Chapter 9
Jim stared, his eyes wide and almost unable to drink in the sight fast enough. Scott was collapsing on the carpet, spent, gasping, jism dripping from his sinking prick and oozing across his crotch. Joyce was sagging against the foot of the desk, the mass of sperm sliding down to her belly where it was beginning to run to the side and drip to the carpet.
Jim looked down at himself. He was a mess. His entire front was soaked. He suddenly felt ashamed, ashamed and angry with himself. And with Joyce. And with Scott. He'd been such a fool. And to think he'd enjoyed himself!
He got up and, keeping wary eyes on the other two, he slipped toward the door. It was easy enough to get away unnoticed. The other two were so spent a truck could have driven through the study and they wouldn't have turned their heads.
He stepped outside, closing the door behind himself. Then he hurried down the corridor and outside. He went to the Ford and took the luggage out of the trunk. He saw that there was another car in the garage; probably the children had arrived while their father had been in his "conference."
He crept back inside and down the bedroom wing. He saw nobody in the corridor and soon he found a large and empty bedroom. The coverlet had already been turned down and the closet was empty. There were fresh towels and soap in the bath. Yes, this had to be their room.
Jim opened the luggage and at once hung up those things that might wrinkle. He never forgot to be neat and Joyce often kidded him that he'd flick the dust off his shoulders during an earthquake.
He went into the shower and there he stung himself with a cold spray. The shock helped. He was not only cleaning his body, he was clearing his mind. He leaped out and toweled himself dry. Then he slipped into clean shorts, another T-shirt and slacks. He slid his feet into soft comfortable shoes. Yes, he felt much better.
He went to the window and looked out to the pool, to the part of the yard which was enclosed by three sides of the sprawling house. He wasn't really seeing. He was thinking. What would happen next? Did he really believe their marriage could survive this terrible thing? Christ, and all for a $100 a week!
He sighed. Seeing his wonderful, loyal, faithful, clean near-virgin of a wife with Scott, him coming all over her, her kissing his prick. It was almost impossible to believe. He didn't want to believe it at ah, but it was true enough.
So this was what swapping meant. This was supposed to be the therapy that would take care of a sick marriage. Now Joyce would come running back to him, filled with fresh new sexy ideas, ready to pull him into her bed. Bullshit!
He didn't know about Joyce, but the treatment had left him angry, sick at heart, frustrated and-yes, he could admit it-he was still worked up. Sure, he'd had an orgasm, but he'd made it by mistake. He wanted a genuine piece of ass, whether or not it came from Joyce.
He looked down at his crotch. His cock was poking tentatively against his fly, seemingly anxious for him to move it into action. The body was a strange thing, when compared to the brain, he thought. His head was sick of sex and his body was anxious to climb into the sack. It was a riddle he'd never understand.
He prowled the room, padding softly in his shoes, the carpet thick under his feet. He didn't know how long he'd been pacing before he sensed it-or her. He looked up and she was standing in the doorway, leaning casually and gracefully against the jamb.
"Hello," she said. Her voice was low and she Still wore the bikini with its wrapper. The white bathing suit made her flesh look more tanned than it could ever really be, he supposed. The robe, also white, hid just enough to make what he couldn't quite see fascinating.
"Oh, Mrs. English." He was blurting like a teenager. "Helen," she said. "Helen."
She didn't stroll into the room, as he'd imagined she'd do. Instead she looked him up and down. "I see you've already changed. Good. Nothing like getting out of one's driving clothes after a hundred miles on the road."
Jim merely stared. Her breasts poked through the open robe and he could see the shadow of her navel below. A knee was through the slit at the bottom of the robe. She followed his glances, looked down at herself, and then smiled.
"You've missed Kenneth and Darla. They arrived while you business people were doing whatever it is you do on a lovely weekend when you shouldn't be doing any work at all. You'll meet them later, perhaps not until dinner, but you'll meet them."
Jim searched for and finally found his voice. "Yes, I suppose we were too busy to notice anybody arriving."
