Chapter 2

Madge Tillman heard the doorbell and scurried to answer it. She stopped at the door and straightened her cotton dress. She hadn't expected any visitors. Maybe it's just a salesman, she thought as she ran her slender fingers through her straw-blonde hair.

Opening the door slightly, Madge peered into Beth's radiant face.

"Hello, neighbor," Beth smiled, letting her even white teeth glisten in the early afternoon light. "My name is Beth Hallman. I live across the street. I thought I'd welcome you to the community." She smiled again, and cocked her eyebrows.

Madge felt embarrassed. Quickly, she pulled the door open and stepped aside as Beth entered.

"I'm sorry I acted so startled," Madge said, straightening a strand of loose hair. "Come in. How about some coffee?"

"Rather have a drink," Beth answered, casually scanning the room. Madge watched the young woman's eyes as they scrutinized the drapes, the carpeting, the furniture, the two still-life reproductions. Her look was not encouraging.

"Oh, we really haven't started decorating yet," Madge apologized. She was sorry she said the words. Why should she have to make excuses? She thought the room looked nice.

"It's lovely, ah-Marge?"

"Madge."

"Oh, yes, Madge. I think it's very - ah - homey."

"Thank you." Homey, Madge thought. Homey. Well, of all the nerve. She looked at Beth and the woman smiled, a deep warm smile. Madge felt embarrassed again. The woman didn't look like the cold, nose-tilted type.

"How about that drink?" Beth asked, winking at her.

"Sure." Madge wondered if she had miscalculated the woman's survey and comment. "What would you like?"

"Martini - and very, very dry. I start dry and end up wet later on in the evening." Madge laughed softly and Beth responded with another warm smile.

"Be back in a jiffy," Madge said over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."

"I will," Beth said, a thin, concerned smiled etched on her attractive face. I will, she thought as she let her hand cup under her breast. She peered to make sure Madge was out of sight, then squeezed her breast, pushing her fingers deep into the gland until her face twisted in pain. It felt good, like being crucified. It was the pain of sacrifice. She released the grip on her breast and gently rubbed her V. Ah, she thought, I can sense this Madge is going to be a very good partner. Ummmm ... I can taste her now ... I can see her trembling and moaning under John ... can see his ass quivering ... his muscles tense ... his veins protruding from the skin....

"One, or two olives?"

Beth jerked her hand from her V and called back, "One and a half."

"Have to settle for one then," came Madge's faraway answer. Beth shook herself and sat down on the sofa. She had to watch herself. She was becoming too bold. One more slipup like the last one, with the other couple, and it could all bust open. The whole key was keeping cool. Being able to control the impulse, not letting it get the best of her. She gritted her teeth as she felt the compulsion to squeeze her vagina. The sensation passed as she heard Madge shuffling toward her from the kitchen, a tray of drinks precariously balanced between her slender hands.

"Martinis for one."

"You're not having one?" Beth asked, letting her lower lip droop and fluttering her eyes.

"Oh, no," Madge said seriously, settling back in the French accent chair across from Beth. "I never drink before five. And then, not often."

Beth studied the woman carefully. She blinked her eyes in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Madge answered; then, leaning forward eagerly, she asked, "Tell me, how long have you lived here? Do you like it? Is there a lot to do?"

"Wait! Wait!" Beth said, holding up her hand. "One thing at a time. First, I don't drink alone. Either you'll have to insult me and put these drinks back in the fridge or join me and make me happy."

Madge looked shocked. She sat back a moment and bit her lower lip. Arny didn't like her drinking, and she had never really enjoyed it. He set down the rule: only an occasional drink. He didn't want it to become a ritual. She had agreed, knowing that his father had been a heavy drinker and that Arny had been adamant about liquor since the first day he met her. He wasn't a square about it. He said it was necessary to have around, and to serve, but not a necessity to drink. They'd had an occasional drink, but never in the afternoon.

"Is something the matter?" Beth said, leaning forward and reaching to touch Madge's cheek.

When Beth's fingers made contact with Madge's flesh, she jerked back in the chair, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Oh - oh, I'm terribly sorry. I bet you thought I was a zombie for a minute."

"Well, I was certainly concerned." Beth leaned back and crossed her legs, letting her short, doeskin skirt ride up her thin, well-tapered legs. She smiled as she saw Madge's eyes view them, then glance away.

"I - I have a bad habit about letting my mind wander," Madge apologized. "I was thinking about our rules."

"Rules?"

"Yes. I know you'll probably think they're silly. But my husband, Arny, doesn't like me to drink in the daytime."

