Chapter 4
The next night, the creep was watching her window again. Ellen Dawson wasn't surprised. He was always there, night after night, sitting behind his blinds across the courtyard. That was something you could count on, like Tuesday coming after Monday. He was Old Faithful.
Didn't he have anything else to do in the evenings, Ellen wondered? Didn't he ever go out to play pinochle with the boys? Didn't he ever have company, a woman in his room, maybe? Didn't he prefer sometimes to sit and stare at his television set, instead of squinting out his window?
No. Apparently not. He was always sitting there, waiting for her to strip.
The poor creep, she thought. He was really hooked on peeping, wasn't he?
Well, she wasn't in the mood to give him much of a show tonight. She was too tired for that. Last night had been a busy one. Jim McHughes had stayed until almost four in the morning, and he had taken her three times. Getting loved three times by Jim McHughes was like making love nine or ten times with any other man. He really used a woman up when he got to her.
So they had rolled over in the clover until the small hours, and when he left, Ellen was as limp as jelly. What a man! She had grabbed a couple of hour's sleep, and then it had been time to go to work.
That had been rough, too. Ellen worked at a theatrical booking agency. All day long the phone jangled, with indignant people wanting to know this and that and treating you as though you were just part of the machinery. And you had to be polite to them, of course, or get kicked out on your bottom. It was a taxing job even for somebody who was well rested when she got to work. And since Ellen was usually up half the night with her men friends, the job was twice as hard for her. This particular day had been really brutal. She wasn't sure how she had managed to get through it.
And to top it all off, her husband, her soon-to-be-ex-husband, had phoned her three times, pleading and whining for a chance to see her. She had turned him down, of course. But it was emotionally exhausting to have to argue with him.
Finally, Ellen had stopped off for dinner at the little Italian restaurant where she ate five or six nights out of the week, and then she had come home at half past eight. She didn't have the strength to go through her round of calisthenics, and she was willing to bet that the creep across the way enjoyed her back-bend exercises most of all. She rarely skipped the exercises but tonight would be an exception. She had had enough exercise last night in the arms of Jim McHughes to last her a week, anyway.
So she would simply undress, a treat for the creep, anyway, and take a nice relaxing bath, get into bed, and read the mystery novel in the new Cosmopolitan until ten o'clock or so. Then it would be lights out For once, she'd have more than eight hours of sleep under her belt when she showed up at the office tomorrow.
Ellen started to undress.
Happy dreams, creepo!
Off came jacket and skirt. She hung them in their places. Ellen was a neat girl, always had been. Off came blouse. Off came slip.
She glanced toward the window. It seemed to her that she saw a quick movement in the window across the way, the Peeping Tom, hastily ducking out of sight. Ellen grinned. She turned her back toward the window and slowly, provocatively, began to pull her panties down.
She rolled them down over her flaring hips, rolled them down another inch to bare the adorable dimples just below the small of her back, then another couple of inches to display the beginning of the luscious cheeks. And then the full cheeks came into view, firm, plump, delectably squeezable mounds of taut youthful flesh.
Take a good look, creepo!
Reach your hands across the courtyard and grab yourself a feel!
Ellen smirked. She stepped out of her panties. Then, just for the hell of it, she bent forward and touched her hands to her toes a couple of times. Her buttocks were still aimed toward the window. That gave the creep a good view of what she had. She could imagine him biting his nails in a dither of vicarious desire.
She straightened up. Enough fun and games for tonight. Quickly, Ellen stripped off her brassiere to bare the double globes of her voluptuous breasts, and got her stockings and garter belt off.
She headed into the bathroom and let water run into the tub, warm and soothing.
The bath felt fine. The warm water walled up around her breasts and loosened all the tensions that the day had instilled in her. She got out and toweled herself dry, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, seeing the pink-and gold nudity of herself, watching her breasts jump around as she moved the towel.
It was good to be pretty, she thought.
And good to be young.
