Chapter 2
IT WAS TWO DAYS LATER THAT MONA FINALLY summonded up the courage to leave the house. Frank had left a number of books home and asked her to return them to the law library.
She had of course said that she would-but she knew what would happen.
Travis Bland would have talked, of course, bragged, "Did you hear what I did to Mona Durham? Yeah, that's right, Frank's wife. Well, let me tell you, if I ever write a book about that broad's panties, I'm gonna call it 'Fondly Farenheit...."
Not that Mona really minded the talk. She didn't. After all, you don't have private sessions with yourself and openly go down for your husband's best friend with any hopes of retaining your dignity or your honor.
No, that wasn't it at all. All the cheap, degrading glances in the world couldn't have upset Mona's poise.
In fact, her problem was just the opposite.
What if Travis was there waiting for her? What if he was keeping a watch on the house, and followed her?
What if he went up to her in the library and insisted that she sit down next to him?
She couldn't refuse. He'd just make a lot of noise and draw everyone's attention to them. Maybe even Frank's.
And once she sat down with him, what then? GodI She got hot just thinking about it!
What if his leg started brushing against her? A normal gesture, an innocent gesture-but the mere thought of it now, the slightest anticipation of it, sent tiny needles of pleasure shooting up her leg, brought her nipples to erect attention, and forced tiny beads of sweat to the palms of her hands.
So it took Mona two days to get around to returning the books to the library. Two days of worrying, two days of brooding, two days of pleading silently with Frank to make love to her, to put his goddamned textbook down and just let go with everything he had.
But everything he had wasn't enough, and if walls had eyes, the bathroom's walls would have turned red half a dozen times.
She stood before her mirror in bra and slip, putting the finishing touches onto her face. A dab of powder here, mascara there, lipstick to outline the warm, sensual mouth that screamed silently for passion each night under the cover of darkness.
I should have dressed first, thought Mona. .Just looking at myself is starting to turn me on. I wonder if anyone was ever this horny? And if they were couldn't their husband's see it? Did she have to dress up like a whore and practically shove a red-tinted nipple down Frank's throat, bury his face in soft yielding flesh, before he even began to get the idea?
But with a sigh, she knew the answer, and the answer was yes. Last night, when he had come to bed, she had even had to grab his hand and bury his fingers in her before he had the slightest idea that she wasn't as sleepy as he was.
"I'm sorry, doll," he had said, as she rubbed his fingers in and out, in and out, "but I'm too bushed for a long session. Why don't you start without me and I'll be along for the finale?"
And with that-and an innocent kiss-he had taken her hand and placed it where his own had been.
Mona wanted to scream, wanted to scratch his eyes until the blood gushed out of the pupils-but she couldn't. She couldn't do anything except manipulate herself just as he had directed her to.
Writhing and moaning on the bed, she had started without him-and when she discovered that he had dozed off for a minute, she finished without him too, climaxing in a growing crescendo of animal sounds which finally succeeded in awakening him.
"Ready?" he asked, smiling.
"Ready," she said resignedly.
He had rolled over on her then, penetrated her and soon began jerking his body spasmodically.
"Come on, doll!" he grunted. "I can't wait for you."
And so, for the hundredth time-or was it the thousandth?-she had faked her orgasm, simulating all the sounds and movements that Travis had forced from her before, pretending not that he was Travis Bland, but simply that he was Frank with the skills of a fifteen-year-old schoolboy.
"That was wonderful!" said Frank, with an exhausted sigh as he rolled back off her.
"Yes," she lied softly.
"You know," he went on, his enthusiasm beginning to build, "maybe we ought to try it like that more often."
"Like what?" she had asked absently. "You know," he had replied. "Self-starting, so to speak."
She hadn't answered him, but instead had closed her eyes and feigned sleep.
"Poor kid," were his last words before drifting off almost instantly. "Maybe we ought to go a little easy on the sex if it wears you out that much."
She arose before he did and hid her pillowcase so that he couldn't see all the mascara that had run off during the night.
And now, she thought, still staring at the mirror, I'm supposed to go out there and play the sexless housewife. I'm supposed to pretend that any married woman is getting more than enough at home, and that every man I meet on the street or in the library is no different from every woman.
She laughed just once-a soft, harsh, bitter laugh.
