Chapter 2
Regretfully, Janet turned her mind from these cunt-warming thoughts to the present. She had other things to worry about today, she didn't have time for such idle dreaming. Young Ed Moore and his wife were coming to dinner this evening, and if she were to be ready for it, she had better begin doing something. There was the shopping to be done, some cleaning chores and there was a date with the hairdresser to be kept.
Ed Moore was one of Peter's newest young assistants in the law office research department, and these intimate dinners at home were one of the necessary and noncommittal functions of Peter's job. It was part of the firm's policy for improving personnel morale and relations. Janet didn't mind playing the gracious hostess; as a matter-of-fact, it gave her something to do, and she welcomed the opportunity to meet new people. Peter, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the prospect of having to play the perfect host. He much preferred to spend his evenings relaxing, watching television or reading. It was all Janet could do sometimes, to get him out of the house for an evening of entertainment. If he had his way, she reflected, he'd never go out. His world revolved around two centers: his work and their home.
Tonight though they would have the company of a younger couple, and she was going to see to it that everyone, including Peter, really enjoyed the dinner and the evening.
She plunged headlong into her preparations, rushing about to get everything finished. Her efficient, although seemingly harum-scarum attack had all in readiness long before Peter was due home from the office.
Then, she took a long, soaking bath, during which her mind drifted back to Mike Rucker again, and that same excitement, strange and scintillating, pervaded her being. How different everything might have been if she had not resisted Mike so stoutly that evening.
The fantasy daydreams of Mike and fucking and fucking with Mike had to be cut off, finally. Like all daydreams, there was little substance; after all she was a married woman and she was not married to Mike Rucker. She was irrevocably the wife of Peter Young.
But the aura remained. With unconscious carelessness, she delayed dressing after her bath, shrugging into a sexily sheer dressing robe that clung invitingly to her hugely billowing tits, rationalizing with herself, at the same time, that she was merely being more efficient. She would only have to dress once, for dinner. She couldn't admit, even to herself, that she was making herself purposefully seductive. The object of her seduction was, of course, her husband, Peter. Dimly, in the back of her mind, buried deep in her subconscious, was the wanton desire to be taken for what she was, a highly desirable woman with a largely untapped capacity for sensual sexuality, for wild, uninhibited fucking. She wanted to be loved, properly.
Peter parked his car in the driveway, got out, carrying his briefcase, and trudged up the front walk. He was bone tired. There had been some sticky legal problems he had had to work out, and it had done him in for the day.
Janet heard her husband's car in the drive, and with unusual excitement mounting in her, knowing that what she was doing was unusual in itself, she flew to meet him just as he walked into the living room; of course, she always tried to be on hand to greet him when he arrived, but today she wanted more than his quick peck and his usual inquiry about how everything had gone with her, followed by his withdrawal into more work, a book, the television set. Yes! Today, this hour, this moment, she wanted him as a husband, a lover, a man!
With a little yip of pleasure, she melted into his arms, raising her lips to him for his kiss. He kissed her, dutifully, but she would not let him go. Clinging tightly to him she said, "Oh, I'm so glad you're home, darling!" Then she offered her lips to him again, with passion, and as he kissed her, for the second time, she told him with her mouth and tongue, in the silent language of love and passion, that she needed him, wanted him to fuck her, her tongue flicking wantonly into 'his mouth to probe and savor. She held him tight to her for several moments, her body plastered tight to him, her loins, below, undulant against his flaccid prick inside his pants. Finally, it was he who broke the embrace.
Holding her at arm's length, he said, "Whew, what a greeting! What's gotten into you, Janet?"
"Nothing." she smiled, mysteriously, helping him off with his jacket, loosening and removing his tie and feeling, at the same time, only too acutely, his lack of response to her, "I've just been lonely for you is all." She took his things into the bedroom to hang them up, halfway hoping he would follow. He didn't.
Instead, he headed for his favorite chair and the afternoon edition of the newspaper, calling out to her, "Janet darling. I could sure use a drink. You got some martinis, maybe?"
"Coming right up!" she said cheerily. "They're already made and chilling in the refrigerator." She hurried into the kitchen to pour them, reappearing in a couple of moments to hand him his drink. Then, holding her own, she perched on the arm of his chair prettily, her robe parting to reveal most of her curvaceous leg, the tapering white thighs, flawless in every detail. They were good legs and she knew it. In the ten years of their marriage, her weight had not fluctuated a pound. She had made sure of that.
Peter sipped his drink appreciatively, his eyes traveling over her as she sat there, almost posing for him, wanting him to notice, but most of all, wanting him to act.
"MMmmnn ... just right!" he said. "Just the way I like a martini!"
Janet drank from her glass. It did taste good and refreshing. "I followed your directions to the letter." she said.
"Isn't tonight the night for the Moores?" he asked.
"Yes, they'll be here about seven-thirty, I suppose."
"Everything all set?"
"Yes, darling. Only the very last-minute things are left."
His eyes ranged over her again, coolly. "You're not dressed yet," he observed.
"I know." she smiled, glad that he had finally noticed. "I was trying to be terribly efficient and only have to dress once," she explained, knowing that it was not the real reason. The real reason was there, deep in her belly, where a tiny, hot flame waited to be blown into a raging inferno. Why couldn't he take the broad hints she had broadcast to him? Sometimes, he seemed to be terribly dense. Would she have to ask him with bare-faced bluntness to take her to bed and fuck her silly?
"Well, don't you suppose it's about time to get ready, then?" he asked, picking up the newspaper again to glance at the headlines and the leadstory captions.