"Oh, teetotalers," Beth said crisply, consciously pulling her dress down to see how Madge would react. The woman blushed and glanced away.

"No ... no... We're really not that bad. It's just that Arny has his own ideas about things and gets mad when I don't go along."

"You mean you'd really like to have a drink?" Beth wriggled up in the sofa until her skirt was hiked mid-thigh. She recrossed her legs slowly, letting them hesitate slightly in the process and watching Madge's eyes.

Madge squirmed in her chair and-tried to smile pleasantly. She was embarrassed and slightly disturbed. She felt defensive about the drinking ... and Beth's legs. She kept crossing them. They were certainly attractive legs. Probably a habit she picked up at parties. Madge had seen a lot of women using the leg-crossing ploy to attract men. She didn't think it was wrong - just bold.

"Well?"

"What?"

"The drinks, Madge. Are we, or are we not?" Beth's voice was rimmed with irritation. Madge felt uncomfortable. She felt like a schoolgirl told by her mother not to cross a street and knowing the only way home was across that street. She looked at the martini pitcher. It was two in the afternoon. A woman was trying to be friendly with her. Why shouldn't she? Arny probably stopped and had martinis on the way home and never told her about it, anyway. Besides, why shouldn't she learn to enjoy herself? She might not have a college education or the grace of some of the women married to Arny's college friends, but she knew the difference between right and wrong. She knew what she was capable of and what she wasn't.

"Yes," Madge said defiantly. "I'll join you in a drink. Please excuse me."

As Madge swished off to the kitchen for another glass, Beth leaned back and tossed her head, letting her hair swipe casually across her face. This is going to be easier than I imagined, she thought. A virgin housewife. John will go out of his mind when I tell him. Or maybe ... maybe I won't tell him. I'll keep it for a surprise. Otherwise he'll be frothing at the mouth until he gets her between his apish paws. She let a giggle escape her lips.

"Am I missing something?" Madge said, almost running from the kitchen.

"Just a little joke my husband and I had last night, Madge. I'll tell you about it when we get to know each other better. It will have more meaning to you then."

"Oh," Madge said, not realizing the meaning of what Beth had said.

Three martinis later the two women were laughing, covering their mouths with their hands and snickering at gossip coming mostly from Beth about the neighbors. Beth was slouched back on the couch, running her fingers gently through her auburn hair and telling Madge about Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. Madge sat raptured on the edge of her chair, listening to the charming stories about the land and the people.

"... and we fly to Jamaica twice a year, just for sun and fun. It's the in thing now...."

Even with the liquor buzzing through her brain, Madge felt the inconsistency. She couldn't hold back her question. "But why do you live here, in this tract, if your husband is so - so well off? Gosh, I'd imagine you living in a mansion with servants, and indoor swimming pools like at Hearst's Castle."

Beth laughed casually. She'd been through this time and time again and enjoyed the gambit more each time it presented itself. Sitting up and leaning forward, as if in secret conference, she said, "We hate rich people. We can't stand them. Rich people are snobs. They have to get their kicks doing rich things, with rich people, at rich places. They live in money, they talk in money, they water money-green yards. They even smell like money. John and I have money, but we don't wallow in it. We live in nice neighborhoods, like this one, with nice people around like you and - I'm sure -your husband." She paused, letting her eyebrows rise in a knowing gesture. Unconsciously, Madge snickered, as if she knew and Beth didn't. Beth smiled. The bird was playing right into her hands.

"Yes." Madge's eyes rolled back and she stared at the ceiling. "My husband is nice."

"And sexy?" Beth was leaning over dangerously. Another inch and she would have toppled over the coffee table.

"Very - oh, come on, Beth. That's private."

"Is it?" Beth said, sitting back and licking at the rim of her glass. She knew she shouldn't push. Things were going too well now to trip her hand. But she couldn't resist. It was such an opportunity.

Madge looked at Beth and felt a wave of embarrassment. She had almost told her about John. She wanted to. She would enjoy confiding to another woman some of the things she felt. But she had only known her for a few hours. That wasn't long enough.

"Does your husband play pool?"

Madge shook her head. What a strange question, she thought. "Pool?"

"Yes. John has one hang-up besides me - pool. He can't live without it. He's even invented some of his own games. I thought if Arny shot, he and John would have a lot in common."

"Gosh, I don't know," Madge said, feeling her nose. It was numb. Numb meant she'd had more than enough. She was surprised she wasn't worse, having drunk three martinis. "I - I'll ask him."