Then with a sigh, she turned to her closet, chose a sweater and a skirt, and slipped them on.
"Won't do," she muttered, looking at her half-concealed breasts; at those bare, heaving, semispheres that seemed to be trying to flow over the top of the scoop-neck. Walking back to the closet, she removed the sweater and replaced it with a cardigan.
She took another look at herself in the mirror, and satisfied, picked up the books and went out.
The snow was everywhere, and the wind, though it should have cooled her off as it whipped through her skirts and across her naked thighs, it merely made her more aware of the fire that drummed ceaselessly between her legs.
Here and there she saw couples walking hand in hand, and once she passed through a deserted section of the campus where a boy was keeping his girl warm by the simplest and most direct method he knew, slipping his hand inside her jacket and rubbing vigorously.
Mona should probably have been shocked, or at least outraged, as any good housewife would have been. Instead, she simply stared, biting her lip unconsciously until the pain forced a little whimper from her. The boy turned hastily, quickly withdrew his hand, and, grabbing the girl by the arm, walked off as fast as he felt he could while retaining his dignity.
Mona clasped the books to her, hugging them to her bosom, rubbing them against her breasts. It was starting again. If that kid would leave his shack-job and come over here, she knew, he could have her right on the snow, and she wouldn't let him leave until he was through, even if Frank and half the damned law school came out to watch.
It was, she knew, going to be a long afternoon.
Finally she arrived at the law library, looking cautiously around for any sign of Travis Bland, though she didn't know what she would do if she saw him. She only prayed that she would have enough self-restraint to wait until he took her to a private room somewhere, because now she felt like ripping her clothes off and having him-anyone-right on one of the libary tables. She shuddered at the thought of it, more from desire than disgust, and walked up to the door. Taking a deep breath, so deep that her breasts rubbed against the books once more, she entered the building.
She walked through the foyer, trying not to notice the hungry glances she received from the few students who were milling there, trying to work up enough courage to go out into the cold, and went up to the librarian's desk.
"Yes?" asked a pert, red-headed girl from behind a dating machine.
"I want to return these," said Mona, grateful that she wouldn't have to speak to a man.
"Name?" asked the girl, without looking up.
"Durham. Mrs. Frank Durham. My husband took these out last week."
Suddenly the girl looked up, staring at her curiously. "You're Frank's wife?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh, nothing," she said, still staring brazenly at Mona. "Frank and I are old friends."
"Very old?"
"No, not very."
The redhead took the books, checked the date-due card, and looked up again. "You owe fifty cents."
Mona began digging in her purse for the money, but the redhead interrupted her. "Forget it," she said. "I owe him that much at least. This one is on the house."
"Do you sleep with him often?" Mona blurted suddenly.
"I never sleep with him," replied the girl levelly. "How about you?"
Mona clenched and unclenched her fists spasmodically, but said nothing. She stood facing the girl as if hypnotized, then finally tore her eyes away and turned toward the door.
Suddenly she felt a firm hand on her arm. A masculine hand.
She didn't have to look to know that it belonged to Travis Bland-but she looked anyway, amazed by the intensity of the undisguised lust on his face.
"Miss me?" he grinned.
"Let go of me!" she snapped, but already she could feel herself weakening.
"Come on, baby," he whispered into her ear, sending a sensual tingle of anticipation through her. "Don't make a scene here. What would Frank say?"
"I don't give a damn what Frank says!" she shouted. Heads turned toward, her, and she writhed in embarrassment before the curiosity of the crowd.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered, heading for the door without looking back.
"Where to?" she asked him, as they walked back through the snow.
"I've got just the place," he replied as he directed her toward one of the buildings. "Frank is having class in here right this minute."
She gave him a curious look, but he just grinned and continued walking. A moment later they were inside, brushing the snow from their coats, and walking down a door-studded corridor.
"I thought Frank's classes were on the third floor," she said.
"They are," replied Travis, "but we can't just walk in during the middle of a lecture. Ah, here we are," he concluded, stopping at the end of the hall and pulling out a key.
"What is this?"
"A teacher's lounge," he said.
"But we can't just walk in here!" she protested, though she knew, and she knew that Travis knew, that of course she could walk right in anywhere if he gave her what she wanted.
"I borrowed this one night," he said, holding up a key, "and had a copy made. No professors are in the building now except Frank, and he's got two more classes when he's done."
