Chapter 3
Isabel Fairbanks remained in bed with closed eyes while she listened to her husband, Ralph, move around the bedroom in the early morning silence of the manse. She had glanced outside long enough while Ralph was in the bathroom to observe that the rain had stopped during the night and a brilliant sunrise was in prospect. Then she closed her eyes again and simulated sleep.
On most mornings she was an early riser, but never on the mornings after their scheduled mid-week lovemaking. For some reason she couldn't understand, on such mornings Ralph showed an importunate ardency she found unsettling: No lady permitted such untoward activity in the stark light of day, of course, so she had found it expedient to let him start such days alone.
During the early days of their marriage after she had laid down a prohibition against morning advances on Ralph's part, she had made the mistake of following him into the bathroom. She had discovered him there, standing over the toilet bowl, his swollen penis in his hand, jetting long spurts of semen into the bowl. Isabel had returned to the bedroom without saying a word. Such a juvenile performance had nothing to do with her wifely duty which she performed weekly in good conscience.
She wholly failed to understand the masculine preoccupation with sex, anyway. Procreation aside, she felt it had little to recommend it for the female. And procreation was denied her. They had had a tubular pregnancy during the second year of their marriage, and the resulting operation had effectively sealed off her procreational passage to Ralph's sperm.
She had been secretly relieved, although she had never admitted it. She realized her bent was not domestic. Many times in the kitchens of Ralph's parishioners she had silently wrinkled her nostrils against the odor of breast fed babies and the ammoniac effluvia of diapers too long unchanged. No, she had never shared Ralph's disappointment that they'd had no children.
There was still things about sex that puzzled Isabel. Even now she was occasionally embarrassed by her husband's fumbling of her full-fleshed body. Ralph always seemed to be seeking something she couldn't supply, yet she felt in no way deficient as a woman. She had come to the conclusion that it must be something in the male psyche which drove a man to seek something in the marriage bed which simply wasn't there.
The one sexual battle she had lost with Ralph represented a concession on her part. She permitted his digital manipulation of her pussy only because of the alternative he had proposed with a firmness unlike his usual mild-mannered self. He had told her that he was going to purchase a jar of vaginal jelly, and she couldn't bear the thought of a local pharmacist or druggist's clerk knowing that much about the most intimate part of their marriage.
People might not be animals, but they surely acted like animals, she was fond of saying when Ralph related an episode which brought a young female parishioner, or quite often an older one, to him seeking escape from a sexual predicament. It was incredible to Isabel the number of seemingly level-headed women in their comparatively small congregation who sat down in Ralph's office to ask hesitant advice about sexual problems. She had often thought that Ralph couldn't be the easiest pastor in the world for a woman to approach in such a situation. Ralph's response was intellectual, not emotional.
Isabel remained in bed until she heard Ralph's footsteps receding along the hallway as he proceeded to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. Then she rose and went into the bathroom where she drew her bath. When it was ready, she removed her nightgown and stepped into the tub in unconscious female magnificence.
It was a relief to be able to start her day without fending off her husband's silent advances.
Early-morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the room above the bakery when Monica woke Bobby to get him to show her the bathroom. Swathed in a sheet, she went with him while he pointed out the somewhat primitive facilities. He returned to the room, stretching to ease muscles cramped from his awkward sleeping position in the armchair.
"How's it goin'?" he asked when Monica came back.
"I'm sore," she said frankly. "Especially when I squat to pee. But I'll live."
"The face isn't bad," he said after examining it. "The swelling's down quite a bit, and a little make-up will take care of most of the discoloration. Let's see the back of your lap." He went to her and raised the trailing sheet.
There was a moment of silence in the room during which he studied the black and purple stripes crisscrossing her buttocks. He stroked them with a curious palm, noting that the prominent welts of the previous night had almost completely disappeared. "You're not kiddin' when you say you're a quick healer," he remarked.
