Chapter 3
"GLORIA! I'M HOME, ANGEL."
"In here, honey!" she sang from the bedroom.
Herbert walked through the door, flowers in hand, and found his beautiful, black-haired wife seated in front of her dressing table, wearing nothing but peach-colored panties.
Her luscious, white tits stood full and round, like halves of wonderfully soft-skinned cantaloupes, their nipples erect from the thumbing she had just given them.
"Mmmmmm ... darling..." he said, and bent to give her a kiss at the side of the neck.
"Herbert. How sweet." She turned and looked at the flowers. "For me?"
"Yes, my love."
"Herbert, you shouldn't have."
He laid them down on the dresser. "I like to give you things, darling."
"I know you do, Herbert." She smiled. He smiled.
"How's Clara coming with dinner?" she asked, as she faced the mirror again and patted lightly at her cascading hair.
Herbert gazed at the reflection of her breasts. "I don't know. I didn't ask her. I was so anxious to see you."
(The Morrisons had a combination cook and cleaning woman who came in early twice a week and tended to the house. On other days, except Tuesdays, she arrived only in time to prepare the evening meal. On Tuesdays the Morrisons ate out.)
"Why don't you find a vase for those flowers?" Gloria suggested gently.
He tore his eyes away from her tits. "Yes. Yes, I will."
He bustled out of the room to do that.
Gloria stood and preened this way and that before the mirror. She cupped her breasts and gave them a little jiggle. Very nice, she thought, and she was not flattering herself by any means.
She had picked up a bra by the time Herbert reappeared, vase in hand. She was in no hurry to put the bra on. Let him look all he liked, was her motto. She enjoyed having him admire her.
She wasn't wild about it when he touched her, and she was even less pleased when he insisted on going all the way. But tonight she would let him, if he wanted to. She'd had two glorious releases with the parcel deliveryman that afternoon.
Herbert set the vase down, his gaze trained on her beautiful breasts.
"Angel ... " he breathed, and moved up to her.
He raised his hand tentatively. She smiled. His loving fingers closed around her dome-like left tit. He squeezed very gently, glorying in the firmly resilient feel.
Daisy had not come to work that day. The day before, she had begun her period, and Herbert granted her time off on such occasions, when she requested it.
He had gone four days without any sex, and he was hurting.
"May we ... please?" he murmured. "Yes, Herbert, if you want to."
He beamed like a child who had been told he could have a lollipop.
She moved to the bed, her carriage stately. The soft surfaces of her breasts quivered, their small, dark nipples thrusting forward. Herbert drank in the beauty of the sight.
She lay back the covers of the bed and stretched out. Herbert quickly pulled at his clothing. Gloria didn't watch. As she gazed languidly at the ceiling, she thought about what she was going to do tomorrow. There was a meeting of her garden club, and after that she would shop.
Herbert came to the bed, his unimpressive cock straining forward. He made a little sound of pleasure as he climbed onto the mattress beside his wife.
He began to kiss her, his hand moving gently on her stomach, then down inside her nylon briefs. He toyed with the silken hair on her cunt.
Gloria felt nothing.
His lips slid onto a rich breast and captured the standing nipple. He teased the rubbery little erection with his tongue.
Gloria remained perfectly passive.
He leaned more fully over her and began to lick back and forth across both titties, moaning with happiness as he shaped and rubbed one with his fingers. He plucked at its tip and sucked at the other. Now he alternated the plucking and sucking.
He browsed along to her belly and drew the waist elastic of her panties down. He leaned back to take the briefs completely off, enjoying as he did so the sight of her darkly whiskered loins. She let him part her legs and he visually adored her rosy cunt.
He went down there, as he had learned he had to do in order to make her ready, but he didnlt kiss with command or any special gusto. The truth was, as much as Herbert wanted to please his wife, he didn't really care for cunnilingus. So he placed his mouth only briefly against her vaginal lips and let his saliva drool into her crevice. That would make her ready to accommodate him.
After nibbling for a few moments along the inner slopes of her thighs, he climbed atop her. Moving slowly and with infinite consideration, he fitted the end of his prick into her pussy, then gently pushed. Inch by inch, she absorbed him. Since Herbert wasn't built big in the cock, there was no problem.
