Chapter 2

Everyone who came by Bob Birmingham's shop the next day-customers and hangers-on alike-had something to say about his puffy, blue-black eye and about the cut on one cheek. And, of course, his gashed knuckles didn't help much either. Bob, his head still full of wool from the heavy drinking, laughed, bobbed his shoulders, played the clown as usual, opting for the timeworn "ran into a door" alibi.

"Ah shore would lahk to see the shape'a that door," his helper, Aldus Wells, hooted. "After you got through with it." But then, in a quiet moment, the two of them alone in the blacksmith shed, he confidentially muttered: "Had t'r be some idiot coot from outa town. Nobody around here'd tangle with you. Tell me, Bob, how'd it happen?"

"Y'r seein' hants where there ain't any," Bob good-naturedly replied, surprised at his friend's perception. The last thing on earth he wanted anyone in Garrett Park to know was that he'd been over to Kiwasi last night. "I bumped into the doorjamb, I tell you."

"More'n-likely Ardis clocked you with something," Aldus wasn't as stupid as he might look; he'd long sensed that things weren't right between his hard-working boss and his wife. "A cast-iron skillet from the looks of it."

More in self-defense than real pique, Bob put on a stern face. "We had best git at that cultivator of Skip Martin's. At least six discs to be fixed before noon. Then there's those stake plates fr Jess Grant's wagon. Pete Yancy's truck's ready. Somebody oughta deliver that before he comes stompin' down here." He grabbed a handful of wrenches.

Aldus Wells-short, spindly, slightly 'bow-legged, the town drunk before Bob had straightened him out-ducked his head deferentially. He gathered his tools and together they attacked the maimed cultivator which Skip Martin had seen fit to drag through Devil's Gorge from the looks of it.

BOB BIRMINGHAM-BLACKSMITHING AND GENERAL REPAIRS-the sign above the door of the sheet metal shed said. It was perhaps the fifth enterprise which Bob had started in his lifetime. There had been a spray painting rig which he'd bought and operated as a green-as-grass kid fresh out of high school. He'd sold that business when he was twenty-three. Then it had been short-haul trucking. He'd ditched that operation when it became more and more long haul, and it interfered with his evenings of fishing, his weekends of hunting. A stint in the car shops of the Nashville and Tennessee Railroad had followed. He'd only lasted there a year or so. Fiercely independent, he'd hated the confinement, the idea of having another man for a boss. Next he'd worked a going-to-seed roadside market into prosperity. Again pressure had got to him, and he'd sold out and looked for something new to do.

It had been while he'd been running the road-Side market that he'd married Ardis. She had complained bitterly when he'd sold out. It had meant leaving Winslow, fifteen miles to the north, where her family and closest friends lived. But if anything Ardis was prudent and, with the vision of a $10,000 profit before her, she saw the wisdom of accepting Jake Hundley's offer.

Bob had sold all his businesses at a profit. He was, by local standards, a wealthy man. Forty thousand in the bank and a prospering business like his blacksmith shop made him a Croesus in a smallish city like Garrett Park. He might not be bright in certain matters, but when it came to turning a dollar, he was as shrewd as a Yankee trader.

Of course, the real key was the fact that Bob Birmingham hadn't been afraid of hard work. And when all was said and done, he liked keeping busy; work had turned out to be his salvation, more than once. Especially since his marriage to Ardis had gone sour. What else was there? Work helped a man forget.

Thus it was easy to understand Bob's anguish this morning, the eviscerating fury he felt toward himself. Just what gets into a man, he lashed, to make him do a damned-fool thing like last night? I risked everything, put my ass, my family's reputation on the line for a stinking piece of tail. By rights I should be in Sheriff Greedle's jail this morning, talking to Ardis from behind bars.

The thought of a humiliation like that curdled his guts. The thought of giving Ardis the upper hand like that chilled him. She was bad enough the way things were now.

He hammered at the balky disc more fiercely just then and caused Aldus to look up questioningly.

The thing was, he concluded, taking his spite out on the twisted steel, that this wasn't the end of it God knew, he couldn't ever show his face in Kiwasi again. But there were other

Kiwasis. It might take a little more driving, but he knew where to go. Sure, last night had been his first such experience. But if things went on like they were at home now, it wasn't his last.