With that he opened the door, turned on the light and, after Mona followed him through, turned and locked the door.
It was a large room with a fireplace on one wall, curtains covering a window on another, and a series of class photographs on a third. Scattered about the room were a number of leather-cushioned wing-arm chairs and a huge leather couch.
"They certainly like their comfort, don't they?" remarked Mona, folding her overcoat over one of the chairs.
"So do I," Travis said.
"Look, Travis," began Mona, "I'm not sorry about the other night, but there's not going to be a repeat performance-and certainly not in this building where just anyone can walk in."
"Okay, Mona, if you say so," said Travis, running his fingers very gently up and down the back of her neck.
"I mean it," she said.
"You just stop me when you think I'm getting out of line," he grinned, bringing both hands into play now, moving them up and down her sides, over her hips.
Mona still had her back to him, but she began to squirm under his touch nonetheless. His prick was erect and ready, pressing painfuHy into her back despite all the layers of clothing which blocked it from it's ultimate goal.
And suddenly she found herself on the couch, not quite sure how she had gotten there, but not caring either. Frank was fumbling with the buttons on her sweater. Finally he mouthed a curse and pulled it up over her head.
The bra went next, and he lowered his lips greedily to her erect nipples, making gobbling noises deep in his throat.
Mona wanted to move her body against him, to grind her softness against him, but he held her motionless to the couch, his head buried in her breasts, kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling.
She was almost out of her head now, babbling incoherently and pushing his head downward, downward.
Finally, reluctantly, he yielded to her. His hands relinquished her breasts, slid down to her knees, then up again beneath the harshness of her skirt.
When they came to her panties they stopped. An inquiring finger snaked its way delicately, deliciously beneath the elastic legband, searching, probing, finding.
She moaned again, twisting her hips and torso spasmodically. He took her panties with both hands and pulled gently, while she raised her soft, quivering buttocks to allow the silken material to pass beneath them, to caress her thighs on its way down.
Then he pulled her skirt up until it was half-wrapped, half-rolled around her waist. He was kneeling on the floor beside her, his hands working hotly on her body.
Wordlessly, she grabbed his head between her hands and guided it to the juncture of her thighs.
"I thought...." he began, but he got no further than that, because Mona shoved his mouth back violently to where she wanted it, where she needed it.
His hot, moist lips snaked in between the lips of her throbbing vagina, and his tongue sought out her hard, erect clitoris. He flicked it slowly, casually, then ever faster and harder.
Finally he drew it into his mouth, applying suction to bring it to still greater erection. He rolled it around on his tongue as he had done with the nipples of her breasts, then bit it gently.
She emitted a sobbing moan, and Travis moved his head slightly. His tongue still flicked and darted out of his mouth, but now it began missing her clitoris ever so narrowly, until she was a writhing mass of flesh, striving desperately to place his lips back where they belonged.
"Oh, Travis!" she moaned. "Oh, more, more, more!"
Suddenly she rolled on her side, facing him, and reached out for his belt buckle. Only one of her hands was free, and after struggling fruitlessly with it for a moment, she settled for his zipper, pulling it down past the huge erection which was struggling for freedom.
"Oh, it's coming soon, Travis! It's coming soon!" she whispered urgently. "Quick! Get on top of me!"
"Just a minute," said Travis, disengaging his mouth from her pussy and standing up.
She lay there, eyes shut, body trembling and tense, tryng to fight it back, trying to wait for him.
But Travis made no movement, .did not get on top of the wild, panting form on the couch.
She opened her eyes and saw him standing, his fly hastily zipped over his still-huge prick. He was about ten feet away, staring at her, grinning from ear to ear.
"Travis!" she screamed. "Quick! I can't wait."
"Don't mind me, lady," he grinned. "I'm just a spectator."
"What are you talking about?" she gasped, in shocked disbelief.
"I miss my natural surroundings," he said. "Are you mad?"
"Not at all. Just lonely. Remember that club I told you about? When you want to finish the scene, just give me a call and I'll tell you where to meet us. Bring Frank along; he might get a kick out of it."
"Travis. Please...."
He turned and left her then, but she didn't see him. Her eyes were shut tight, and her legs were closed just as tightly over her hand, while her body jerked in a barbaric and spasmodic rhythm.