Joan Welby ran more hot water into the bathtub as the transparent rainbow-colored tiny spheres of her bubble-bath popped all around her, then leaned back luxuriously to savor the sensation of the renewed heat penetrating every pore of her relaxed body. She slid down lower in the tub until the bubble-topped hot water covered all but the upper slopes of her delightfully full, firm white breasts, each adorned with a ruby-like pouting nipple.
Joan stiffened her long, slender legs against the tub and raised her body partway above the snowdrift
Joan stiffened her long, slender legs against the tub and raised her body partway above the snowdrift
of bubbles partly concealing it. She arched her back until the smoothly rounded surface of her glistening sleek belly broke the surface, dipping downward to the slightly protruding mound at its base, a mound decorated with a profusion of light blonde hair matching exactly the luxuriant growth on Joan's head.
Bridging her shoulders, Joan lifted first one leg and then the other as she sought to bring more of her own secret flesh into view, much as she had done in the days when a fifteen-year-old tomboy in a small southern town had suddenly experienced the delicious budding, swelling, and rounding of her own hitherto ignored girl-flesh. At twenty-five, Joan was sure she had lost none of the superlatively desirable figure that her husband Harry had been unable to keep his hands off almost from their first date.
A frown creased her smooth forehead.
She might have lost none of her eye-catching qualities in masculine company, but she surely wasn't catching Harry's eye as much as formerly. In point of fact, even though she didn't like to admit it to herself, he had been neglecting her shamefully. Too often these days she thought back longingly to the first year of their marriage, when the homecoming husband often delayed dinner while he practiced his homework upon his contentedly acquiescent young wife. Sometimes they never made it to the second floor bedroom, but indulged in their carnal delights upon the living room sofa or even occasionally upon the carpeting.
Joan sighed unconsciously. It had been a long time since Harry had been that impetuous, although she certainly didn't know why. All the physical aspects he had explored with such gratified gusto still awaited him, ripely abundant, eagerly anticipant, ardently incandescent. She sank down into the soothing hot water again, her right hand frankly covering her mound as her finger dipped lightly between her thighs and teased her pussy-lips. A shiver rippled through her. She shouldn't get herself worked up like that.
She shouldn't be spoiling the evening ahead by any such gloomy thoughts, either. She and Harry were to be the guests at a nightclub party celebrating Harry's upcoming promotion to junior partner in his law firm. The party hosts were to be Tom and Alice Carter, good friends in addition to the fact that Tom was Harry's immediate boss in the law office. The Carters knew how much the promotion meant to the younger Wel-bys. With the promotion in hand and a night on the town to celebrate, Joan thought wistfully, Harry might not turn his back upon her brusquely in bed that night and unceremoniously go to sleep.
Alice Carter had extended the invitation. "Tom thinks we might take in a couple of the bottomless joints on Broadway in North Beach after dinner," she mentioned. The Welbys lived in San Francisco, the Carters farther out in Marin County.
Joan had giggled at the news. "I wonder why it is men feel they have to spend money for that sort of thing when all they have to do is tell us to take our panties down, Alice?"
"The idea of something strange, I imagine," Alice replied. "And as long as Tom desires to see my bottom with some degree of frequency, I really don't begrudge him a few peeps, you know."
"Oh, I feel exactly the same way!" Joan said hastily. She knew that Alice was very much in love with Tom, much as she was with Harry. Tom Carter was older and very much a man of the world. Joan knew that Alice was thirty-five and Tom a couple of years older. She had never mentioned it to Harry, but privately she considered Tom Carter to be a strong-minded, self-centered man, almost a bit overbearing at times. Once or twice Joan had caught him gazing at her with a speculative look in his hooded eyes that she had found almost frightening. She had to remind herself that Tom and Alice Carter were their best friends.
Joan wasn't quite as sanguine about the bottomless night club expedition as she had let on to Alice. She considered herself moderately sophisticated, but strong traces of her church-oriented, family-directed upbringing in the small southern town of her youth still remained with her. At college she had hsd only one sexual experience before meeting Harry, and that one disappointingly squalid. Harry's ardency had almost caused a rift in their relationship, before
Joan reminded herself firmly that it was no longer 1910 and that in fact she didn't want to deny this handsome young man the titillating liberties he sought to take. There was the scary thought that she might have lost Harry completely if she had kept on saying no.