And, dear God, if he'd botched up so badly last night, what would it be like if he was given enough time, more hellholes like Kiwasi?

He vowed never to get that hard up again.

He knew it was impossible. It would happen, as screwed up as his life had become lately.

His heart lifted slightly. If things came to the worst, there was always that other thing. That little catalog, that newspaper he had hidden in his office.

He crumpled inside. Please, Ardis. Don't make me go that way. If you'd only try. If you'd only give me a chance. That's all I ask.

Again, fight it as he might, his thoughts went back to the previous night, to the fiasco at the cathouse. He was thinking about Mamie again. Remembrance of her beauty, of her sexy body, of the eternally longed-after blondeness made him feel weak inside. His heart ached, and he actually wanted to cry out. Why had she been like that? So cold? So cruel? Again that jarring similarity smote him. It was almost as if Ardis had been there, taunting him, denying him.

The image was too strong. Once more he was sitting there, stroking the whore's beautiful body, her breasts, her pussy, her belly through the tantalizing underwear. Then the picture of both of them naked, with Mamie crouching over him, her mouth full of meat, not minding for a minute that he avidly watched, gorged himself upon the forbidden act.

Her cheeks puffing in and out, her eyes rolling. The smack and click of her lips, the muffled grunts when he lurched up, put dents in her larynx. The pagan looks she gave him as she pulled off completely, let her tongue curl lazily around his hardened shaft.

"Hey, Bob," the scratchy voice cut in on his thoughts, "is something wrong? Y'r lookin' so queer."

Bob caught himself. "Ain't nothing, Aldus. Don't trouble yourself. Mind gets to wondering at times." Again he hammered the disc unmercifully, gave Aldus a frown that warned him. Moments later, only the forge work left, he deliberately made himself scarce. Wandering down to the end of the cavernous shed, he popped the acetylene torch to life and began cutting heavy gauge sheet steel into strips for the stake frames.

Bob returned to his daydreams. Nightmares would be more like it. For now it wasn't the flaxen-haired Mamie who pumped up and down on his begging-for mercy prick. Instead it was Ardis, her dark-haired head working just as cruelly as Mamie's had. Instantly Bob felt his

SO cock stiffening in his trousers. Hound! he scolded his irrepressible member. Is that all you ever think of?

He faltered in his work, fell back, caught his breath. Moments later he was adrift in an even more potent reminiscence.

Once more he was back with Ardis during their courting days-nine years ago. An eternity, it seemed, and his heart kicked, bemoaning a happiness that was gone and would never come again.

He was originally from Garrett Park, and it had been in Winslow, making regular deliveries at a dry goods store where she worked, that he'd first caught sight of her. Only she'd been 'married then, to a man named Ken Thelen.

He'd always admired Ardis. She was a beautiful woman, clean, upright, virtuous. Joshingly, he'd suggested she step out on Ken once or twice. She'd cut him dead, hadn't spoken to him for weeks afterward. At that time she'd seemed the ideal woman-the greatest bounty a profligate heaven could shower down on a worthless, undeserving male.

He should have been warned, he supposed. For after Ken had been killed in an automobile crash, and he'd asked her out-after an appropriate mourning period-it had been to church-The Temple of The New Christ-that they'd first gone together. It had become a regular thing with them. Bob had never put much stock in church and such, but he'd humored Ardis because he wanted her so terribly.

Which wasn't to say that churchgoing was all they did. No, there were movies in neighboring towns; there were dinners and sodas. There was even a small square dancing club they joined as singles, and he was positive that this was an admirable balance-equal parts of solemnity and fun. He was so crazy to marry Ardis, to become proxy father to her two kids, that he couldn't see straight.

But the most amazing thing of all to the unexperienced man was Ardis' sexual passion. And where he'd always thought of her as cool and reserved, above fleshy lusts, he soon discovered otherwise. All that churchgoing, all those prissy comments about not being that kind of girl, seemingly went out the window the minute Bob's serious intentions were made known.