Her eyebrows went up and he looked into her face. She was a beauty. Dark skin, hollow cheeks, definitely a vamp look about her. Her eyebrows were dark and so were her eyes. Her teeth flashed white through her lips, which seemed untouched by makeup. The dark hair swept down the sides of her back and down her back. It probably went almost all the way to her back, he guessed. It was thick and glossy hair, coal black.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"What?" he blurted, his eyes rounding.
Helen tilted her head and a small low laugh came from somewhere deep in her throat. "The business, silly. I hope that Scott was generous with you. I told him I liked you, after we met at the party." She made a face. "Ugh. So many of you bank types are so bland. Not you."
"Uh, we got along ... I guess you'd say."
She looked toward the bathroom. "And Joyce?"
"She ... uh, she and Scott are still in the study. She ... uh, seems very interested in the bank retirement plan." He forced a short laugh. "I guess she's counting on outliving me."
Helen laughed with him and then she straightened. The robe closed over most of her charms and he was disappointed. "Well, we don't need to be do-nothings while they're working," she said. "How about a swim?"
Then it came to Jim. At once he was angry, as though setting himself up for a range of emotions.
Then he felt the plan being drafted in his mind. By God, he'd get back at Scott. He'd get the wife, his boss's wife. Yes, by sweet Christ, that would pay Scott back for what he'd made Jim endure. He'd been humiliated by allowing himself and his wife to be treated that way. And Scott hadn't seemed surprised that they'd given in to his wishes.
He licked his lips as he stared at the black-haired beauty. If he could make her, at least in his own mind, he'd have dragged Scott down to his level. An eye for an eye, as the saying went. Yes, that would take away much of the pain.
But how was he going to seduce this woman? It was quite obvious she was different from the class Joyce and Jim were in. If she swapped around at all, it probably was with other bank presidents and such types.
He sighed.
She smiled prettily. "Unhappy about something?"
He tried to smile back. "Just thinking. Did you say you wanted to go for a swim?"
Helen nodded as he continued to study her. She had a lot of class. So did Joyce, but Helen's class seemed totally unobtainable. Nobody but another millionaire could get near that body. He'd need to be very cool, suave, subtle to get anywhere with her.
"I guess that would be fine. I've got a suit here somewhere."
"Nonsense. Use one of ours. We keep several for guests. Then you won't need to carry a soggy thing in the car Sunday afternoon when you leave." She tilted her head as her eyes dropped to his flanks. "I think we can fit you."
"But I have...."
"No, no, come along. Please allow us to be good hosts." She stepped into the corridor and waited. "Scott likes to be generous with people he likes. Haven't you noticed that yet?"
Jim didn't reply. The meaning behind her words made him angry. Perhaps she knew her husband fooled around and perhaps she thought that, because of his high station, he had a right to pluck the wives of his underlings. Well, by heaven, two could play at that game. He half scowled at Helen before he managed another smile.
"All right."
He left his room and followed her down the hall. He studied her from the rear. She had good shoulders, long thin legs, although she wasn't as tall as Joyce. She carried her head high, moving rather like a dancer, an almost slinky dancer. He couldn't see much of her bottom because of the loose robe, but he figured she was well set up from stem to stern. What he'd seen of her breasts and belly left nothing to be desired.
She smiled back over her shoulder. "Here we are. The linen room. I do believe we have a whole drawer filled with bathing suits."
She stopped, her hand on the door knob and he said, "Do your children dip into the pile?"
"Sometimes. But there are plenty. Too bad Joyce isn't finished with Scott. She could join us. I'll need to scold him for keeping her so long."
"It doesn't matter," he growled.
The look became a study of his face. "Doesn't it? Didn't you two wish to play together all weekend? You don't mind that she's tied up with my husband?"
He shrugged. "She'll be out soon, I suppose. Although Scott was being very thorough."
"I imagined he was," she purred as she opened the door, "He always is when he's giving urn ... financial advice to people he really likes."
He flipped the door all the way open and followed Helen into a small white room. She reached for and found a switch, flooding the place with light. There were drawers and shelves on all sides, each loaded with towels, linens and other cloth goods that were obviously used in the house.
