Chapter 1
Cindy always liked Sunday mornings the best. It was not like Saturday night, when Tom might have a little too much to drink, or be in a hurry to shoot his load. On Sunday morning there was no need to hurry, so they could take it slow and easy in their love-making.
She would be just barely awake, but aware of Tom's big powerful masculine body lying there beside her in their double bed. Even if he was snoring slightly, as he sametimes did after a big evening on Saturday, she loved his snores; they were so deep and rumbly and masculine, so like him. Without being fully awake, Cindy would snuggle up close against her young husband, enjoying the thrilling sensations of her lush feminine body against him. Her big firm breasts, her smoothly curving tummy, her silken tapering thighs, all would be touching him, which was very rewarding and exciting for her. Pretending to herself that it was by accident, she would reach over and touch his penis with her slim sensitive fingers. This made her feel bold and almost sinfully daring, and it always started the wonderful warm thrilling surges of love in her body.
Often Tom's penis was already sort of big and stiff when she first touched it, as though even in his sleep he was wanting her body and her love. In any case, a few loving strokes from her fingers and his penis always stirred into rigid readiness for what was to come. He would snort and grumble without opening his eyes, but he would instinctively roll over toward her and they were in each other's arms. She was so sure of his love and his total acceptance of her that she would often start their love-making by squirming closer against him and kissing his mouth.
They both usually slept naked together in their big bed, so there were no pajamas or nighties to get in the way. After their first waking embrace, Tom's hands would eagerly go to work on her, thrilling them both toward the approaching ritual of mutal emotional and physical release. With one hand he would be cupping and fondling her plump round buttocks, caressing the smooth quivering skin and kneading the warm pneumatic mass, and even gently tickling her between the firm round hillocks. Cindy loved belonging to him and having him want to play so intimately with her eager young body. They were married, weren't they? So it was all right for them to enjoy themselves and each other. Anything they wanted to do together was legal and moral. And everything they did like this was such fun. She had no feeling of shame for her admitted carnality and sensuousness with him.
Tom's other hand would be exciting her breasts by now, fondling and tenderly squeezing those high proud hemispheres. His fingers found and gently twirled her nipples, making them harden reflexly, almost like his penis. Cindy was so very glad that she didn't have small or flabby breasts the way some girls did. Hers were such a source of pleasure and satisfaction, both to herself and to Tom. Maybe breasts were originally designed for feeding babies, but for now Cindy found them wonderfully exciting and rewarding in her wifely lovemaking.
Soon Tom was kissing and sucking on her nipples, making them even harder and darker pink from the suction of his ardent lips. His tongue flicked rapidly over the sensitive tips, sending shivers of pleasure through her. The sensation of coming to a boil all over her body was becoming more acute with every passing moment. Down between her thighs Cindy could feel her pussy swelling and getting moist in anticipation. She was glad she could respond so quickly and so completely to her husband's loving. Some girls seemed to resent such things, even hate them, but Cindy was glad that this part of her married life was working out so well for both of them.
All the time that Tom was working on her, giving pleasure to them both and preparing her for the Real Thing, Cindy usually managed to keep some sort of grip on his big stiff male organ. Soon after they were married she had learned not to be too enthusiastic or vigorous in her actions at this stage. Once her eagerness to thrill him had gone too far too fast, and before they even had a chance to start the Real Thing, Tom had exploded his passion all over her hand, surprising and temporarily disappointing them both. But she loved to feel his hard shaft in her fingers as proof of his love, and she even tickled the hairy sack of his scroturn, being careful not to be too rough there.
Depending on their individual moods of the moment, the schedule of their love-making from this point on was subject to many variations. Usually Cindy preferred to go on to the Real Thing. That way she could completely engulf Tom in her love, clasping him with her mouth, her arms, her legs, and her pussy as they pumped each other up the delicious delirium of orgasm. But other ways were fun, too, as variations on the wonderful theme of carnal pleasure between a truly loving couple.