In fact it had been Ardis' suggestion that they find a dark country lane and park that first time. They had been to a square dance in Dolton, twenty miles north, and the evening of fun and constant body contact had got them both worked up. Ardis more than Bob, as it turned out.

There had lately been little good-night kisses, respectful, fleeting pecks as he'd seen her to her door. But that night, the car parked off the road, completely hidden behind bushes and trees, it was something else again.

Excited by her willingness to park, he'd put his arm around her, had held her more tightly than ever before, while he kissed her. Right away Ardis had amazed him by falling apart, panting and moaning, grinding her lips, her breasts-her whole body-wantonly against his.

Bob had been stunned; he'd thought she was sick or something and he hadn't responded in kind. Ardis had become that much more aroused. Pulling away with an impatient whimper, she'd said, "Unloosen, Bob, will you! You can muss me ... I'm not made of glass, you know."

Bob had mussed her, all right. Unable to believe his luck-a passionate, sensual woman in addition to her other virtues-he had gone a little berserk. The kisses and caresses had become very wild indeed. But when he'd got carried away, had attempted to cup one of her luscious, sharp-pointed breasts, to slide his hands on her nyloned legs, she'd pulled him up and kissingly cut the evening short.

But the impasse had been of short duration. After a movie date several nights later, she'd almost jumped at his suggestion that they take a little ride before going home. She'd been in his arms the minute the engine was killed and the lights went out. In their safe hideaway, she was again all flesh and fire. The wild kissing and heavy breathing had given way to plaintive sighs all but begging for Bob to once more assert himself, do those things to her that a man should do to a woman.

Her perfume, the luminous sheen of her eyes and face, the provocative gown she'd worn that night, all contributed, and before the night was another hour older, he'd been helpless to keep his hands from roaming again. Only this time there'd been no rebuff. Ardis' breath had hissed, her legs and hips had jittered as his timid fingers had brushed her breasts through the filmy material, the slide of nylon on nylon inflaming them both.

"I'm sorry, Ardis," he'd apologized shortly, drawing away upon achieving minor control. "I know I shouldn't act this way. Forgive me. I just lost hold of myself for a minute there."

She'd drawn him back impatiently, angrily. "It's all right, darling. I wouldn't let you do it if I didn't like it, if I didn't want you to do those things. Oooh, wild, it makes me feel so wild! You are a lover, after all. Touch me, Bob. It feels so darned good!"

Things had truly gone haywire after that Less than fifteen minutes later they were in the back seat together, their bodies writhing, their mouths locked. "Oh, yes, darling," she gasped when his hand had invaded her skirts, had tickled and clutched her crotch through her drenched panties. "Yes, yes! I love it! I love it so much. Touch me. Hold me. Do whatever you want to me!"

Which she hadn't quite meant, for when he'd attempted to undress her, she'd balked. Only her shoes and stockings, the panties and garter belt. There wasn't time for all the rest. It had been quite enough, for when the sex-crazed male had seen her ivory belly, the dark delta of her snatch-her vagina all glittering, liquidly-he'd torn off his trousers and shorts and had come over her.

Even so, Ardis had had still other surprises in store for him. Her greedy fingers had been waiting for his rod as it had zeroed in on her crotch and she had sawed his cockhead on her clitoris, swirled it in the mouth of her vagina-seemingly tasting it-before finally piloting it into the channel itself. She'd moaned piteously, raggedly, like he was giving her the greatest gift any man could confer.

Her slit was tight, fantastically runny, and he was a goner from that moment on. He had to have this font, this soaking hole, forever and ever. He was positive that life with a wanton like this would be eternal ecstasy. And while he still couldn't believe his good fortune, he wasn't about to ask questions, rock the boat. Love-physical communion-that was all that mattered. Who needed more assurance than this?

Ardis' hole had been astonishingly narrow; she'd had a glorious way of constricting her inner muscles, of seemingly milking his rod from base to tip. Right away, her hips had begun to grind expertly. She'd groaned and gulped and hissed, had quickly torn one, then two orgasms from his plundering tool. She was in the process of stealing a third one when Bob could hold back no longer and jetted what felt like pints of hot, thick come into her.

