Chapter 5
A morbid sense of aloneness and utter separation from life's joys stole over Kathy as she stood peeking out the window to see her young husband drive off in one of the Parker's limousines with her cat, Lust, sitting contentedly in her lap. She turned from the window with tiny tears puddling her wide eyes. Gosh, it seemed all she'd done the past two days was cry, but she couldn't help herself. Life was so miserably unfair. If she'd actually been guilty of some offense she could have understood, even accepted, life's cruelties...
Mrs. Parker had announced that morning her decision to use Paul as her private houseboy, a duty which piled on top of taking care of the vast grounds, limited his free time to absolute zilch! Why, it was almost as if the Parkers had plotted to separate them!
As if the embarrassment of being placed under a woman's supervision wasn't punishment enough, Mrs. Parker had insisted Paul wear a uniform to make him look more official. Cripes, she might as well have torn the simple gold wedding band from his finger and worn that around her neck to drive her point home!
And Paul was irked, too, at the 'undressing' way the Director of Parker Halfway House had looked at his wife over the rim of his coffee cup at the breakfast table, dressed in her short, ruffled maid outfit with the dipping, wired bodice and black fishnet stockings. Of course Kathy was conscious of the big man's eyes raking over her, men always ogled younger girls. She accepted the gesture as a compliment. Sid Parker was a very influential man, the young girl reasoned, and she sincerely doubted that he would deliberately risk gossip by flinging himself at her...a little nobody from the hick mountain country.
Still...she couldn't bear being dictated to like this, locked up like a captured criminal! Perhaps if she spoke to Judge Henderson in private he would understand her plea to be sent back to Tennessee to be placed under her parents' custody. Something in the kindly man's expression had led her to believe he was convinced of her innocence...and then Mr. Parker stepped forward...and look what happened! Certainly the Parkers could afford household help...professional maids and butlers acquainted with the protocol of Southern hospitality who answered with "Sir" and "Ma'am" instead of a nod of the head.
Gosh, life back in the mountains had been so simple and this was so terribly confusing! Kathy's head started to pound from the strain of sorting out the variables. She had to gain control of her senses and steel her mind to the reality of two more years of good behavior. Maybe this was the test of her marriage...their runaway marriage that her Daddy would frown upon. Now there was no Daddy to call upon for help...only a boy whom she loved deeply...and together they would work it out! They had to...and they would; she was confident. They must maintain an undying trust in each other and wave aside any suspicions their assigned duties might arouse...such as Paul driving away with that woman for a day.
Kathy plucked a kleenex from her apron pocket and sniffled into it, then stiffened her upper lip courageously and set about her housekeeping chores. To dwell on the gloomy situation would only cause more pain. Oh, tonight they would be alone together cuddling and snuggling in bed...and maybe...maybe tonight it would happen. Tonight would explode in a heaven of sparkles with her dear, dear husband releasing his seed inside her hungry womb.
Behind the wheel of the rich smelling leather interiored vehicle, Paul slumped in a relaxed posture, guiding the wheel with a little finger. His anger diminished from the warming sensation of the morning sun glaring through the non-glare windshield onto his ruddy cheeks. If it wasn't for the silly uniform he wore, he might have felt important driving that big shiny buggy through the downtown streets, turning heads like falling dominoes.
Behind him, running her burgundy painted fingertips through Lust's sleek black fur, Myra's austere expression broke into a smug half-smile. Quietly she studied Paul's scraggly brown hair fringing the collar of his uniform and deep within her belly a spark of nostalgia kindled an inferno of longing for her dearly departed cousin Edward, firing with it uncontrollably stormy emotions of roiling love and hatred.
"Park outside of the lingerie shop on the corner dear," she ordered crisply, "I need to pick something up." He did and she returned carrying a package moments later.
This beats riding that damned hum mower, though Paul, turning up the air conditioning to high, feeling his eye lids become heavy. "Where to now, Mrs. Parker," he asked in his most polite voice.
"Back to the House, Darling. We have things to take care of there, too." Myra's glossy, ruby lips enunciated the words warmly; the nape of his neck burned from the suggestiveness of it.
"Right away, Ma'am!" Assuming an officious posture, he squared his shoulders, forcing himself to ignore the point-blank insinuation. He guided the silver limousine through the city streets and nosed it onto the highway, the car devoid of sound save for the soft whisper of the air conditioner cooling the hot vee of his legs. Then they were back at the wrought iron gates that announced the Parker estate and in a beguiling voice he heard her say:
"Park outside here. I want you to carry up my package."
Paul cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am." He pulled up alongside the curb and hastened to open her door, accepting Lust while Mrs. Parker, her sleek sheath riding high on red gartered legs, slid out of the back seat. Her high heels tapped resoundingly along the cobble-stoned path leading around to the back of the mansion under a trellis of blossom heavy wisteria. She slipped her key into the private entrance used solely by the matron from the House for the purpose of accompanying girls to and from the House to the Mansion, and led the way down a long hallway to a plush room at the far end.
