Chapter 2

Donna Martin wondered what was keeping Mel. It was almost seven. She knew that he hardly ever stayed out this late, and, when he did, he usually gave her a ring. One thing she knew that she wouldn't do: she wouldn't call Airways and find out if he had left there and was on his way home. She trusted Mel. He had warned her, too, against spying on him while he worked. There would be trouble, he had told her, if he ever caught her at it.

She itched, nonetheless, to dial Airways' number and find out what time he had clocked out. She realized that this would give her a clue as to whether or not he had gone straight to Mid-American. They must have told him plenty, she thought. About salaries and benefits.

Donna went over to the tiny stove to check the casserole. She felt furious with Mel, but she was determined not to show it when he came home. He liked a cheerful wife when he came in-when he came in.

Lately, Mel had made several sarcastic remarks about having to eat warmed-over meatloaf, beans, and the other inexpensive meals that were proof that they hadn't made it yet. After paying the rent and other expenses, there wasn't a great deal left from the salary that Hugh Laurens paid him. She certainly didn't dress stylishly, nor did she insist on dinner dates twice a week.

Their apartment was in one of the new high-rises, but this still left them short of space. The apartment featured a small living room, a game room, a master-sized bedroom, and a bath with a built-in sauna. They shared the pool with the other tenants.

Once, they might have considered this ideal living. They had started with nothing, or next to it, like most other newlyweds. But Mel had received his pilot's license, a single-and a twin-engine rating, and enough flying experience in the Mekong Delta to impress every charter service west of Long Island. He wanted to give her a great deal in a short time, and Donna knew that he drove himself to prove it.

She had been proud of him at first. Now she wasn't so sure. He seemed to be sliding into the same rut that swallowed up other men. Mel was no longer the quick-with-a-quip man whom she had married. Not any more. But then this might be her fault, Donna mused. She probably wasn't the bright....

She heard his key in the lock, and she whirled immediately to meet him. Unless he was jaded out of his skull, she felt that she could lift his spirits by merely opening the door. She wore a skimpy sunsuit and sandals which revealed her painted toes. The suit emphasized her size thirty-six breasts to perfection. "Did you see those people at Mid-American, darling? Did you?" She gave him a warm kiss before he could answer, then detected, unless it was her imagination, a perfume that she never wore. Not much of it, just a trace.

Mel accepted, rather than responded to, his wife's kiss. "Yeah, I saw them. They were beastly as hell. Offered me a lousy bookkeeper's job. At seven thousand dollars a year. I nearly threw up. If being grounded means taking that kind of pay slash, forget it. We'd have to move to Skidsville-maybe let your Kadett go back."

"No!" Donna wanted to see Mel with a better job, but she couldn't bear the idea of being without her own car. "Well, the casserole's ready. I used the recipe you like best. Shall we sit down?"

He shook his head. "I'm not hungry. Make me a drink. Any Scotch left?"

She sighed. "We drank the last of it three nights ago. Remember? You said we wouldn't buy any more."

"Crap on that!" Mel said angrily. "I like Scotch. If we can still afford to drive two cars, we can still afford to buy it." He seemed to get an idea. "Run out while I'm changing and find some."

Donna looked at him quizzically to see if she had heard him right. He never made demands like this of her unless he meant them. "Mel, does it-?"

"Yes. Damn it, would I ask if it didn't?"

Donna nodded and went after her purse. Why can't we disagree about some ordinary little thing, she mourned to herself. Why did it have to be about a bottle of Scotch'?

After she went out the door, Martin stared at the floor, disgusted with himself, disgusted with her. I'm a bastard, he thought, for sending poor D. out for a bottle of booze when she worked-really worked-to prepare a meal for me. But she has no business letting me get away with it. She should, for once, put her foot down. But she hadn't, and his estimation of her slumped another notch. What a sick scene this marriage is. Pretend, pretend, pretend, that's all we ever do.

He went to a cabinet and found a bottle of bourbon that Donna didn't know about. He tipped it back and drink three swallows. Then he placed the bottle behind a can of floor wax.

Martin thought about his marriage, about his life in general. He was more discontented now than ever. He didn't need an analyst to tell him that. He required numerous drinks a day just to be able to endure D. and her meaningless chatter. He felt that he had outgrown her and couldn't tell her. She probably sensed it and didn't know how or why.