"Ooh, angel ... ! " he cried ecstatically, and began to pull and thrust ... slowly ... then faster ... then very fast ... and it was over.
"Mmmmm," said Gloria, because she was pleased that he was finished. She hadn't moved at all.
He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and got off.
Ho-hum, Gloria thought. Now she would have to fix her hair again.
It was late in the evening. Joan Brooks had put her children to bed. Now she appeared in the living room with a light coat on and told her husband:
"I guess I'll be leaving, dear."
"Okay, honey," Wes said, hardly taking his gaze away from the television. "I hope your sister's feeling better."
"So do I. She worries me. Her condition has been hanging on so long."
"Do you think she'll want you to stay late again?" Wes asked, as Joan moved toward the front door.
"I hate to leave until she drops off to sleep. She's been having such trouble sleeping."
"Sure. I understand. Drive carefully."
"I will."
Joan let herself out and breathed a sigh when she had closed the door behind her.
Her sister couldn't remain seriously ill much longer. Even Wes, trusting as he was, would start getting suspicious.
But at least she and Tom would have tonight together.
She lived for these nights.
The illicit affair between Tom Fraser and herself had started one day when he was home from work, nursing a hangover. Since Kay worked also, he had the house to himself. Wes was at his office, and Joan was pruning a rose bush in her back yard.
Tom had spied her from a window of his house, which was next door to hers. He could barely glimpse her over the dividing brick wall and through the branches of the trees that grew along it.
That glimpse had whetted his male appetite for a better look, because Joan was wearing some very snug and very brief shorts. Their whiteness brought out the toasty tan of her legs. The way her buttocks molded those shorts was something to be appreciated by any male.
His hangover immediately felt better.
Putting a wolfish grin on his face, he sauntered out of the house and over to the brick wall. He could barely see over it.
"Hi, neighbor!" he called.
Joan straightened up and turned to smile at him. "What are you doing home?" she asked.
"Looking at you," he said. "And, man, there's lots to see!"
"Watch out, fresh guy," she warned lightly. "Kay might not like you to give compliments like that to a neighbor lady."
"You let me worry about Kay," he replied, his eyes eating Joan up. "Hey! How about joining me for a lemonade or something?"
He was a neighbor and Joan wanted to be sociable. Under the surface, there was another factor involved: Tom Fraser was a very handsome man, and Joan's lovelife with her husband, Wes, had been lagging. They had fallen into a rut.
"Okay, Tom," she smiled. "I'd like that. I'll come 'round."'
Oh, baby, I hope you do come 'round, Tom thought. He was determined to do his best to see that she did. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, ever since he and Kay had moved into the house next to the Brooks.
Joan was a very cute brunette with piquant facial features and a gangbusters build. Her fanny was nice and round-luscious in shorts-and she had a pair of headlamps that filled her blue, sleeveless blouse. Her tanned thighs were mouth-watering, her calves finely arched, her ankles trim.
Tom was an easy-going, dark-haired guy with a reckless grin. He worked as a salesman ... when he felt like it. If it weren't for Kay's job as a teacher, the Frasers would have had a hard time meeting their bills some months.
He was an opposite type from stodgy, dependable Wes who had a good job with a stock brokerage firm. He wouldn't allow Joan to work, even though she held credentials as a nurse. Anyway, the kids kept her busy, when they were home from school.
A sense of adventure tickled Joan as Tom let her into his house through the side door. The air conditioning was welcome after working for half an hour in the warm sun.
"What do you like," Tom asked, "Scotch, bourbon or gin?"
"Oh, now wait a minute," Joan laughed. "You said lemonade."
"That was just a lure to get you into the house, me proud beauty." He twirled an imaginary moustache. "Now I intend to ply you with intoxicants until you fall into my arms."
A little thrill corkscrewed through her. "No hard liquor, please," Joan said, as she moved toward the living room. "But I could go for a beer."
"Then beer it is, milady," Tom replied, as he watched her twisting buttocks. He thought: Daddy, what an ass!