"This is my private quarters" she announced, arching her peaked eyebrows for a sidelong glance of the awestruck young man who appeared intoxicated by the luxuriousness of his surroundings. "I couldn't ask for more privacy," she said in a throaty voice. "Do you like it?"
Paul craned his neck, drinking in the mauve velvet drapes, stretching upwards to the ceiling, the thick Persian carpets scattered under foot on unscratched hardwood parquet floors. This was a castle compared to the dumpy two-bedroom framework house back in Tennessee! He cleared his throat. "N-nice, very nice," he replied, startled at the sudden change of character from a mistress barking orders to a woman soliciting his opinion. Curiously, he eyed her. What was she up to?
Plucking the rattling bag from his clasp, her wickedly high heels digging into the carpets, Myra headed for what Paul guessed was the bedroom beyond. "Make yourself at home, Paul. I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Oh, be a dear and mix me a Bloody Mary and make one for yourself."
Paul nervously shifted his weight from right to left and back again, recalling how that very morning Mr. Parker had barked out something about doubling his duties and now here he was lounging about Mrs. Parker's private quarters at eleven o'clock in the morning...mixing drinks! Great, all he needed was to be discovered and he could chalk up another two years of probation!
Myra, once inside the bedroom decorated in pink velvet and French Provincial furniture strategically reflected in mirrors, smiled to herself and in one glass wall and out of the corner of her sloe eye, watched through the open doorway young Paul's expression of slack-jawed awe. God, his squared shoulders and ruddy complexion was the split image of young cousin Edward...!
Let Sid have his nymphets, thought the lecherous lady of the house wriggling out of her dress and half slip to stand before the multi-faceted mirrors, knowing her chauffeur was gawking inconspicuously around the corner to see her stand half nude in her black bikini panties and matching half-cup brassiere...I'll take a tight-balled young boy any time...and I've got this one for two years! By the time she'd finished with him, he'd never want to leave her.
Paul stood behind the small bar mixing the vodka into the tomato juice, the stir stick clinking against the glass pitcher in a nervous rhythm as he suddenly became cognizant of her naked reflection in the bedroom mirror reflecting on the crystal wall mirror in the sitting room. The view of her lushly mature body couldn't have been more complete had she been parading around before him!
Hell, he thought tilting the vodka bottle to gurgle out another two fingers of alcohol into the mix, what is she trying to do to me? The last thing he wanted was to unintentionally involve himself in a husband-wife spat. Sid Parker could be a mean adversary, judging from the size of the bearish man.
"I'm ready for that drink!" Myra rasped, floating into the room with self assurance and wearing precious little beneath the scarlet red negligee which whispered about her ivory flesh in provocative shadows. "I'm dying for that Bloody Mary!"
Paul's sweating palm left an imprint on the crystal j lass as he handed Mrs. Parker her drink; he swallowed tightly, his eyes refusing to blink as she glided to the Wedgwood blue velvet sofa and fell comfortably into a pillowed corner. God Almighty...! She couldn't have been more blatant if she'd held a gun to his head and raped him! Well, he had to put a stop to this right now, before things got into-no, out of hand. He loved his wife Kathy, he could never...do this!
Demurely, Myra Parker sat rearranging the folds of her negligee, widely pleating the fabric between her fingertips. For this his initiation she had deliberately chosen something subtle, blandly suggestive, though she much preferred the feel and smell of leather. But she didn't want to scare him away, the poor innocent, and judging from the stymied expression on his face, she had better cajole him to sit on the sofa beside her before he fainted.
She patted the blue velvet cushion beside her. "Come sit down, dear." Smiling beatifically, she batted her curled black eyelashes at him, stealing a fugitive glance at the vee of his loins. "What's the matter...are you shocked?"
Paul simply stood there staring at the raven-haired vixen draped in shadows of red, the ruby tips of her nipples poking out like bumblebees beneath her gown. God, she had gorgeous breasts for a woman her age! he surmised, trying to think of something to dislodge the frog in his throat that kept the desperate gasp of titillated astonishment from breaking through.
"Well? Are you going to drink standing up or will you come join me?" she invited, tucking one nude leg under her buttocks, separating her legs so that the black forest at the center of her womanhood became an obvious target for Paul's glassy eyed gaze. She laughed then, and that surprised him...frightened him, too, as she watched him advance wearily toward her, squinting slightly as if trying to focus on a hazy apparition. Lightly he settled on the sofa, stationing himself carefully as though it were made of glass.
Myra eased close to him then, stroking her burgundy fingernails over the scraggly nape of his neck, massaging, caressing the nerve center of his taut torso until he let out a stifled whimper which made little ripples in his Bloody Mary which put to his lips, was yet untouched. Tightly and hotly, she pressed to him, her erect, pointed breasts flattening against his shoulder as she took his drink glass from him and gingerly set it on the marble end table next to her.
Startled, Paul could neither speak nor breathe. The perfume she wore intoxicated him. Cripes, who needed a drink? He felt her cool arm slither around his back and automatically, his hands closed around her velvety skin at the small of her back. He felt the muscles ripple lightly beneath as a tremor passed over her and her warm, moist lips planted themselves on his own.