"Don't get any ideas," she warned as his hand continued to fondle her bare hind cheeks. "I owe you a favor, but you're only a kid. I'd feel guilty."
"I don't have any ideas, Monnie," he said softly. "It's just my cock." He took her hand and guided it backward where he stood behind her until the hand encountered the swelling bulge in his jockey shorts.
"Stop it," Monica said, but she said it with no real emphasis. Bobby's palm continued to soothe the stripes on the warm ivory of her jutting backside. His fingertip traced the deep chasm between her fruity globes, and she sighed. Her hand continued to support his balls and increasing erection. His hand dipped lower and reached upward between her thighs.
Abruptly she turned to face him. "Do you want to fuck me, Bobby?" she asked with her usual directness.
"You know it," he said huskily.
She drew down his jockey shorts, freeing his cramped penis which stood forth menacingly with a slight waggling movement. "That's a lovely piece of meat for a boy your age," she exclaimed in surprise. She dropped to her knees and kissed the tip of Bobby's erection, then took the bulbous head into her warm mouth and began sucking it with slow, drawing movements.
"Ohhh, man!" Bobby groaned. "Ohhh, Jesus! Quit it, Monnie, or you're gonna get a mouthful!"
Monica released his cock. "Not that I'd say no to that little caper, but I take it you have other ideas?"
"You bet your purple striped ass," he said promptly. "I'm gonna lose it right in your cunt." He looked at her curiously as he took her arm and raised her to her feet. "You like to suck pricks?"
"Love to, when they're congenial pricks," she answered.
He grinned at her frankness. He sat her on the bed and watched her expression as her hind cheeks absorbed her weight. "Ass hurt too much?" he inquired.
"It won't when I'm on my back, Bobby."
He shook his head slowly. "I was gonna say I'd take a rain check, but you're my kind of chick, Monnie." He swept the single pillow to one side and eased Monica onto her back. He bent down over her, dropped his mouth to an upstanding breast, and lipped a nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled it rapidly, and Monica's knees quivered.
"Ahhh!" she sighed. "Where have you been going to school, young man?"
He made no reply as he switched to the other breast. He tongued and mouthed it diligently while Monica murmured little cooing sounds and tangled her hands in his brown hair. She could feel his hard cock pressing against her warm thigh, and she reached down and took it in her hand, feeling her own saliva still on the hardened shaft.
When he finally raised his head, both her nipples thrust firmly upward from the darker center of their softly fleshed twin domiciles. Bobby stroked the sloping bowl of her sleek stomach and gradually worked his way farther down Monica's body. She parted her legs and the questing fingers palpated the luxuriant, coral-colored lips of her febrile twat which expanded moistly to his fondling.
"Bobby!" she exclaimed after a hissing intake of breath. "You're getting me so goddamn hot!"
He slithered over her prostrate body, gripped her thighs, and widened them. Crouching, he picked up her legs and threw them over his shoulders, then bent lower and inserted his tongue in the musky, upthrust pink cunt. "Oooh, damn!" Monica panted, thrusting her middle upward into his face.
He nibbled at the protruding cuntlips and licked their moistness. Monica's legs clutched at his neck while her hips swiveled in involuntary response to his tongue. Bobby took a deep breath and gulped two-thirds of her slit inside his mouth and sucked at it mightily. "Ohhh!" Monica's voice soared in a half-shriek. "That's . . . enough, Bobby! Fuck me now! Please fuck me . . . now!"
He raised himself, bent over her, and aimed his fleshy sword at the well-lubricated target. Monica's hand eagerly seized his circumcised rod and guided it into her steaming slot. Her breath whistled as the boy sank into her with thrusting movements of his lean hips. His youthful rigidity distended her deliciously, and as he began to pump in and out of her fleshy glove, Monica's eyes rolled.
Bobby slashed away furiously at the hot cunt within which he was lodged. Monica met his every thrust, the pain in her whipped behind forgotten as she flurried her hips in wild abandon that induced redoubled effort from the muscular boy on her nude belly. "Bobby!" she exclaimed in sudden urgency. Her heels thrummed on his back. "Bobby! I'm ... coming! Ohhh, God, I'm . . . coming!"