When they had first been married, she had thought that the whole idea of taking a man's penis into her mouth would be awful and depraved. But Tom's coaxing, and her total love for him, had tempted her to try it, and now she found that sucking on Tom's huge rigid shaft, with its strange bulbous purple head, was a most satisfying way of both giving and receiving pleasure and love. The first time that he had unexpectedly ejaculated in her mouth had been a shock to her, but now she actually enjoyed it as another way of demonstrating their love for each other:
It was sort of like having him kiss her pussy. At first it hadn't seemed right to have his mouth down there, especially when she was all hot and juicy. But since they both enjoyed it, why not do it? Not every time, of course, but often enough to keep remembering what fun it was. Tom seemed to know just where to use his tongue, licking up and down along her nether lips and diddling the wonderful little button of her clitty. He was such a wonderful lover-Cindy just hoped that she was as good at giving him all possible thrills as he was at providing them for her.
This Sunday morning they were going right on from the exciting preliminaries to doing the Real Thing. That's the way Cindy always thought of it-the Real Thing. No frustrating frightened substitutes like some unmarried people had to be content with. Not a couple of inexperienced kids doing it for the first time, each worried about himself and his partner. The Real Thing was what love and marriage were all about. Tom had taught her other words for it, but Cindy didn't really like those words. They sort of made everything seem dirty and coarse and bad. But the Real Thing was the basis for everything-something you could be proud of doing with your husband, something you wanted to do with him, and he wanted to do with you. The Real Thing. It was wonderfully perfect.
When she sensed that the moment was just ripe for both of them, Cindy rolled over onto her back, pulling Tom over on top of her so he was cradled between her raised and spread thighs. They looked smiling into each others eyes and knew that his demonstration of their love was again going to be the best ever. Supporting his weight on his knees and elbows, Tom began probing gently against her delta with his firmly out-thrust member.
When they were first married it had worked out better if Cindy had used her hand to guide his lance into its natural love-haven. Now with practice they both enjoyed having him let his penis search out the proper entry by itself. This thrilled and tantalized them both briefly, and then they felt him find the doorway to ecstasy. Cindy thrust her pelvis up as he bore down, and his big stiff engine began sliding into her, a little more with each of their combined heaves. They were belly-to-belly, their pubic hairs fused, as her nipples brush against his hairy chest and their mouths met in a kiss of complete sensual excitement and the Real Thing began in earnest.
With a slow mutual syncopated rhythm they began stroking their love for each other. Gradually the pace of their actions increased as their passions mounted toward the ecstasy of carnal climax. Cinday was eagerly heaving her hips in a thrilling counterpoint to his pumping as they each sensed instinctively the other's build-up to complete emotional and physical release. Sometimes they slowed the pace, to prolong the delicious pleasure, only to pump a little faster a moment later, to maintain their excitement just below the point of no return. On and on they went, each striving to give the most and best, so as to justify receiving the same willingly in return.
Cindy felt that her whole body was aglow, from the excitement of her passion and from the vigor of her contributing exertions. Suddenly she heard the sound, half-spoken and half-groaned, that signalled the beginning of Tom's orgasm. With arms and legs she drew him close down upon her heaving body as she let her own excitement burst into the glory of her exquisite climax. Body and soul seemed to blend into a superbly thrilling turmoil of divine sensations that banished all reality. All this, and heaven too? Who needs heaven if a girl can have this whenever she wants it? Theirs was the most beautiful love in the whole world. And it would last forever, she was sure.
When at last their emotions had returned to some semblance of sanity, Tom rolled off her, but they still lay closely loving, savoring the delightful aftermath of their total ardent intimacies. Finally Cindy whispered, "Guess what I want now, darling!"
"Not again so soon," protested her husband in pretended alarm. "I love you, Cindy, but I'm not Superman."
"Sure you are, Darling," she replied giggling. "But that isn't what I meant. Not this time. I was going to suggest that a hearty Sunday breakfast would help restore our energies after that wonderful exercise. Then we could loaf around and read the Sunday paper for a while. We have a date with Joe and Sis Hansen for later this afternoon, you know."
Basking in the afterglow of their mutually rewarding love, Cindy and Tom spent an uneventufl day, unaware that it would be their last Sunday together for a long time. Days later, as the terror and tragedy of the events that overwhelmed them increased, Cindy was reminded of one brief moment during that last Sunday.