After a moment she broke the kiss and idly letting her fingers drift down his chest to toy with the buttons of his chauffeur uniform, she asked: "Did you enjoy that?" Her lips wore a bemused smile.
Half-sighing, half-whimpering, Paul managed to speak through his confusion. "I...I...shit, I'm a married man, Mrs. Parker...I don't go runnin' around on Kathy!" he stammered, feeling his hardening cock lurch belligerently toward the slit of his jockey shorts under the zipped trap of his gabardine uniform pants.
Myra tittered lightly, then kissed him on the nose before removing herself from his arms. Paul seized the moment to break out of her spellbinding periphery. The placid expression on her austere-beautiful face never wavered, even as she picked up her drink and walked towards the bar where Paul stood clasping a bar stool for support, trying quite unsuccessfully to appear calm and in control. His flustered brain clouded intoxicatingly again as he drank in the lithe suppleness of her sensuous body elevated in white kid two-inch sandals. He could feel his cock thundering into stiffness and in a flush of embarrassment he watched her glittering eyes lock on the protrusion. "Isn't that sweet," she taunted.
Paul tried to swallow. He cleared his throat after great difficulty and tried to assume a reasonable tone: "Mrs. Parker...I'm afraid there's something you don't understand...."
"Seeing is believing, isn't it, darling?" she smiled. "And do call my Myra." Casually, she reached across the bar to pluck a wedged lime from the Lazy Susan and squeezed the juice of it into her glass in a pointed gesture. "You forgot my lime." The diaphanous clouds of red floated after her as she returned to the sofa. "I abhor talking across the room," she said beguilingly, her head held arrogantly. "Do come sit down."
In four strides Paul crossed the room, stopping in front of the end table from which he grabbed his glass and emptied its contents down his gullet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and drew a deep breath. "M-Mrs. Parker," he began.
"Myra." Again the batted eyelashes above high, rouged cheek bones.
"Myra...I am a married man and I love my wife." The words, loaded with sincerity, sounded like a childish excuse even to himself.
"How touching," tutted Myra, running her red taloned fingertip around the rim of her crystal drink glass. "And I love Sid."
"Oh boy...." muttered Paul under his breath, contemplating pouring himself another drink but choosing to stand his ground instead.
"There's something I have to explain to you, Paul," said Myra matter-of-factly, gradually lifting her eyes from the lime floating in her drink to the tent in Paul's gabardine slacks. "What Myra wants, Myra gets and Myra wants you."
Christ Almighty, what the hell was wrong with this woman? He sounded utterly stupid when he returned with: "And if I don't want you...? " Cripes, what a stupid hypocritical thing to say!
Myra broke into a slow smile. "Don't call the batter bad until you've sampled it," she said sweetly and then after a moment's hesitation: "You said you loved your wife...but you're missing the point here, darling. Your wife is in my custody after being caught red-handed with my diamond rings in her purse. I could make life comfortable for her...."
Paul's guts knotted at the hollow threat. It was crazy...insane he thought and the craziest part was that she was so damned breathtaking...so upper class...so wealthy...and here she was trying to coerce him, a goddamned nobody runaway from a hick Tennessee town where people died of emphysema from years of pick-axing coal like a bunch of stupid moles...no future, Christ, nobody'd even taught him table manners...and here she was trying to get him to fuck her! Ho...he straightened and scratched his head, feeling the ram rod tension in his spine prickle with the absurdity of it all. . . !
"Do you find it preposterous that I would want you?" she prodded, though her tone wore an answer more definite than he could possibly offer. "And if you're wondering about my husband, don't waste your brain power, honey. I don't normally have to beg men to offer me their virility, but you are a stubborn one."
Crooking her finger at him, she cast a wicked spell over the young husband who in a blinkless daze followed the direction of her gesture and sank weightlessly onto the sofa beside her. In a second movement, Myra was melting down onto his lap, her arm slipping around his scruffy neck, her thigh and hip pressing down onto his half erect penis. "Let's get comfortable and quit playing games. Who knows, you might gain something from it, and in your position, darling, you need all the help you can get."
Christ, what else could he do? The spider had woven her web around him, poisoned it with circumstance and there was no use trying to extricate himself now. This woman could be a hell of a lot more dangerous out of bed than in bed, he reasoned stupidly. Intentionally she was squirming down onto his blood-gushed penis, the weight and pressure of her soft curves adding another expanding inch to his groinfull! Suddenly he realized that his hand had moved inside her nylon gown at the waist to caress the smooth skin his fingertips found there and slowly he stroked upward over her trembling nakedness toward the mounds of her swelling breasts.
"Mmmmmmm...you catch on fast, Lover," she cooed, reaching up to pull the satin ribbon that fastened the plunging neckline of the gown.
"Goddamn!" gasped Paul as the cantaloupe-sized mounds of creamy flesh burst like rapidly inflated balloons before his face, their bee-stung nipples pointing invitingly up at him as if begging to be kissed.
Shit...fuck...sonofabitch...what the hell was he doing? Katheeeee!