He felt her quivering explosion inundating his boring tool, and he raised his knees slightly before returning to the attack. His lean belly pounded her soft one with abandon until a slow, tingling vibration seemed to originate in his heels and race up his legs to his spinal cord. He jerked wildly in mindless ecstasy as his seed spurted in hot gushes through his vibrating prick into the humid cavern in which it was submerged.
"Man, oh, man," he groaned when he could speak. "That was some kind of . . . fuck!"
Her hands patted his shoulders lightly. "You're some kind of lover, Bobby," she said quietly. "I never would have believed it of a kid like you."
He rolled off her perspiring stomach but immediately turned and drew her into his arms as they rested side by side. Monica snuggled contentedly closer to him. "I love to cuddle afterward," she confided. "But with Pete, he'd just about kick me out of bed if I tried." She fell silent, Pete's name having recalled her to the present.
Bobby sensed her mood. "Are you going back to him?"
"No," she said positively. "He'll expect me to come creeping back with my tail between my legs, but this time I'm going to fool him. I can get a job clerking at Gamble's, and I'll find a place to stay. I'm all through trying to hide my ass from his goddamned belt. I don't mind a little rough handling before sex, but ..." Her voice died away.
"What do you mean you don't mind rough handling?"
"You're too young to understand," Monica evaded.
She knew herself. She knew, for instance, she wouldn't have enjoyed Bobby's youthfully effervescent lovemaking as much as she had if her bottom still hadn't been hurting from the night before. A little pain always stimulated her responses. It was what invariably drew her to men like Pete. And Curt. She knew it was an aberration, but she had ceased fighting it.
She stirred in Bobby's arms. "I've got to get going. I'll find a room and then get my clothes out of the apartment. I can't look for a job for a couple of days until my face gets back to normal." She was silent for a moment. "It's going to be tough trying to cut it alone. And that damn Isabel Fairbanks is the cause of it."
"The minister's wife? How did she get into it?"
"She could have prevented the whole thing. Instead, she provoked it. Some busybody told her about Curt and me, and she threw me off the church committee. When Pete heard it, it confirmed a few suspicions he'd had lately. He like to wore out my poor ass." She was silent again, remembering, and a shiver rippled through her. "You can bet I'm going to plan something for Isabel Fairbanks," she promised. She moved again in Bobby's arms. "I really do have to leave."
His arms tightened around her plump nudity. "Only if you promise me an encore sometime, Monnie."
She kissed him impulsively. "You can have it under the main square traffic light at high noon," she agreed. "With a blow job to boot." Her brown eyes darkened. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't let me in last night."
"You're okay now, Monnie," Bobby replied.
He nuzzled her soft neck with his lips before releasing her, and they rose from the bed and began to dress.
Dr. Ralph Fairbanks climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the glass-doored entrance of Memorial Hospital. It was well before visiting hours, but he approached the reception desk confidently. "Mrs. Fiedler," he said to the girl behind the desk.
"Room Three-twenty-three, Doctor Fairbanks," the girl said with a smile. "She'll be pleased to see you."
He took the elevator to the third floor. He made it a practice to call upon all of his hospitalized parishioners, but he called more frequently upon the younger hospitalized women. Early in his ministerial career Ralph Fairbanks had made a discovery about hospitals and hospital personnel. In the main, ministers were regarded as so much furniture, and few privacy covenants were invoked in their presence. Ministers' time was considered valuable, and Ralph had made visits when female patients were being bathed behind a casually draped sheet, when they were receiving shots, and even when they made necessary trips to the bathroom on his supporting arm.