And though Ardis wasn't given to talking, to articulating her pleasure, there was no doubt in his mind that she was beside herself with joy, amazed at the copious splash of maleness he'd given her. Her hips ground more frantically ; her cunt wall clung and massaged, got out every last drop.

Then, suddenly, it was late. It was time to go home.

Two more roadside surrenders occurred before another roof came crashing down on Bob. Ardis was absolutely nutty about al fresco fucks; there was something about the danger element, the discomfort, the hurry-up quality of them that turned her into a virtual hellcat. But there came a time when she needed even more. He had hardly believed his ears when upon dropping her off at her house-she'd said, "Come back, Bob. After you drop the sitter off. Park around the block. I'll leave the back door open for you. You know where my bedroom is."

Bob had dazedly done as he was told. Groping through the darkened house, he'd found Ardis seductively posed upon her bed. Totally naked for the first time, the dim light from outside making her belly a tempestuous, furry promise, she was a she-devil. Her breasts were heaving; the tips were hard-delectable nuts he was insane to get his lips around. He actually wanted to fall upon her body,, kiss it from head to toe, to concentrate on that lush, velvety belly-on that musky forest

But afraid that he'd disgust Ardis, he'd resisted the impulse. Quickly undressing, he'd contented himself with caressing her glorious body, with sucking those tits to flowering softness.

And finally, the whole length of her sensuous body beneath him-the luxury of privacy, a room, a bed all to themselves-he'd fucked her into a whimpering, sated stupor.

Their love had taken a curious pattern from then on. During the few months between the announcement of their engagement and their marriage,, he'd been in her bed almost every night. He'd come in stealthy darkness-it was one prissy propriety Ardis insisted upon; there must be no neighborhood gossip-service her for hours on end, then leave in the wee hours of the morning, often missing dawn's first grayness.

Their love had been incredibly good. Bob was insane about the incredible sexuality he'd unleashed within Ardis; she could turn him into a raving madman at times. Especially those times she chose to tease him, withhold sex from him for a time. Then she was Cleopatra and Jezebel all in one-she was the eternal courtesan.

Prick-teaser was the word that came most naturally to Bob's mind. And though she'd never once denied him, there were chilling moments when he wondered if that wasn't exactly what she was working up to.

He always remembered that one night when Ardis had made Bob pull her vanity away from the wall and tilt the mirror so that she could watch their reflected images while in the throes of a holy fuck. It had given him a funny feeling to see themselves that way, to see the wicked, almost psychotic light in her eyes as she watched from start to finish.

While Ardis was pure wanton, while she permitted such bizarre sidelights to sex, she would not, however, permit any of the oral delights. Bob had wanted only to be permitted to kiss and suck between her legs, testament of his undying love, but she wouldn't hear of it. "But, Ardis, honey," he'd plead. "I ain't askin' nothing of you. Just let me, will you? I'm crazy to do that f r you."

"No, Bob. I can't. It isn't right. It's perverted ... against God's will. The rest of it, all right. But don't ask for that."

Though disappointed, he'd relented. He'd been satisfied for a time in the plentitude of sex otherwise. No other man in the world had ever been so richly blessed. Perhaps, in due time, she'd change her mind. It was worth waiting for.

Just then Bob woke up from his reverie to find himself standing stock still before his forge, a hard-on, big enough to choke a horse, distending his trousers. And with it-a frustrated, gut-tangling ache that threatened to floor him. His eyes filmed suddenly. Dear God, he raged bewilderedly, where'd it all get to? What'n hell went wrong, anyway?

Luckily there was a clatter and a roar at that moment and Tush Willingly drove his decrepit '49 Ford into the shed for a muffler repair. Though he generally turned away auto repairs, he was grateful for Tush's appearance just now. Before he'd gone off his head again. He'd saved him from outright tears.

Ardis knew exactly what Bob had on his mind tonight; she knew he was itchy. Eight years of marriage gives one that intuition. Furthermore, Bob knew that she knew he was hurting. And though he hated to give in, to crawl before her, it had to be. Solitary hand drills wouldn't do it for him tonight. The real thing. He had to have Ardis, even if she didn't want him, even if she never would.