She interpreted it as a sort of dismissal, but she would not be put off so easily. She swung her leg, provocatively, almost brazenly. "Actually, I Was sort of hoping you'd feel like a little recreation in the bedroom." There, she had said what she really felt; let him know what she so desperately wanted.
Peter looked at her in genuine surprise. "Is that what this's all about? You want me to fuck you now?"
"Yes, darling, I do!" Her eyes were deep blue, with a smolder of desire in them, and she looked at her husband, unwaveringly, honestly.
"But I just got home from work. I'm tired. I've had a hard day and you want me to...?" He was a little flabbergasted and flattered, but not willing to budge from his more or less hard-set ways, his unchanging routines. Screwing was a nighttime thing, perhaps once or twice a week. It was necessary, like shaving, and he always shaved in the morning. Screwing at this time of day, right after work? He didn't feel up to it. He went on, "But if you're really hot for it, maybe we can fuck tonight again."
She knew now that her efforts for this afternoon, at least, were futile. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Smiling at him gamely, she murmured, "All right, darling. If you're really too tired we'll just have to wait!" She stood up and crossed to the couch. "Drink your martini, Peter, before it gets warm."
Sitting down, she choked back her acute disappointment. There was only one consolation: she might find the satisfaction she sought later tonight, in their big bed, and for the second night in succession. That in itself would be unusual for Peter. She hoped, then, that Ed and Lana Moore would choose not to stay late; on the other hand, she knew she would be an ungracious hostess, if she pressured them in any way. She could only hope that Peter would be rejuvenated by the dinner, the cocktails, and the relaxing conversation. She would have to make sure he got just enough to drink and enough to make things interesting, but not enough to get him drunk.
Thoughtfully, she sipped her martini. The former thoughts of Mike Rucker passed through her mind, fleetingly, before she dismissed them. It was no good thinking things like that; but then another even more startling thought crept into her mind. What sort of man was Ed Moore? Was he good-looking, tall, fun to be with? Was he a sparkling conversationalist? A good lover?
Janet finished her drink, and seeing that Peter was absorbed in the inner pages of his precious newspaper, decided not to disturb him. She rose and went into their bedroom to dress, telling herself, as she felt a twinge of guilt, that her idle thinking about Ed Moore was just a natural interest fn him, only as a guest and a colleague of her husband's. There was no way she would ever generate interest in another man, let alone let him fuck her. Her marriage vows were too sacred.
Ed and Lana Moore arrived at seven-forty-five. Janet and Peter greeted them warmly, making them welcome, the two men falling easily into a discussion of legal matters. Ed, it turned out, was a six-footer, blond, good-looking, his eyes crinkling with good nature as he smiled down on Janet. Lana was a petite blonde, as golden-blonde as Janet, her tresses cascading down over her shoulders in contrast to Janet's shorter style. They all settled down in the living room for a pre-dinner martini. Janet decided she liked Lana, but her first impression was that the younger woman seemed to be under some tension, perhaps trying too hard to cope with the social situation, as wife of a junior partner being entertained by a more senior partner. She understood the feeling and tried to put Lana at ease. After a few moments, she realized, through some mysterious flash of female intuition, that the tension existed between her and that marvelous-looking husband, Ed. Somehow, she guessed they had been having a violent argument just before their arrival. It was all there in her all too sweet smile, but the ramrod-straight back, the slight reluctance to unbend, and the subtle shading and nuance of her voice when she spoke to her husband, was what gave her away. Then, there was the wide-eyed, open admiration for Peter, as she seemed to hang on his every word. Even as she formed these second impressions, Janet knew it would be bad form to scratch below the surface masks the young couple wore. There would be no telling what might be uncovered.
Janet's dinner was served to perfection. Ed complimented her profusely. Peter murmured his usual, polite thanks, and Lana was properly enthusiastic.
After dinner, they returned to the living room for coffee and cognac. Things had begun to loosen up, and Peter went to fix another drink. He brought the four glasses to the coffee table, handed them to his guests, and then, red-faced, he motioned Janet to come to him.
"What the hell," he hissed at her, "are we out of cigarettes?"
She remembered then; she had intended to buy a carton that afternoon, but it had escaped her. "I'm sorry, darling. I guess I just forgot," she told him, then added, hopefully. "You can smoke a cigar, you do that sometimes after dinner."
"No, we can't!" He was being stubborn. 'I'll just have to go get some!"
Lana, who had taken advantage of the slight break to visit the bathroom, emerged just in time to overhear a part of the conversation. Oh impulse, it seemed, she said, "Take me with you, Peter, I haven't seen much of this part of town."
Peter hesitated, "Well ... I...." he began "I don't bite, and I'll promise on my honor not to try to seduce you." She smiled a dazzling smile at Janet. "Let's ask your wife, okay?"
The younger woman had, obviously, had too much to drink, already. Perhaps, Janet thought, Lana had slugged down a couple of drinks before they had come away.
Lana plunged ahead. "Will it be all right if I take an innocent little ride with your husband?"
And, Janet was surprised to hear herself answer, "Yes, I'm sure it'll be all right as long as you leave your husband for security!"
It was a nonplussed Peter who escorted Lana stiffly to his car. Things had taken a turn, in a twinkling, which he didn't exactly like. He didn't approve of the idea of being alone with another man's wife and he liked less leaving his own wife alone in the company of another man. But he really didn't have much of a choice now, what with both of the wives agreeing, He was just being over-imaginative about the whole thing, anyway. After all, what could possibly happen in a short ride to the store?