"Good," Beth said, swinging her legs to stand. She let them spread slightly and her skirt was rumpled up around her hips. Madge blinked. She was sure she saw the woman's pubic hair. Pubic hair? That meant she didn't wear any....

Beth stood quickly, her wide-toothed, gleaming smile back. "I have to go, darling. Look, why don't we plan to have dinner and a few drinks Friday night. John would like to meet your Arny and we could have a fun time watching the boys play pool, if Arny plays."

Madge grabbed the side of her chair to steady herself. The martinis were having their effect. "Sounds great. I don't think he's got anything planned for Friday. I'll let you know tomorrow. All right?"

"Fine. And tell him we plan to have a few drinks, just to break the ice."

"Okay."

"I'll find my way out. I've been here before."

"You have?" Beth asked incredulously.

"Certainly. We used to be very good friends with the McCuskers. They lived here before you."

"Oh."

"Come over and see me tomorrow. Two houses down, across the street. 'Bye."

Madge watched as Beth flowed across the room and turned, disappearing down the hallway. She heard the door click shut and sank down into the chair to relax and let-her head clear before Arny came home.

She thought back over the afternoon and remembered talking about herself, telling Beth where she had grown up, how she had been a secretary when she met Arny who was a junior executive in Chicago. How they had fallen in love like two teen-agers and lived on shoestrings until his last assignment. Now they had a little money and had made a down payment on the house, bought a two-year-old car and color television. She had even told her about her Baptist mother and the strict morality she had preached.

As she sat there recalling the afternoon, something gnawed at her. There was something about Beth; something about the way she licked her lips; something about the way she crossed her legs, so slowly, so deliberately; something she had done when she came back into the room after going to the bathroom. She had been rubbing her breast as if she were massaging it, not just ridding herself of a bra itch. And her panties - God, she was sure she hadn't imagined it. The woman had no panties - but, the martinis; her imagination.... Madge shook her head and swayed into the bathroom for a cold shower. Arny wouldn't like it anyway that she had had a few drinks, and if affected, he'd like it less. She shut her eyes and thought of her husband's naked body as she let the cold, refreshing water cascade off her smooth, young flesh.

"Prime, eh?"

Beth kicked her shoes off and looked at her naked husband sitting in the whirlpool bath.

"You wouldn't believe, John, baby," Beth said, arching her back and thrusting out her breasts. "The chick is going to be the easiest, and the dear-old-hubby sounds weak enough but I wouldn't place any bets yet. Let's see what happens Friday." She unbuttoned her blouse and wriggled, letting it slide seductively off her back.

"Another dinner?" John asked, turning in the whirlpool to see his wife's stripping more clearly.

"Umm. Another dinner. Only I think you'll be able to eat the wife before I gobble the husband." Switching her hips, she snaked out of the hunter green skirt and tossed it in the corner. Standing in her slip and bra, Beth arched back, shook her hair and began to undulate. "Ooooooeeeeeeeee," she moaned, swishing her long hair around her face until she felt the strands slapping at her mouth and eyes. "Oooeeee."

"You're a crazy cunt," John said softly, flexing his legs and locking his hands together behind his head as he watched his wife perform her ritual. Her mouth was puckered and her eyes squeezed shut. Her hair was frizzled and stood out from her head as if drawn into space by magnets. Her hands slid up, pulling her slip up and over her head. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the silk undergarment in the corner and swayed, dressed only in a bra.

"Crazy about you and your cock," she moaned, letting her hands slide up to the undersides of her breasts.

John took a cigar from the tile edge of the whirlpool and lighted it. He watched his sensual wife snaking around in front of him through the thick, blue smoke. He felt his penis begin to harden as the warm water swirled around his loins, caressing his muscular body. He shifted the cigar in his mouth and thought of her vagina, her wet, pudding-soft slit with its pink, slick walls; its coat-hook-like clitoris dangling down, bumping against the side of his cock as it slid in and out; teasing her, making her squeal, making her beg for more. He looked down and saw the cockhead pop out of the water. He pushed it down and locked it between his legs, feeling the muscles strain as he captured it there, making it wait.

"Ummm. Ummm." Beth twisted her arm behind her and unsnapped the lace-trimmed bra. It dangled on her shoulders for a moment until she snapped her head and shoulder forward, sending it shooting across the room. John looked up and saw her blood-engorged nipples sticking out of the creamy, sour cream-colored breasts. Their round, red, jutting tips quivered as she began to shimmy her body, making it shake with controlled design from her calves to the beautiful, long auburn hair swishing from her head. Daintily, she moved toward him, her V arched out, her head tilted back, her lips forming an O, her tongue jabbing at the air like the tip of a bloody bayonet.