Ten days had passed since the ill-fated trip to Kiwasi. Ten days of the silent treatment from Ardis, with her reveling in it, pinning him with contemptuous sniffings every time he tried cozying up to her. But lately she'd softened somewhat, and there was cause to hope.

There were night, like tonight, when he actually believed he still loved Ardis, when he thought they could still work things out. Seeing her sitting across the tidy, sparkling living room from him, engrossed in her readingTV's corrupting influence would never have a chance at her children's minds-while he finished going through the paper, he was twisted with longing. She was lovely and desirable, her body vastly tempting despite her shapeless, figure-concealing dress, the total lack of makeup. She was his wife, his woman, no matter what anybody said.

She was a lot of woman. They would rediscover the joys of love again someday. If and when they got their heads right again. He wouldn't backslide again. All Ardis had to do was give him the least chance.

Briefly he backtracked, remembered how pretty and clean the kids had been tonight as they'd lovingly come to kiss their mother and father good night. He remembered the sincere love that had flooded him at that moment. Now he thought of the fine meal Ardis had prepared for him, the care she'd taken with his torn shirt just yesterday. He did have a good life. So they weren't compatible in bed; what of it? Was that so important?

A frustrating anger boiled up in him. Damn you, God! Why did you make me such a horny animal? Why won't you give me any peace? Why can't I be happy with what I have?

His confusion was increased as he focused his gaze on Ardis again, saw her reading her Bible, comparing certain passages against one of the countless tracts she was forever getting down at church. Despair rose. He most certainly wouldn't get any tonight. Not after she worked herself into one of her holier-than-thou states. Once more fury raced through him.

Why? he agonized. Dear God, why?

At exactly 10:30 Ardis rose from her chair and went directly to her bedroom. He heard her in the bathroom. Then she was in the bedroom, undressing, getting into her nightgown. Bob sat in his chair, waited. It was an unwritten rule that he never invaded the bedroom while she was undressing. Still, he waited. When he was sure it was all clear, he rose, locked the doors, and extinguished the lights.

When he entered the bedroom, he found Ardis on her knees on her side of the bed, praying. He backed out of the room, quickly, but Ardis heard him, opened her eyes, glowered at him. It was a bad blunder.

"No privacy at all," she grumbled when he let himself in the second time. "If you won't pray with me, at least you could do is leave me alone with God."

"I'm sorry, honey. I was sure you was finished." Even so he couldn't help looking at the way her body was outlined beneath the gown. Sanctimonious or not, he wanted her. Meat, if nothing else. A place to bury his prick, to empty his load.

According to routine, he went to the bathroom with his pajamas. Where, after seeing to things as quietly as he could, he put his pajamas on, then walked softly back into the now darkened bedroom. He slid under the covers with as little fuss as possible.

When he inched toward her stolid body, gingerly placed his arms across her warm, comfortingly voluptuous body, she hissed: "No, Bob! Not tonight. I still haven't forgotten that last thing you pulled. Besides, I don't feel very good tonight."

Anger choked him. "How long, Ardis?" he growled. "How long you aim to make me pay f r that? I ain't gone back with the boys since, have I? Please, honey, I need you. I'm a man ... flesh and blood; there's jist so much I can endure. You don't know what y'r driving me to."

"More of that wife-swapping drool, I suppose. Well, go ahead, if that's what you want. I'm not interested, God knows. I've still got penance enough to pay ... for the slut I let myself become when I first met you. More filth I don't need, thank you."

"Aw, Ardis, I wish you'd fergit all that. It wasn't sinful; it wasn't filth. We were in love ... we are in love."

"Love? Is that what it was? It was fornication, pure and simple. We broke God's most sacred law."

Bob saw there was no point in riling Ardis further; he tried changing the subject. He continued pulling, her toward him, his hands strong, but gentle. "Please, Ardis. I need it tonight. I need it worse than I've ever needed it before. It's not wrong. We're man and wife ... married in the eyes of God. In your own church."

"Another abomination. That I could take you to my own church, let Reverend Milton perform the ceremony. Shameless slut, that's what I was."