Joan didn't intend to let herself be seduced, but all conditions favored it. The beer lulled her inhibitions, and Tom's sexy stories offered a pleasurable contrast to her husband's rather Puritanical attitude toward life. Joan had swung a bit before she was married and, as a nurse, she took a more worldly view of things than her husband did. His head seemed full of profit and loss calculations most of the time.
After the second beer, she found Tom sitting very close to her on the couch. To her surprise, she began to respond to him physically. It was almost like her dating days when she had found herself alone with an attractive man in her apartment or his.
Tom slid his arm along the top of the couch, behind her, and she pretended not to notice. But she was very much aware of it. She told herself, You're a married woman and a mother. But that didn't swing much weight right now.
Tom wasted no time in capitalizing on his favorable position. Very shortly he brought his arm down around her shoulders and turned her toward him.
He was something of an expert at the art of reading women's eyes. He read Joan's warm brown ones and concluded that she wanted to be screwed. There and then. So he paid no attention to her words:
"Tom, don't do that! We can't! Tom..."
His eager lips sealed themselves to hers, and his tongue leaped forward to enter her mouth. The response which Joan felt was immediate and jolting as that which she would have experienced if she'd placed her hand on a hot stove. Without thinking, she raised her arms around Tom's back.
Joan was at his left and his left arm was around her. With his right hand, he quickly opened the front of his pants. She couldn't see this. He dug into his knitted briefs and brought his penis out. He pushed the skin back from its head.
Now he lifted his right hand to Joan's breasts and began to massage those marvelous mountains through her blouse and bra.
The added intimacy, thrilling as it was, shocked her into a further attempt at resistance. She took her hands from behind Tom's neck and began to push at his arms and chest. She tried to tear her mouth free, but he pressed her back against the couch bolster.
This half reclining-posture had its effect, as did the added ardor of Tom's kissing. When he gripped her left hand and carried it to his erection, she was lost.
She continued to offer vocal resistance and struggle feebly, so that later she could tell herself she had tried to prevent what was about to happen, but in her heart she welcomed it. This was demonstrated by the eager way in which she gripped Tom's rampant prick, squeezing the swollen, plushy head as she cried:
"No! Don't you dare! I'm a married woman! Think of Kay!"
But Tom continued to open her blouse, then reached around inside to unhook her bra. Her tits tumbled out of the cups to land quivering in his hands. They were hangers, but how big and round and full they were!
He squeezed them and lifted them and rolled them about.
"Oooh, Tom! You dog! Don't dooo that! I can't stand it!"
"Good," he murmured. "I want you to give in. I want you to roll onto your back and stick your legs up. You want that, too. You want me to slide my stiff penis deep into your cunt. Don't tell me you don't. I'll bet that little cutie is dripping!"
"Tom! Oooh, God!"
He let one of her titties go and ran his hand down across her waist, under the band of her shorts and the thin elastic of her panties ... across her belly and into her fur...
She tried to clamp her thighs together, but instead they flew apart. Tom's hand cupped her heated mound, and his middle finger teased her dewy cleft.
"Yeah...! " he said, as his fingertip became very moist. "Oh, baby, let me lick that honey!"
She gazed at his rosy-headed rod which her hand still encircled. She thrilled to his caresses on the velvet lips of her vagina. And his last remark sank into her deepest consciousness to stimulate her daringly. Wes had never kissed her down there. Wes didn't do that sort of thing. Oh, God, if Tom only would!
But today she had been gardening. She was hot and sweaty. She couldn't let him!
She struggled to get his hand out from the interior of her i ants. She let his shaft sway free.
He sprang to a commanding position and pressed her Onto her back on the sofa. "You're going to let me have it, because that's what you want. We both want it. And on this Day of days, we're going to do what we want and livel"
It was a corny speech but, in Joan's present frame of mind, it carried more persuasive power than the Gettysburg Address ever had.
She let him draw her shorts and white panties off, whimpering all the time, and she let him part her legs and begin kissing upward along a silken inner thigh. The faint scent of her perspiration, mingled with remnants of her morning's bath soap and spiced with the heady aroma of aroused womanhood, had a powerful impact on his fevered brain.