"Cool. Keep your cool," he warned menacingly as she began to quiver uncontrollably. John rolled the thick cigar around his mouth, letting his tongue lave its sour, soggy end. He could feel the saliva forming in his mouth.

"Ohhh," Beth moaned as she wriggled up to the edge of the whirlpool, her head still tilted back, her mouth still puckered. She was clutching at her breasts, milking them out and twirling the nipples with her fingers.

John swished in the water and she knelt at the edge of the sunken tub. Moaning and lolling her head from side to side, she let her hands slide down to her trim waist, to her navel, where they traced the indentation of her button, and then down to her V where she let her fingers pull back the lips of her cunt, exposing her sensitive clitoris. She could feel the cool air wrapping around the aroused nub. She shivered and her skin erupted with goose bumps. John took a long drag off the cigar and shoved his face into her slit. She moaned as she pulled the lips farther apart, allowing his mouth to enter her fully.

He blew, and she could feel the hot cigar smoke filling her cavity. He took another drag, nestled his lips back into her exposed cunt and blew again. She squirmed sensuously.

"Okay," he said-, leaning back. "Turn on, baby."

Beth lay back on the edge of the bath and began to slip her slender middle finger in and out of the hole. The faster she slid her finger, the more smoke escaped the hole.

"I'm on fire," she wheezed, her eyes shut, her head rolling drunkenly from one side to another. "My cunt's on fire and I'm putting it out. I'm putting it out. Oh, help, me. Somebody help me."

"I'll help you, you weird cunt," John said, tired of the game. "I've got a firehose that will drown that goddamn fire."

"Stick it in. Hurry. Stick it in. I need it. I need it."

John yanked her by the pubic hair and pulled her into the warm, swirling water. She was still lolling her head and out of it. John grinned as he lifted her buoyant body up and aimed his cock. His muscles trembling, he lowered her over the staff. He felt the cunt lips spread and fold over his cockhead. He pushed gently until the head passed the tight ring. Then he grabbed her waist and plunged her down until she screamed awake. Her eyes agog, her nostrils flared, he drove her up and down on his staff.

She cursed a$ him, calling him every foul name she could think of. She raked his back with her fingernails until he bled. Leaning down, she bit into his shoulder with her teeth and licked at his ear viciously.

"You filthy cunt," John snarled, yanking her down on top of his blood-engorged cock. "I'm going to rip your twat to shreds."

"Bastard. Cocksucker. Asshole-eater." Beth said the words hoarsely. She wrapped her hands around his neck and squeezed, trying to choke him. He laughed and tightened his grip on her waist as he pulled her down onto his stiff, eight-inch prick. Her hands felt ridiculous on his neck as she tried to squeeze.

"Enough," John spat as his strokes began to quicken.

"All right," Beth wheezed, letting her arms drape gently around his neck. She lifted her head and looked at him, her broad, toothy smile meeting his look. "Love?"

"Wicked, wild, and love," John said, pulling her head down. He pumped up, meeting her downthrusts as his mouth crushed hers. He felt her tongue enter his mouth and he formed an O and sucked it, drawing back and forth over her spear-shaped organ.

Beneath them, the water churned as their bodies slapped and twisted and ground. Pubic hairs floated to the surface, and caught in the whirlpool's endless vertigo, they swirled around like a mating pair in a Roman orgy.

"Now ... now," Beth cried as she withdrew her tongue and bit down on his shoulder. "Oh ... oh ... oh...." She clutched him, this time digging her fingernails into his skin passionately. His meaty hands grabbed her buttocks and jacked her ass up and down as he hammered into her from below. She clutched him and froze. He arched against her and jammed her down. There was a moment's silence with no sound but the steady whirring of the whirlpool, and then Beth screamed. It was a long, seemingly endless howl. She kicked and thrashed, pulling at John's hair, beating him with her fists, kicking him with her feet. And then it was over. She floated with him in the water, still attached by his penis. She said nothing.

"I wonder if that Madge is going to be as wild a screw as you are?" John said, pinching her breast.

Silence.

"I wonder if-"

"I heard you the first time," Beth groaned, only half interested in what her husband was saying. "If you think she is, then I'll have to cut off her vagina and use it to line the pockets of your pool table."

"Then I'll have to get another pool table, won't I?"

"Is that one full, already?"

"Already."

"Well, I'll be-"

"You already are, dear; don't push it."

She laughed a long, shrilly piercing laugh that could almost be heard across the street in the Tillman's house.