Just walking grave-faced through hospital corridors there were titillating sights to be seen as doctors and nurses alike paid scant attention to his presence. The womens' hospital gowns were so short, the building was so warm, both winter and summer, and long stretches in bed produced perspiring bodies tinglingly visible in undraped postures as their owners sought relief. It continually amazed him that the women consistently greeted him warmly while admitting him to situations to which they would have denied their husbands admission.
Then there was the natural feminine reaction when the initial medical or surgical malaise was alleviated. Feeling friskier, and basking in the unaccustomed attention, what could be more natural than to flirt with the visiting minister, the most harmless of sports? The younger spirits, especially, seemed to have few objections to giving the dear man a thrill.
Ralph Fairbanks entered the room where Paula Fiedler was in her fourth day of recovery from an appendectomy. "Good morning, Paula," he said gravely. "And how are you feeling today?"
"They say well enough to go home, unfortunately," she replied with a smile. Paula was a plump brunette with a hard-working husband and three small children. "I was just beginning to enjoy myself." She had on one of her own nightgowns in deference to her expected return home that afternoon, and its low-cut neckline afforded far more than a glimpse of her corpulent white breasts. "It's so nice of you to come to visit me."
"It's nice to know you're feeling better, Paula."
"I'd really like to stay another day," she said wistfully. "I feel guilty saying it, but it's heavenly without the children." Her small mouth shaped itself into a girlish pout. "I'd rather stay and have the interns hold my hand."
"I imagine they'd enjoy it, too," Ralph said suavely.
She giggled softly. "Perhaps if you put in a word for me as my spiritual advisor ..."
"I'm afraid physical advisors are in the ascendancy here," he said with one of his rare smiles.
Paula Fiedler looked at him with renewed interest. "You're a different-looking man when you smile, Doctor Fairbanks!" she exclaimed. "Far better-looking!" she had turned onto her side so that she was facing him. Ralph could see brown aureoles centered by thrusting dark nipples trapped in the nightgown's almost translucent lace top. "You really are, you know!" she insisted when he shook his head.
"Thank you," he said lightly. He nodded at the mammary display. "If you need assistance in restoring order, I'd be glad to volunteer."
"Why, Doctor Fairbanks!" Paula Fiedler hurriedly pushed her points farther south in her nightgown. "I'm so sorry!" she said, blushing.
"Don't be," he advised her. "Even a minister has a right to a vision of green pastures occasionally." He smiled at her confusion, patted her shoulder lightly, and left the room. The little interplay with the plump housewife had amused him.
For a bonus he caught sight on his way out of the ward of a teen-age girl being wiped briskly by a nurse's aide after using the bedpan.
He returned to the manse and his study in a more cheerful mood to begin preparation of next Sunday's sermon.
Curt Sylvester reached for the telephone on his desk when it rang. "Sheriff's department," he said gruffly.
"It's Monica, Curt."
His mouth screwed up in distaste. "Oh, yeah." "I suppose you heard?" "Yeah, I heard."
"I'm not going back to him, Curt." It surprised him. "What are you gonna do?" "Get a job. I've already got a room with Mrs. Colfax on North Third Street."
He grunted in recognition. For once in his life he was at a loss what to say. Ordinarily it would have been simple: once the husbands tumbled, Curt Sylvester had no qualms about cutting the wives loose. Except that he had a specific use for Monica. And she hadn't asked him for anything. Yet. "You got eatin' money?" he asked finally. "I'll be all right."
"I asked you a question," he growled.
"I really will be all right for a few days, Curt."
"Okay. I'll be in touch." He thought of Pete Simpson. He wasn't afraid of Pete Simpson, but Curt Sylvester was a man who liked to know from which direction they might be coming at him. "Who blew the whistle to Pete?"
"Mrs. Isabel Fairbanks, indirectly," Monica said grimly. "If I ever get her in the right place, I guarantee you'll hear her squeak."
"Is that right?" Curt drawled. Damn, he was glad he hadn't cut Monica loose, which had been his first impulse. This could be interesting. "Maybe I could give you a little help with that."
"You could? How?"