Still Bob continued to caress her, to force her to endure his touch. "Please, please, baby," he said, hating himself for his sniveling tones, "I need you. I need you so much. I'm all twisted up inside."

Abruptly Ardis shifted, humped her body and came down on her back. "All right," she snorted, "go ahead! Do what you want with me. Only stop that damned whining."

Bob hated himself even more because of the eagerness with which he came over her, fussed with her nightgown. He felt mean and dirty because he was willing to have her on any terms whatsoever. "Oh, Ardis, honey, thank you," he sighed. "I'll be good to you. I won't keep you long."

"No!" she snapped when he tried to pull off her nightgown so he could kiss and suck her lovely breasts. "That's enough. What you need's right there. Stick yourself in. Get it done with."

"Please, Ardis," he pleaded. "Don't be like that. Don't ruin it f'r me. If you could jist see your way clear to..."

"To act like I'm enjoying it? No, Bob. Why should I when I don't? When I'm dying inside all the time, just for thinking of what I'm doing. That I'm denying my Lord still another time? For a man I don't respect because of his craven appetites? Please, Bob. Don't talk. Just do what you have to do."

Even though he loathed himself for it, Bob quickly peeled off his pajama bottoms and discarded them. The next moment he was crouched over Ardis' rigid body, fighting to stick his rod into her. Sticking was the proper word, because that's all it was. A limp, cold, impassive piece of meat. A crack that made no sound, made no move as the gross indignity was committed upon it.

"I hope you remembered to put your thing on," she snapped even as he buried himself to the hilt. "If you haven't, you'd better get out."

"I've got it on," he snarled, fighting the impulse to pull out of her, race for the bathroom, churn it into the toilet instead of into her emasculating twat.

"Good," she sniffed. "I certainly don't want any of your rotten spawn taking hold inside of me. That would be the last straw."

"Goddamn you, Ardis, don't!" he spat. "Ain't it bad enough you don't help me? Don't cheat me of what little I have. I've got it on. I've got the damned rubber on!" He froze in midstroke. "Here, you wanna feel it?"

She didn't answer. If anything, she went even more stiff and cold. She withdrew from the scene of sin, sat in judgment in some far, remote place.

Bob froze inside himself. He changed into a robot, into some unfeeling, pistoning, pile-driving machine. It wasn't bad enough that the rubber minimized contact, robbed him of that blessed friction. No, Ardis had to castrate him with her caustic comments. He slammed her harder, knew that it was the only way he'd get it off now.

Now he felt that dull ache build up deep in his guts; it backed into his scrotum, made his balls feel tight and swollen. Now the fire en-flamed his anal sphincter, and he tightened the muscle, felt his anus pucker. A hot fire grew behind his tight-pressed eyelids.

Then he let fly. Insofar as there was any sensation at all, his sperm latex-entrapped as it was, it was a good shot. He pumped harder, was determined to squeeze out every last gram. God knew when he'd be granted audience with the queen again.

Finally he was still. "Didn't you feel anything at all, Ardis?" he asked when he could breathe again. "Nothing at all, like it used to be?"

"No!" she snapped. "You ask that every time. I don't ever want to get like that again, understand? I'm fighting it! Won't you ever get that through your stupid head?" She shifted her hips. "Now, if you're quite finished, I'd appreciate it if you take that filthy thing out of me, so I can go to the bathroom to wash myself."

"Wash?" he snapped. "What for? I sure's hell didn't put nothing into you."

"You entered me, didn't you? Isn't that enough? I feel dirty and tainted."

Slowly he pulled out of her and fell sideways. "And if you don't mind, Bob," she continued. "In the other bedroom, please? I don't think I would sleep if you stayed ... after this. I think I should pray now."

He jumped angrily from the bed, stared down on her, his limp cock grotesque with the rubber still hanging on it. He was possessed of the urge to rip the sheath off and fling it into his wife's prissy face. But he thought better of it and merely dropped it on the floor just before closing the door behind himself. It would serve as a jolting souvenir the first thing in the morning.

He clicked the door softly and went toward the other bedroom. His rage threatened to consume him, and even after his grisly trick, he still felt empty and defeated.

He wondered why he even tried.