He went into the bedroom and changed into his best robe, the one his wife had given him for their anniversary. The garment was trimmed in genuine ermine, a concession to the zeal and ambition of their original joining. The robe was quite comfortable. Still brooding, he lit a cigarette and sat down.

He thought about Shan. Thought about her, lusted for her. His cock grew hard and ready merely by calling her face and form to mind. After what her cunt and mouth had given him hours before, he felt that he should have been sated with her. He wasn't. He hadn't even begun to be. He wanted more of her, lots more. He wanted....

The hall door swung open. D. was back with the Scotch. She went directly to the kitchen, smiling as she passed by him. He could hear a minute later, busy with the ice and the shaker. She brought him back a soda, then sat down beside him, an icy drink in her hand.

"Why, Mel!" she exclaimed, looking down at his lap. She had noticed his erection.

Mel shrugged and tried to smile. "I was just sitting here, thinking about you, and it happened."

Donna reached over and patted his bulging prick gently, almost proudly.

Mel squirmed, stirred to still greater heights of passion. He wanted Shan, of course, but now he wanted to fuck any woman, even D. And D. was available. He finished the soda and reached for her.

She drained her glass, placed it on the floor beside his, then came into his arms. "I love you, Mel, darling." She proffered a tongue, and he accepted it. He could almost taste the promise in her mouth as she writhed in his lap.

He ran his hands beneath the sunsuit and grasped her buttocks, letting one finger explore the warmth of her hairy, hot crotch. With a little wriggling, he massaged her clit and cunt. Cunt-juices that he hadn't felt in a week dripped juicily into the palm of his hand.

He stroked vigorously, accentuating his own excitement and hers.

She snaked out of the bottom of the sunsuit. The wet flesh of D.'s hot pussy was now exposed.

"I love you, Mel!" she breathed. "Oh, darling, I love you so much! I hope you love me the same way. It would kill me if you didn't."

Martin couldn't think of a reply. He began unbuttoning the top of her sunsuit. The folds of his robe fell apart, letting his stiff prick pop free. As if on cue, Donna crawled into his lap and straddled his upstanding cock. She slammed her breasts against his chest and rubbed her nipples against his. Her nipples were rigid and tingled with a warm desire.

She tried to position her swollen cunt-lips with his cock. She needn't have bothered. His swollen meat was already seeking her dripping pussy.

His taut prick wormed into the wet tightness of her snatch. He got halfway and no further. Her cunt had deliberately tensed up on him, either to tease him or to punish him for being a rotten husband. Annoyed, he pinched her on the buttock. Her pussy relaxed, and accepted the rest of his hard cock.

Martin had to admit that D. was the greatest when it came to straight fucking. She had developed her cunt muscles to an extent that Shan would probably never appreciate. And he had been inside her pussy so many times-he, and no one else-that they fitted together perfectly. When it came to the preliminaries, though, the sucking and manual manipulations leading to the fucking, Donna fell far short. She simply wasn't much on foreplay.

Her cunt was always scrupulously clean, however. So clean that he often had the urge to eat her. She had let him eat her cunt on occasion, and once in a while she had sucked his cock. Only the way she handled his prick in her mouth disappointed him. She would never let him come in her mouth. He hoped that she would someday try it all the way, just to satisfy her curiosity. Until then, Mel realized that he would have to get his head elsewhere.

Shan's hot mouth spoiled him. Cocksucking, Mel knew, could never be the same after her.

Mel closed his eyes and tried to conjure up Shan's beautiful face. He imagined that Shan was draped across him now, taking his cock up to the hilt and loving every minute of it. No easy thing to do. Shan's cunt had felt different to him. The feel of her cunt was unlike Donna's. He really couldn't compare them, except in his mind.

Shan's pussy felt tighter, because she had been fucking fewer times. This, to a man who missed virgin cunts, made her more desirable. The movements that Shan made when she fucked him were more sensual, more exciting than D.'s. And the odor of Shan's cunt captivated him more.

"I want to finish with you on top, darling," Donna whispered. "It's better for you that way, you said."

"Okay, baby." He lifted her off his prick. She stretched out on the sofa and opened her legs to the fullest possible extent, like a high-school girl on her boy friend's car seat. He moved between her legs. Donna raised them high and wound them around his back, bare feet digging into his spine. His cock entered her vagina easily, pinning her down.

Her ass began to thrash with wild abandon.

Mel kept up a pace for fucking that seemed to match her mood for the evening: fast ... fast and furious.