"Hm. Let me see." She posed in the center of the carpeted room, stroking her chin. He watched as her knee reappeared through the robe, which flipped open. He could see the white bra of her bikini and enough below to prove that her ass was, indeed, totally acceptable.
"I'm not sure where to look. Kitty hasn't kept this place as straightened up as she should."
Jim looked back at the open door, wanting to close it. He'd make her, degrade her, make her crawl before him, just as Joyce had crawled before Scott "Kitty?"
"The maid. She got here this morning, just ahead of us. She's been vacationing in L.A. and she came down on the bus. I suppose well take her home with us." Her eyes glittered as she smiled up at Jim. "You'll love Kitty. She's very French, what there is of her, and quite attractive."
Jim smiled gallantly. "Which proves you have good taste."
Her smile seemed to light the room, but it was a hooded light for she still had a great deal of mystery about her. "My, aren't you nice. I knew I was right about you at the party." She looked around and he guessed that she wasn't too worried about whether she'd find anything. "Now where in the world would she have put those bathing suits?"
Jim couldn't wait any longer. He was angry and he was hot. After all, nobody had laid a hand on him yet. Sure, Scott and Joyce were getting their kicks, but he'd been sitting in the bleachers through it all. His own orgasm hadn't begun to tap his reservoir of sexual frustration. And it would be a pleasure to watch this high and mighty broad melt in his arms. He'd make her do things Scott never dreamed of asking his women to perform.
He turned quickly and closed the door, and stood with his back against it, staring hard at her. She looked at him and did a double-take as she looked away. Then she appeared to have dismissed his hard gaze in her imagination as she leaned down to check a half open drawer.
"Thanks for closing the door," she murmured, her voice matter-of-fact. "I don't want to wake the children. I think they both turned in after the drive over. Lord, how they stay out until all hours on school nights. It's no wonder they just die on weekends."
Her attitude took some of the steam out of Jim. She trusted him and she certainly wasn't lusting after him. She didn't even realize he was hot, that he had plans for her. All right, so it would need to be a subtle seduction, just as he'd planned in the first place.
He came up behind her as she rummaged in the deep drawer. "Find them?"
"No," she puffed as she pulled out towels and socks and other much-used garments.
He moved closer and he felt the whisper of her terry robe against the front of his pants. If she felt it, she gave no sign. He leaned an inch closer and her buttocks softly bumped his thigh. Soft, yes, but firm and well-padded. He wanted to sink his fingers into that flesh, drive her wild, make her come to him on hands and knees, begging for satisfaction.
"Oh, sorry," she murmured over her shoulder, still hardly aware of his presence.
Jim gulped. "I should think that robe would be in the way. What with dangling sleeves and flapping around. Aren't you warm in here?"
She peered back at him again, still leaning over, presenting her bottom to him, but yet not presenting it at all, for there was nothing obvious about her. "Perhaps you're right, Jim. I keep getting tangled up and it is warmer. There's no air conditioning in here."
She half straightened up.
"Here, let me help," he muttered as he took the garment at her shoulders.
She stuck her arms out as he lifted the robe from her and he tossed it aside. She didn't even turn all the way around, but instead she went back to her rummaging, in another lower drawer. "Where in heaven's name...?"
She wasn't modeling for him, but he feasted his eyes on her buttocks anyhow. It was a wonderful ass, plump, firm, heavy enough so that he wanted to chew on it. He half lifted his hand but then he whipped it back as she peered back.
"I'm sorry to be such a dope."
"Not at all."
She smiled with a flash of white on her dark face and turned away. It was then that Jim couldn't help it any longer. He thrust his hand forward and caught her left buttock, taking a full pound of it between his fingers, sinking them in as far as he could.
Helen squealed and leaped out of reach, thrusting his hand from her. It had been too much to bear. That tanned skin slashed by dazzling white, those mounds of pleasure, the way she moved, breathed, spoke....
She turned at once, hands on her hips. "Well, Mr. Babcock, I came in here to hunt for a bathing suit. I didn't know you had games in mind."
Jim sputtered an apology, not aware of what he was saying. He was ashamed, degraded, feeling worse, even, than when he'd had to hand his wife over to Scott English.