Tom had looked up from the newspaper and remarked, "Guys like that, they shouldn't just put them in jail. They ought to hang them, publicly."
"What guys?" asked Cindy idly. "Who's done what?"
"Last night they had the fifth hit-and-run accident in only a week. An old man killed, and his wife not expected to live. People saw a car run them down crossing the street, but the driver sped away and can't be identified. Seven people dead in six days, from hit-and-run jerks. Including two young kids. Everybody's so angry about such callous behavior, and the police has sworn to catch every driver who doesn't stop after an accident. The papers and citizens are so worked up that the judge will have to throw the book at the next guy who gets caught at it. He'll be lucky if he doesn't get lynched."
That ended the incident that Sunday morning, but Cindy was to wonder mahy times in the following weeks if it was some kind of an omen, warning them of what was about to befall them so soon.
Tom and Cindy had been home about a half hour that Sunday evening from their planned visit with the Hansen's, when the doorbell rang. Tom answered it and found two very threatening policemen who immediately forced their way into the house.
"Hey, what's the idea? What's going on?" demanded Tom in surprise and annoyance at the intrusion.
"Are you Thomas J. Wilson?" asked the older and larger cop menacingly.
"Yes, I'm Tom Wilson," said Tom slowly, trying to hide a strange rising fear. "Is that a crime now?"
"Yes, I think it is, Buster," replied the cop, while his companion began looking through the apartment. "Do you own a 1970 Ford, black two-door?"
"Sure I do. So what? My wife and I got home about half an hour agao from visiting friends. What bank are we meant to have robbed?" asked Tom, fighting this unknown panic.
"Have you been drinking?" asked the cop, leaning forward to sniff Tom's breath.
"I had a couple of drinks earlier, but I'm cold sober," protested Tom. "What's this all about?"
"Where were you coming from before you got home?" demanded the policeman.
"From up on the West Side. We came along Broadway. My friends will vouch for me and where I was," Tom assured his opponent. "Ask my wife. She'll tell you. She's in the bedroom changing, I think."
"Yeah, I found her," said the younger cop, arriving with Cindy by one arm. She was struggling resentfully against him and was trying to put a bathrobe on over her brief revealing bra and panties.
"Were you driving when you came home?" asked the first cop, his scowl deepening.
"Sure I was driving. So what? I wasn't speeding or jumping lights, or anything. What am I meant to have done?" Tom was getting frantic at the suspense.
"We didn't do anything wrong. Really we didn't," said Cindy, trying to hold the robe protectively around her partly exposed body.
With calm deliberation, the older larger cop took the handcuffs from his belt and reached out for Tom's arm. As the steel bracelet snicked shut he said, "All we've got on you so far, Buster, is a positive identification for hit-and-run, vehicular homicide, leaving the scene of an accident, and drunken driving. Come along quietly now, or I'll add resisting arrest to that list."
As Tom was hustled out by the two officers, the older cop said, "You can stay here, girlie, but don't try to leave town, or you'll just make things worse for both of you."
In spite of his frantic truthful protests that he was innocent of all those charges, Tom was dragged from his home, manacled like a hardened criminal. He had sense enough to call back to Cindy, "Get a lawyer. Get me out of this terrible mess. You know it's all a mistake. Get a lawyer, so we can get this straightened out."
It was a week before Cindy, with the help of a lawyer-friend, was able to see Tom again, and then it was in the visiting cell of the local jail. And it would be a year before Tom would see his home again, and be able to enjoy the fervent ecstasies of his wife's love-making.
Such are the strange complexities of fate.
A witness positively identified Tom's car as the one which had run down the child, and Tom as the driver of the car. The car and Tom had been traced through the license plate numher, and Tom admitted truthfully to being in the area at the time of the accident. As an example to other future hit-and-run drivers, the judge refused to let Tom out on bail pending trial. Somehow the rash of such accidents which was terrorizing the city had to be stopped. Severe punishment and harsh treatment might convince other potential offenders that trying to escape after an accident really did not pay.