He dived for the fragrant center of her warmth. Too late, she tried to stop him. But, of course, she didn't want him to stop.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to.
Giving a little growl, he opened her outer lips with his thumb and pressed his eager mouth fully against her inner cunt, clamping onto the sopped flesh with his lips and letting his tongue slide as far as it would go into that burning chasm.
Joan went wild.
She kicked. She clawed. She cried in joy. She gripped her own flopping titties and squeezed them hard, only to have his hands push hers away and clamp hold. His tongue kept stroking in and out of her pussy and all around the inside of it ... licking ... lapping ... eating her with relish.
When he finally got on top of her, Joannie was nearly out of her mind. She was as close to a climax as a girl could be without tumbling over the line. She was hanging in that delirious state, unable to come or go.
She clutched at Tom hungrily and pulled him down against her, squealing with delight as she felt his long stiff pecker slide all the way into her hole.
"Oh, move it! Move it!" she cried. "Go fast! Screw me! Screw me like hell!"
He screwed her for all he was worth, and that was quite a lot. The sofa fairly jumped up and down on its legs. Joan arched herself and writhed, her legs clamped around his back as he pumped furiously. Her hobbling breasts were crushed against his hairy torso, the nipples tingling with all their might.
"Oh, give it to me ... bop me ... sock me!" she cried.
He pounded his hard meat into her and, with a great fluctuating wail, she came, shuddering and quaking from head to toes. She sobbed and clutched his back. Her heels drummed his flanks. He finished in a spurting eruption that was so sharp it seemed to tear him apart.
Afterward, they talked about what had happened, and Tom took advantage of the opportunity to get something steady going for himself.
"Man, I'm crazy about you, baby," he said, as he gently massaged her tits. "You're so beautiful and sweet. I can't live without you."
"But you're married to someone else. So am I."
"We can't help that now. How were we to know, when we married other people, that we would find each other some day: There's no way to know about those things, baby. But the point is ... when they happen, you've gotta make the most of them."
"What ... what can we do?"
"We can go on seeing each other and being together like this."
"But the neighbors ... "
"Frig the neighbors."
"Well, you're not at home usually in the daytime, and Kay's here at night. So is Wes."
"So we'll meet someplace else. Look ... Fm a salesman.
I can work any night I want to. Kay will never know the difference."
"But I can't get away."
"Sure you can. You're a nurse, aren't you? You can have a sick sister or something. Old Wes won't be suspicious."
"Oh, Tom, it's so shoddy."
"No, it isn't. It's beautiful. Oh, baby ... angel ... "
He pressed her onto her back on the bed-for that was where they were by now-and he began to eat her again, his loving tongue stroking deep into her flooded cunt. . .
What could she say?
She moaned and writhed and got ready for come number two.
But first he rolled her onto her belly and nibbled up the backs of her legs. He played with her buttocks as if they were rubber beachballs (which they somewhat resembled), then licked all over them and on up her back.
When his body was fully covering hers, he lifted her at the hips and easily slid his prick into her pussy from behind. He got his hand underneath and played with her clitoris as he pumped, bouncing his straight, firm front against her butt-cheeks.
It was wild.
Now she was hooked on him. It was like a narcotics addiction, and it threatened to lead her to ruin just as surely as dope would have done.
She wanted to keep her home and children, but Wes was nothing to her in bed any more. She tolerated him and tried to act like the loving wife she had once been, all the time thinking of Tom and wishing it were him on top of her, stroking his penis up and down in her cunt.
She didn't know what the future would bring. She tried not to think about it, as if not thinking would hold things in suspension forever as they were.
Now she hurried to Tom again-driving through the night, her snatch already moist from thinking of him.
It entered her consciousness that she had two children tucked into bed at home, innocently sleeping, and a husband looking at TV. He undoubtedly wished she were there beside him, knitting or doing some damn fool housewife thing.
Oh, it was a bitch.
She was a bitch.
So what? She was what she was. If there was any blame, it belonged to God for making her that way. She rushed to Tom.