"Oh, Mel, fuck me harder!" she whimpered. "Harder and faster! Give me a fucking like I haven't had in months! Fuck me!"

He fucked her, pumping away with enough vigor to wear them out. The sound of slapping flesh filled the room, blotting out his awareness of time and place. When a man fucked, Mel momentarily reflected, he thought about nothing else save the sheer joy of fucking.

The sensations intensified. He felt her cunt muscles seize his cock in a tight grip. Her cunt channel held him almost too tightly, siphoning out the precious semen that Shan's cunt hadn't taken.

"Christ, baby, ease off!" he begged, experiencing pain rather than pleasure. "I want to last awhile longer!"

Too late. She had fucked him too far along to go back. They climaxed together in a white-hot burst of feeling that promised to keep in sound sleep tonight.

Even as the spasms subsided, Donna pressed her clit against his softening prick, trying to pleasure herself still more.

Martin, to his dismay, felt his cock erecting again. Jeez, but I'm horny tonight! Did Shan slip some fly into my drink? No, it must be the Scotch. Or maybe I'm getting around to responding to blondes again. D. was a natural blonde, an ash-blonde. Usually he didn't care. Tonight, perhaps, he did.

With an effort, he pushed her away, then freed himself of her grasp. "Let's try that casserole, hon. I can't go the whole night without something solid." He belched. "On second thought, forget the casserole. Just fix us some more drinks. On the rocks or any other way."

She looked at him in bewilderment. "Are you serious? You seemed so hungry when you came in."

"I'm serious."

She put on the sunsuit, then went to do as he asked.

He took a shower.

Donna heard the water running in the bathroom and smiled to herself. Mel was in one of his sexed-out-and-running moods. She knew that she would have her hands full for the rest of the evening. He would want to do more things to her than fuck. She decided to make herself fresh and dainty for him, maybe use the bath oil she saved for special occasions.

When he came out, she put a tray full of drinks on the coffee table and went to run the water herself. When she had bathed, she sprinkled scented powder on her breasts, legs and on her cunt. Excitement began to build in her as she imagined how Mel would fuck her and for how long. They would have quite a time together for a change.

When she walked back into the living room, however, her heart sank. Two of the drinks had been consumed. Mel held a third, and his eyes were slightly glazed. He poked the drink in her direction. "Better catch up with me, hon," he grinned, slurring the words.

"Please put it back, Mel, honey," she coaxed, refusing the drink for herself. "You know I never like more than one. I've already had two this evening."

He glowered at her, still holding the drink. "Oh fuck, if I can let myself go, then so can you. Whassamatter? Don't you love me any more?"

"Of course I like you, Mel. I just don't like to drink that much." She saw his eyes clear in an instant, and she felt hurt. He was only pretending to be hurt. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what.

"Anyway, I got something to celebrate."

"What?"

"Remember the FAA vacancy I told you about? The night slot in the tower? It doesn't pay much, but at least I won't have to quit at Airways."

"Yes, yes!" she said eagerly. "What about it?"

"I won't know for sure until Friday, but I think it's mine. All five thousand of it. Brings us up to fourteen thousand dollars a year. I warn you, though. They could phase it out next month, that's how uncertain the traffic situation is."

"That's wonderful, Mel." Donna's face clouded. "But it'll keep you away from me till midnight. I won't like that at all. Isn't there some way you can transfer to the afternoon and have-?"

"No. I'll be home from three till six, and weekends." He winked. "Don't worry. We'll have lots of time to do the things we like best ... like fucking."

She was still doubtful. "If you're sure...."

"I am." He pressed a drink into her hands. "Here's to us."

She drank one, then had another. She started on a third, while trying to decode the expression in his eyes. Her head began to spin from the effects of drinking on an empty stomach. She decided that she would get pickled with him. Not to celebrate the FAA job but to help blot out the suspicion that something had happened that he didn't want to tell her about. She feared that he might drift into a new life-style where she would occupy a lesser place, possibly even be squeezed out altogether. He might-Donna shuddered at the prospect-he might eventually ask her for a divorce. All because he was working too hard for too few dollars and getting tired of it.

She waited, watching him crush out a cigarette and put aside, for the first time that evening, an unfinished drink. Then he came toward her, reaching out for her. She could have cried in relief. He still wanted her. He still cared.