She padded back into her bedroom and slipped a shortie nightgown on over her nakedness. She didn't bother with the panties part. The nightgown came down to her hips and didn't hide anything in particular, but Ellen had never really been concerned with hiding anything. Half her buttocks were exposed, and also her upper thighs, and you could see the ripe globes of her breasts through the filmy fabric.
She picked up her magazine. She switched on the nightstand light and got into bed. She opened the magazine to the right place. The doorbell rang.
Oh, no, Ellen thought. Her first guess was that the creep from across the way, the window peeper, had gotten up enough courage to pay her a visit. After all, she wasn't expecting any company tonight. So who else could it be? Maybe he was disappointed at not having gotten a view of her body during a calisthenics session, so he was coming around to register a complaint.
She was half amused at the idea. Ellen was always on the lookout for new adventures.
She got out of bed and walked toward the door.
"Who is it?" she called.
"It's me," came a low, half-murmuring voice. "Ray. I came to see you Ellen."
Ellen stiffened. Anger shot through her. Her husband! Her stinking weakknead nothing of a husband!
"I told you I didn't want to see you," she said sharply. "I meant it."
"I couldn't stay away, Ellen," he answered in a whining tone. "Please let me in. Please."
"You're a pest, Ray."
"Is it my fault I love you?"
"You're still a pest," she snapped at him through toe closed door.
"I'll get down on my knees to you, Ellen. Just let me in. Please, darling!"
She scowled. She knew that it was just what he wanted to get down on his knees to her. That was the kind of character he was. He loved to be punished. He loved to be kicked at, literally or figuratively.
What the devil, though. She didn't have the heart to turn him away. Besides, her bath had made her feel a whole lot more invigorated. It might be amusing to have Ray here for a while. He was always good for laughs.
"All right," she said.
She opened the door.
He stepped into the room. She was wearing nothing but her shortie nightgown, which left her thighs and buttocks exposed and her breasts hardly covered at all, and she was even more provocative that way than if she had answered the door in the nude. The effect on the man who entered was immediate and emphatic. He gaped at the luscious contours of the woman who had been his wife, and opened his mouth in a wordless little gasp of surprise and delight.
Ellen closed the door behind him, giving him a view of her firm round buttocks as she did so. Then she turned to face him.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"To see you. To touch you. To make love to you, Ellen. That's what I want."
"We're almost divorced."
"But we're still man and wife. Until the papers come through, Ellen."
"You know what would happen to our divorce if anybody found out you were coming here to visit me? They'd throw it right out of court."
"I can't help that," he said. His eyes were glittering as he surveyed her almost revealed body, the forbidden contours at the rim of her shortie nightgown, the pink cheeks of her buttocks, the heavy globes of her breasts scarcely concealed at all. He said, "I want you so much, Ellen. I wish I hadn't lost you."
"You wouldn't have, if you hadn't been such a damned fool. But then you'd have been somebody else, wouldn't you? Stop staring at me like that!"
"Put some clothes on, if you don't want me to stare at you. You're practically naked."
"You really want me to cover myself up?" she asked, grinning a little.
"Not really," he said. "Not at all. Ellen, could I have a beer?"
"I guess I can manage that," she said.
She went to the refrigerator and got a can of beer out for him. She kept the beer on the bottom shelf, and she had to bend over all the way to get it. That made her nightgown ride midway up her back, completely exposing the bare white mounds of her buttocks to him.
Ellen could practically feel Ray Dawson's gaze passing over those twin mounds of sensual flesh. He never could take his eyes off her. He was a creepy sort, she told herself. Almost as creepy as that peeper across the courtyard, more or less.
She opened the beer and handed it to him.
She watched him as he drank it, thirstily, greedily, as though he hadn't had a beer in months. He was a good-looking guy, she thought. Always had been, always would be. That was why she had married him in the first place. She had let herself be befuddled by his looks.
He wasn't ruggedly masculine, in the style of Jim McHughes. No, not in the slightest. Ray Dawson was slim, almost delicate, a graceful man with long tapering limbs, a fine-boned face, and a deep red hair that he kept trimmed in a close crew cut. He was as agile as a dancer, and he had a kind of glamour and dash to him that had swept Ellen right off her feet.