"Let me think about it," he answered, purposely vague. He continued before she could speak. "Do you know the Aliens? He teaches at the high school."
"I know her. We were in a ceramics class together. I don't think I've ever met him. Why?"
"I'll be talkin' to you about them later. Sure you don't need a little scratch till you get straightened out?"
"It's awfully nice of you to offer, Curt, but no." Her tone was warm; she really hadn't expected such consideration, knowing his steely-eyed outlook on life.
"Holler if you do," he said, and hung up.
He sank back in his swivel chair, deep in thought. He smiled, finally, a hard, thin-lipped smile. Things were looking up. He was contemplating a handsome pair of plums on the horizon, a ripe pair of plums. All that was necessary was for Curt Sylvester to shake the tree.
Cindy Gaynor walked through the library parking lot, amazed at her own calmness. She had made two preparations for her afternoon date with Bobby Maxwell: she had told her mother she would be late getting home, and she had purchased an almost shocking pair of wispy, lacy panties she was now wearing.
Before she reached the bus stop Bobby drew up alongside her in his battered old car. He leaned across the front seat and opened the door for her. "Hi, beautiful," he said softly as she smoothed her dress down over her round thighs. "How you doin'?"
"Fine, Bobby," she assured him. She had expected to feel nervous, but instead she felt only a tingle of anticipation.
He looked away from her. "I got us a place to go, Cindy. A guy in a building I clean is out of town, an' he gave the key to his apartment."
"If you say so, Bobby," she said steadily.
"That's my girl," he approved, and drove rapidly to the poorer section of town. He parked behind an old town house that had been converted into apartments, and he reached in his pocket and handed Cindy two keys. "The first one opens the outside door," he told her. "Just walk right in. One flight up you'll find Apartment Two-C. The gold key's for that. I'll be up in five minutes. Okay?"
"Okay," she responded.
"Will I find you undressed an' on the bed?" he teased.
"I'm afraid I'm not brave enough for that," she smiled.
He looked serious for an instant. "You know what's gonna happen upstairs?"
"I'm sure I do," she answered, feeling shy for the first time since his appearance in the library parking lot.
He put an arm around her waist, drew her closer to him, and kissed her on the lips. Her soft mouth moved tentatively beneath his, and he darted his tongue between her lips. Cindy shivered, and her toes curled up inside her shoes.
"Oh, man!" Bobby breathed when he broke off the kiss. "I can't wait to get at you, baby. Hustle the package upstairs."
She smiled at him before she left his car. Aside from the stimulation of his kiss, she still felt calm. But why shouldn't she feel calm? She'd been waiting for this day for a long time.
She negotiated the two locked doors with no difficulty. The three-room apartment proved to be much nicer then the outside appearance of the building indicated. The furniture was modern, and both the draperies and the artwork on the walls were tasteful. She returned to the corridor door after a quick tour of the premises and admitted Bobby quickly at the sound of his light tap.
He took her into his arms again immediately after the door closed. "Oh, baby, baby, baby!" he whispered, running his hands down the clean line of her back. He cupped her flaring buttocks in his palms as he drew her to him more tightly. Cindy kissed his cheek, then nuzzled his neck with her warm lips. "You're the sweetest thing!" he exclaimed. "Oh, goddamn, I'm gonna bust!"
He led her into the bedroom, a masculine room. Cindy eyed the huge four-poster bed and the old-fashioned gilt mirror on the wall with approval. Bobby gathered her in his arms once more while they were standing in the center of the room, again thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He seized with his lips the first exploratory return movement of her tongue, then laughed gaily. "Now you're catchin' on, sweetness!" he said exultantly. Cindy stood quietly in his arms with her cheek resting against his slightly bristly one. "Okay," he went on. "How about takin' off your dress an' slip so I don't wrinkle or tear anything?"