Mel carried her back to the couch and gently stripped her of her sunsuit. His mouth lowered damply over her nipple and drew it in, tonguing expertly. After a few minutes, he swung away to devote similar attention to her other nipple.

She sighed with pleasure. She realized that if husbands never learned anything else, they learned the proper way to stimulate breasts. Mel certainly knew how.

He pressed her breasts together when their tips were engorged and let his tongue play across the twin peaks, exciting them to further enlargement. Donna closed her eyes and lay back in rhapsody when he got on his kness in front of her. The best part was coming now. Mel had begun to blaze a trail of fiery kisses along the inner sides of her thighs, torturing her with his delightful tongue. The feeling was almost too much to bear.

He kissed her sweetly scented cunt until he reached her clit. The touch of his tongue on the little organ nearly sent her through the ceiling. She whimpered in ecstasy. He licked her clitoris more vigorously. She responded to the stimulation by opening her cunt to his mouth. Now he could eat her better.

She felt his breath scald her thighs. Donna groaned. He had begun gnawing tenderly on the knob of her passion. She couldn't take much of this. She knew that she would come in his face, spray him with the juices and secretions of her orgasm. And if he let her come before him, she might lose interest in the other half of the night's activity. She would still suck him, of course; but her heart just wouldn't be in it.

As if had read her mind, Mel stopped eating her cunt. He took his head away from her legs and got to his feet. He smiled. "Care to give me a little cocksucking?"

She nodded. "I was wondering when you'd ask. I'm always glad to suck your prick," she lied. She enjoyed giving head only when she was aroused past the point of coherent thought. From an intellectual standpoint, taking a man's big hot cock in her mouth repelled her. She supposed it had something to do with her background.

Mel pushed her down flat again and climbed on top of her in an opposing position.

Donna hesitated, experiencing her usual qualms. His prick was huge-so bloated with blood that it actually looked big enough to choke her.

"Go on, baby," he encouraged. "Take it in. Give my prick a good hot suck." He scrambled back between her legs. This time he took an asscheek in either hand and pulled her cunt closer to his lips.

She eyed his quivering prick. Mel thrust his cock first in one direction, then another, as he sought her mouth. His cock wasn't exactly an object of beauty. On the other hand, she felt no great repugnance at the sight of his erection. At least he was clean. His prick glistened from the scrubbing that he had given it minutes before. She closed her eyes and kissed his rigid tool, her lips nibbling on the tip of his cock.

Mel was angered. He stopped what he was doing long enough to complain. "You'll have to suck better than that. Or have you forgotten how?" He then reinserted his tongue into her cunt and proceeded to lick her clit again.

This excited Donna so much that she forgot all about her nasty thoughts of fellatio, or the fact that he would drive his bloated cock down her throat. She took a deep breath and accepted his huge organ, even to the point of biting and sucking it to greater erection. It tasted of soap and water; there wasn't a trace of his tangy semen.

"That's it!" Mel praised. "You're doing fine, baby! Just keep it up!"

She kept it up, raising and lowering her mouth on the only cock that she had ever sucked. Boys had tried, during her dating days, to persuade her to suck their pricks. She had always refused so indignantly that they went away crestfallen. It was such an ego thing with young men.

Reckless or not, she still couldn't bring herself to actually swallow Mel's semen. She had sampled his cum once, and she was certain that she had never tasted anything worse-unless it was quinine. When she felt his prick swelling in her mouth, quivering on the brink of orgasm, she hurriedly pulled away. The stream of white cum burst from his prick, striking her on the cheek. One burst narrowly missed hitting her in the eye.

Mel ate her pussy hungrily then, forcing her to reach orgasm. Donna came lustily, then she watched as he rolled away, sat up, and groped for a cigarette. Resentment flared in her. This was all sex meant to men: sucking and fucking. As soon as they got their piece, the party ended. "Was I good?"

He sighed and felt for his lighter in a robe pocket. "The greatest cocksucker. You know, I think I'll have some of that casserole after all."

She went to put it on the table, pausing only to slip into a duster.

Martin stared at the casserole on his plate, smothered under gravy and surrounded by English peas and creamed potatoes. Christ! A tired man shouldn't have to eat this crap! He wanted steak and onions, with a tossed salad and maybe a stuffed pepper or two.

He stared sorrowfully at D.'s back. She was busy with the coffee. Maybe after he had been to some of Hugh Laurens' parties, they could start eating like civilized folks.

Maybe.