That had been five years ago, when she was nineteen. It had taken a year for the dash and glamour to wear off. Then she had discovered Ray Dawson for what he really was: a pretty boy, a weakling, a zero. Even so, she had tried to paste the marriage back together every time it started to come apart. She forgave him for everything: all his little lies, the other women, the petty vanities. But at last she couldn't take it any more. She moved out. More than a year and a half had gone by since Ellen had left him. She had gotten a separation at first, but now the divorce was almost final.
Ray wouldn't accept the fact that he had lost her. He kept coming around, kept whining like a lonely puppy. She didn't love him any more, not a shred, but she was woman enough to take pity on him. She had slept with him whenever he asked her, even after the separation, even after the divorce papers were filed. She knew that she was probably going to sleep with him tonight, if he wanted it.
She wondered what was going to happen after she was married to Jim McHughes. Would Ray still come around, trying to snuffle up a little on the side? If he did, would she give in to him? And what would happen if Ray and Jim ever collided head on? Jim might kill him. Jim was the kind of man who had that sort of temper. There could be a real explosion if Jim ever suspected her of cheating on him with her first husband.
Ray put down the beer can. It was empty. He said, "You look so beautiful, Ellen. I never knew a girl who looked as lovely as you. With or without clothes."
"You should have thought of that while you still had a chance to save our marriage," she said. "You won't accept a reconcilation?"
"Don't be silly."
"How soon are you going to get married again after the divorce is final?"
"That's my business," she said.
He took a step toward her, stretching out his hands. "I'm going to lose you, Ellen, aren't I?"
"You've already lost me."
"Let me touch you. Let me hold you."
"Please, Ray. It's no use. Don't-"
But he ignored her protests, as he always did, and she could not refuse him. In a moment his long, tapering fingers were clutching at her flesh. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against hers.
One hand seized the jutting mound of her right breast, gripping it firmly, making the nipple throb as he pressed it. The other hand slid down her body, pushing the shortie nightgown aside to cup the cool firm cheeks of her bare buttocks. The fingertips glided along the valley and toward her thighs.
She began to gasp and breathe hard. His tongue was probing her mouth. She closed her eyes and rubbed herself from side to side against him.
The lawyer had said never to let him into her apartment again, and certainly never to sleep with him. But what did the lawyer know about desire? He had his head stuck away in law books all the time. Ellen was a woman, and a passionate, fiery woman at that. She couldn't turn a man away simply because she was divorcing him. Okay, she couldn't get along with the guy; there were psychological things about him that made her dislike him. But she could dislike a man and still feel desire for him.
Her nipples were red-hot rocks. Her breasts were throbbing and swollen with yearning.
She let him push his hand down the front of her body until he held her. She moved her thighs, allowing him to caress her. He touched her lightly at first, delicately, coyly, with that oddly feminine grace of his that was so very different from Jim McHughes' bulldozer masculinity.
Then he sprang away from her. He began to strip.
Ellen pulled her nightgown over her head and cast it aside. Beads of sweat were popping out all over her body. Her breasts were heaving violently. There was the anguish of total need in her sizzling body.
Ray had his shirt off. He looked leaner than ever, almost skinny. A sprinkling of red freckles was dusted lightly over his pale chest. The thin, curling red hair looked almost purple in the dim light.
He started to drop his pants. Then he grinned and said. "The window blinds! You're always leaving the blinds open, Ellen."
"Maybe I like an audience when I make love."
"Well, I don't." He stepped past the nude Ellen and drew the blinds. Then he pulled his trousers and shorts off. His narrow, hipped body looked almost boyish. Except that he was too masculine to be mistaken for a boy. Ellen moved toward the bed, her body hot with desire. But Ray wasn't ready to go to bed yet.
It was the same old business, she realized. The crazy gimmick that she hated so much.
He stooped and pulled his belt out of his trousers and handed it to her.
"Hit me first," he begged her. "Give me a good whipping, Ellen! That's what I deserve!"
"You know I don't like to do that."
"Please. Do it for me."
"It's twisted. It's nasty."
"Make me happy, Ellen."