Her hands were at the fastening of her dress before he finished speaking. She slowly removed it and followed it with her slip, folding each neatly before placing it upon a chair. Bobby's gray eyes darkened as he surveyed Cindy's bare shoulders glistening above her bra as she tossed her long blonde hair to one side, and her long, slender legs shining whitely beneath her wispy panties.
He sat down on the bed, then beckoned to her. "C'mere," he said. His voice was choked.
She went to him at once. He stationed her between his parted knees, facing away from him. He plucked the elasticized waistband of the panties from her warm flesh and pulled them down her thighs while she remained motionless. She had an instant of regret that he hadn't appeared to notice the expensive lace, but she immediately forgot that when she felt the warm pressure of his mouth upon the upper slopes of her bared hind cheeks.
When he stopped, she turned her shoulders without moving her lower body so she could see his face. "Why are you kissing my bottom, Bobby?" she asked.
He nipped at the silky rotundity with sharp teeth, and she jumped in surprise. "Because you taste good," he replied. He parted the girl's soft hemispheres widely until a faint trace of downy, golden hair appeared in her deep furrow. He lowered his face again and sniffed at the depths of her fissure. "God, you smell great!"
"I never thought girls smelled particularly nice," she said apologetically.
He laughed in delight, skinned the panties downward completely, unfastened her bra and removed it, then pulled Cindy backward until she was sitting on his lap. His hands raced over her perky, jutting breasts and the soft bowl of her nude stomach before he dipped a finger lightly into her fleece covered juncture. "What's that?" he teased.
"You know," she whispered.
He kissed her, fiercely at first, then more gently, until a long, slow shiver rippled through the girl's nubile body. "Tell me," he coaxed.
"It's my pussy," she murmured with her lips against his ear. "Mmm, I'm getting goosebumps!"
He pressed his mouth to the satiny juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Anything else happening, Cindy?"
"Yes," she breathed. "I'm getting . . . squirmy." "Where?"
"You know where. Right where you have your finger."
The finger searched out her labial lips for a moment, and then he cupped the whole of her sex with his palm and squeezed lightly. "Oooh!" Cindy gasped. He reinserted the finger tip into her already moist slit to the first knuckle. "Ohhh!" she squealed softly. "It's . . . it's inside!"
"As the sayin' goes, baby, you ain't felt nothin' yet," he said dryly. He lifted Cindy and sat her on the bed, stood up impatiently and stripped off his own clothing, firing it at a chair. Cindy watched composedly as Bobby's husky prick preceded him back to the bed.
She spoke before he could. "I want to kiss your bottom, Bobby."
He stared down at her, taken aback. "You don't want to kiss my hairy ass!"
"I want to do everything to you that you do to me!" she insisted.
"Some of that might be a little difficult," he observed. "But if that's what you want ..." He turned and faced away from her.
She stretched out flat on the bed and eagerly advanced her face toward his lean buttocks. "You are hairy," she agreed before planting half a dozen butterfly kisses on the nude backside.
He turned to face her again, his rampant cock soaring. Cindy eyed curiously the rigidity pointing its purplish head directly at her. She craned her neck to view better the blue-veined whiteness of its underside protruding upward from Bobby's hairy lower belly.
She started to touch it, then checked her hand. "I wouldn't spoil anything?" she asked.
"Grab hold," he said. "It's all yours."
She took his erection in her soft palm, compressed it lightly as his thighs tensed, then waggled it experimentally from side to side. "It's so big!" she said in a hushed tone.
"You've looked over forty or fifty for comparative purposes?"
"What if I said yes?" she replied pertly, then smiled at him. "No, the only one I'd ever seen before was on Jessica Simmons' baby."
He moved close enough to bump a soft breast with his rubbery prick as Cindy sat up again. "Do you know what's going to happen?"
"Mostly," she answered. Her slim fingers slowly massaged the unyielding inflexibility to which her hand had returned. "Although I don't see how."
The sensation engendered by her warm constriction of his lusty cock was driving Bobby up the wall.
"Let's play," he said, his voice husky again, and dropped to his knees in front of the girl.