He shouldn't have done that, but then on the other hand she shouldn't have either. After all, they were both married people.
Pamela studied her father's fine, shapely strong hands with the heavy black hairs on the back of them. As she had many times, she wondered what he looked like naked. During the summertime she was able to look his body over at the beach when he was just in a bathing suit, so she knew he didn't have a paunch. He was tall and well formed, with high square shoulders, a big barrel chest, small waist and hips, and long tapering legs. Sometimes she wondered how much of her own opulent, meaty physique she had gotten from him. Most people said there was a trace of resemblance in their faces, although both her parents were dark.
She ran her fingers through his wet dark curls and gave him a little cuddle. "I won't steal mama's perfume anymore if you don't want me to, Daddy."
He rattled his paper again, just a little more nervously than before. "That's not the point, dear. The point is that you're just too young and immature for a fragrance like that."
Immature, he thought. That was a hot one. It hadn't escaped his attention at all that Pamela was singularly well-developed for her age. And what was it she did with her hair? Did she bleach that slightly white streak off to one side? Well, that was her mother's department. He wasn't going to play the Big Bad Ogre. He had enough headaches at the office without trying to play the mother around his house, as well.
He patted the smooth creamy softness of the back of her hand. His impulse toward erection hadn't abated in any significant degree. In fact his penis was growing harder and elongating more dangerously by the minute. He was ashamed to blame it on Pamela-which would only mean, correspondingly, that it was he himself who was guilty of dirty thoughts. And anyway, he didn't believe that he was. It was simply the weather or something. Every so often he did feel some desires-naturally-and when he did, the place to quench them was in his wife. There didn't have to be a reason for it. In the natural course of things men occasionally felt a sexual desire come upon them.
Madge Parkins was probably to blame though-that little scene in the stock room ... their bodies pressed tightly together....
Pamela was running her fingers lightly over the back of his neck now. She had very long fingernails, and the total effect, given his present condition, was explosive. Suddenly he burst from the chair, threw down his paper, and without another word took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
Upstairs, Adele had spread herself out on the bed and was rubbing her thighs together. Occasionally her fingers curled in the thick black curls of her pubic hair. Another had rested against her forehead.
The most incredible lassitude had crept over her. She knew that she should be getting dinner together, but somehow she just couldn't seem to impel herself into a housedress again and go downstairs. She was in the laziest, dreamiest mood she'd been in in a long while.
Suddenly the door burst open. She looked up. It was Bob. And he had the oddest look on his face. She cupped her breasts and smiled lazily, running two lengthy fingernails over her nipples.
"Like me, darling?" she asked teasingly in a throaty voice born of the age-old instinct of womankind.
Bob uttered a low guttural growl and began swiftly taking off his clothes.
Even as she lay there watching him, Adele continued to wonder what had come over her to make her feel so sexy-yes, that was the word-sexy. She had to admit it now.
And she also knew that apparently he too was feeling sexy this evening. That was certainly a curious coincidence, this simultaneous co-development. Particularly seeing as how they hadn't had any sex at all-or any inclination toward it-in over four months.
Which only confirmed her conviction that it must have something to do with the dark weather. Now she could feel less guilty. It wasn't her fault that she felt this way. Nor was it Martin's.
She closed her eyes tightly against the unbidden vision, but it was no use, because it was painted so indelibly on the insides of her eyelids. The picture of Martin in the shower, masturbating, his head thrown back, blowing cum from his jerking penis....
A small gasp broke from her lips. She opened her eyes. Bob was totally undressed now and draping his pants over a chair. She could feel the tingle bursting along the entire length of her vaginal canal. Part of that feeling was mingled with a sickly sweet feeling of guilt as well.
Her husband's penis was by now all the way out to its full enormity, iron-hard and bursting with pulsating blue veins that throbbed its entire length. There had been no verbal response to her question, but that enormous cock was answer enough. And now he came toward her, reaching for her, a deep animal-like groan erupting from his throat. His hands came around her and for a moment, as she realized his urgency, she was suddenly afraid.
"Please, Bob, be gentle!" she pleaded with him. "Be gentle with me tonight!"
But his heavy fingers hooked into the neck of her silky negligee and ripped it away like tissue paper. Then he held her down with one hand and ran the other greedily over the lush contours of her squirming, voluptuous body, kneading her huge breasts cruelly until she cried out with pain. This was more than she had bargained for. She hadn't figured on receiving him in a state like this-so reminiscent of the brutality of their honeymoon. A sudden terror filled her. His fingers were gripping her flesh raw.
Now his head dropped to the enormous nipples of her breasts and he sucked heavily first on one and then on the other and back again. He chewed hungrily on the sensitive nipple tissue until her cunt felt as if it were burning up with desire. The sweet taste of nipple-blood seeped onto his thirsty tongue.
"Oh, darling-don't be so rough! Pleeeeze!" she pleaded, but the words sputtered unlistened to from her tortured lips.
Her wildly thrashing flesh was slowly imprisoned under his and pushed tightly into the bed until the springs squeaked. His outsize hard hairy chest weighed on her like a giant stone. Her long black hair thrashed helplessly from side to side on the bed, her beautiful, sensual face contorted with horror. Her dark eyes flashed wide in disbelief as she realized that he was raping her. She pleaded some more but her sounds soon became nothing but incoherent mumbles of jumbled words.
Totally ignoring her low moaning pleas, he rolled on top of her, catching her body and trapping it as her long legs flashed out in one last attempt to get out from under him and escape his brutal assault. His hips fell heavily between her widely splayed thighs, pinning her squirming buttocks tightly to the mattress. Now the crinkly curls of her pubic hair brushed teasingly against his throbbing cock, inciting Bob to incoherent mumblings of crazed and uncontrollable desire for her.
His knees were holding hers wide apart now and he ground his pelvis hard into her squirming defenseless groin. The spasmodic jerking of her soft inner thighs undulated around his searching hand as it moved unerringly toward her vulnerable and exposed cuntal lips. And then the knife edge of his fingers located that moist, musky outer portal. Adele moaned and then there was something else coming forward ... the huge, blood-filled head of his cock....
"Oooohhhhh...." she moaned as he jabbed his cock between the fleshy moist lips, and then with a groan shoved it all the way forward into her quivering cunt. She squealed like a stuck pig and kicked her legs out madly in a futile attempt to evade this cruel skewering. But this only worsened her position and there was a guttural screech of additional pain that tumbled piteously from deep in her imprisoned throat as his rockhard penis battered deeper and deeper into her warm yielding flesh. His pelvis smashed against her and then he was in all the way to the end. His rigid fleshy column was sunk all the way down inside her quivering belly, the warm wet walls of her vagina wrapped snugly over it.
But Bob didn't hesitate even now, his urgency was so strong and demanding. He didn't give her any chance to adjust at all to this sudden forcing of her womb. He just began to fuck her for all he was worth, ramming in and out furiously and panting like a dog. He could only think of one thing now, and that was to spew his hot, sticky load of cum deep inside her where it belonged. That desperate load that Madge Parkins had so developed in him with her stockroom fondling.
But why then did he suddenly think of Pamela?
Grunting unintelligibly, he closed his eyes and vented the ferocity of his lust in his wife's churning, moaning body. And then suddenly he came faster than he ever expected and began to spew the hot white cum into her with great ferocity and velocity. He flooded her belly over and over until he finally began to reach his limit.
How many times or how long he fucked her he did not know. He just became an unconscious beast in a world of loathsome madness. Until finally all he remembered after the first great gush of sperm from his jerking cock was a-terrible feeling of helpless guilt ... guilt for letting his unbridled lust gain such possession of him....