She scowled at him. He was such a toad, such a creepy perverted character! Ray had this masochistic streak running through him. He loved to be punished. He liked people to call him names, to insult him, to turn him into a ridiculous clown. He was only happy when he was miserable.
And in sex, the pattern carried through. He liked his women to dominate him. He wanted them to whip him, to hurt him, to injure him both physically and psychologically. Why, he was probably taking a twisted pleasure in the fact that Ellen was divorcing him. Even though it hurt him bitterly to lose her, it also gave him the masochistic kicks that he cherished.
"Hit me!" he pleaded.
Ellen grabbed the belt and held it by the buckle end. She wielded it like a whip. Although it made her feel perverted to gratify Ray in these desires, she couldn't deny that there was a kind of pleasure in it, too, to be a tyrant, to make a grown man grovel before her.
She lashed out with the whip. It caught him right across the thighs, in front, only a couple of inches below the one place where he was terrified of being hit. He gasped and leaped back, whirling around, presenting his flat buttocks to her. Ellen flicked the whip across both cheeks. He sucked in his breath in an expression of delight.
She hit him across the shoulders. It left a mark. He spun around, and she got him on the other shoulder, and then across the stomach. His eyes were glazed with ecstasy. He was taut with tension, testifying to the sudden surge of excitement within him.
Ellen was temped to direct her aim. He made such a good target. She had done it once, a couple of years ago, during one of these masochistic sessions. It hadn't been a very wise idea. He had grabbed himself and doubled up in agony, and afterward he hadn't been able to take her, so she was the real loser.
She kept the belt in control. But there were plenty of other places to whip. Ray Dawson sagged to the floor under the impact of her blows. He crouched there on his knees, with his arms crossed over his forehead to protect his face, and Ellen stood above him.
She brought the belt down again and again. Sweat oiled her nude body, making it glisten. The heavy globes of her breasts jiggled up and down with each stroke of the belt. It connected with Dawson's slim body. He didn't have much fat on him to cushion the blows.
Ellen felt a savage pounding of delight inside her. She stood with her legs set, and she could feel the heat radiating from her body as she took joy in the whipping. She was the slave-master, and he was the slave. She grunted in pleasure as she slammed the belt down.
"Yes-yes-" he whimpered. "Hurt me, punish me, Ellen! I deserve it! I deserve it!"
The marks of the beating were all over him. Still her arm rose and fell, still the round breasts shivered and shook with each motion.
Then he looked at her. "Now!" he cried. "Get down here, Ellen. Now, now!"
He rolled over on his back and beckoned to her.
Ellen dropped down on top of him.
This was how he liked best to make love. With the woman on top of him, dominating him. He didn't like to take the upper position himself. He preferred to let his partner take charge.
Ellen straddled him. She threw her legs out on either side of him and lowered the soft cushions of her buttocks against his thighs. Her body was wild, ready for love.
She seized him with her hand and guided him.
He went to her easily, for her always passionate body was eager. Ellen slid forward a little way, and he tried to help her. He lifted his knees to provide a seat for her.
She began to move.
She rocked up and down, around and about, moving herself with excitement and dedication. She watched his face. It was twisted and distorted with the play of delight. Her own face, she knew, must also show the powerful emotions that were coursing through her. There were many things to be said in favor of this sort of position, she thought, and one of them was that the lovemaking pair had a full view of one another's faces while they were loving. So long as they could keep their eyes open, of course.
He reached up. His delicate hands grabbed her breasts, gripping the two swollen globes of flesh like handles. She moved vigorously on top of him Her buttocks rubbed against his lean thighs.
The spasms were starting, now. The delicious muscular contractions of fulfillment.
Yes, she thought. Yes! Yes!
He smiled at her and closed his eyes. An instant later she knew the expression of his happiness, and in practically the same moment there came the culminating paroxysms of her own ecstasy. She gasped and moaned and writhed her way through the glory of it, and then, covered with sweat, limp and drained of passion, Ellen let herself slowly slump forward until her nude body was draped out like a blanket over the form of the man who had once been her husband.