The ringing of the telephone in the bedroom broke into her thoughts. She scrambled from the tub hurriedly, careful not to slip, threw on an old robe which blotted some of the moisture from her sweet-scented flesh, and hurried to the bedside phone, trailing water drops. Without knowing why, she had an indefinable feeling that it was Harry calling her.
"Hello?" she said, cradling the phone between chin and shoulder while she draped the sodden gown to reveal a little less frontal exposure before remembering there was no one present.
"It's me, Joan," Harry's voice said in the husky, half-intimate manner that was almost a vocal signature with him. When Joan was really in the mood sometimes, Harry's voice alone could create goose bumps upon her most intimate flesh. "Pack a bag for me," he continued. "I'm leaving for San Diego in an hour."
"Oh, no, Harry!" Joan wailed. "Not tonight!"
"Can't be helped," he said. "One of the old bags whose account I've been managing has decided she has to have an immediate conference. Thank God that after the promotion takes effect someone else will be drawing those details.
I'll be home in half an hour."
Joan heard the click of the receiver. Why did it have to turn out like this, she thought? Harry had been away from her so much lately. He had been working sixteen hour days ever since her illness a year ago, she remembered guiltily. She had recovered fully, but the medical and hospital bills had been enormous. She had never dared ask where the money had come from to take care of them. But it was mean that their celebratory party should be broken up like this.
She returned to the bathroom and removed the last of the bubble bath under the shower. Drying herself with a huge fluffy towel before patting on body powder, she could see herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door. The full, tiptilted breasts jiggled lightly as she manipulated the towel. Her rounded belly flowed into the juncture of her gleaming plump thighs. She turned around and considered her wide-flaring soft buttocks below the slender stalk of her waist, and she sighed again. Those dimpled hind cheeks looked made to be cuddled, but it wasn't to happen tonight. Resentfully she flung the towel aside, and, still nude, went into the bedroom to pack Harry's overnight bag. Sometimes it seemed as though the middle-aged wealthy widows who made up the bulk of Harry's portfolio-managing accounts demanded his services at deliberately inconvenient times.
Joan dressed finally and went downstairs.
She pushed the provocative evening gown she had expected to wear to the back of the closet and put on a simple housedress. She was in the tiny kitchen of their little home when she heard the front door open. "Are you decent, Joan?" Harry's voice called. "Tom's with me."
Mingled with her disappointment that Harry wasn't alone-she had hoped to have at least a few minutes with him before he had to leave-Joan had to smile inwardly at the connotation contained in his question. In the second year of their marriage Joan had watched Harry drive up to their house and park, and impulsively decided to surprise him. She turned away from the window and stripped completely except for shoes and stockings, then naked, listened for his footstep at the door.
When she heard it, she flung the door open, presenting herself brazenly, only to find that in a Keystone Kop sequence of events Harry had climbed out of the car and walked across the street to speak to one of the neighbors while the television repair man had pulled his truck in behind Harry's car to pick up their balky television set.
For one frozen instant Joan had confronted the bug-eyed uniformed repairman before she turned and sprinted for the stairs with all her flowing curves jiggling loosely and bouncing wildly. Harry had been annoyed at first when she confessed the unexpected results of her impetuosity, but had then laughed. He never entered the house afterward if anyone was with him, however, without the preliminary question about Joan's decency or lack of it in the way of dress.
It had been some solace to Joan afterward that the television repairman, upon the occasion of returning the repaired set, while Joan had been playing the coolly nonchalant grande dame with him as though the incident had never happened, turned to her at the door and said earnestly: "Lady, if I could get my wife to meet me at my front door like that just once I'd forfeit cheerfully every dollar I ever hope to earn. Your husband is a damned lucky guy."
Joan had blushed vividly despite her best effort at composure, but had treasured the implied compliment.
She walked into the living room and found Harry mixing a fast pitcher of martinis behind the bar. She glanced at the broad-shouldered, tapered back of the six foot, prematurely gray man standing in the center of the room with his back to her. "Hello, Tom," Joan said.
He turned to greet her with the wide grin that was his trademark. Tom Carter had almost girlish-looking blue eyes in a craggy face, and a hard-looking male body. Joan found herself admiring his appearance as she always did. Except for the graying hair he could have passed for her age instead of ten years older.
Harry moved out from the bar and handed Joan a drink, then gave one to Tom. He neglected to kiss Joan as he had done faithfully when they were first married. Joan thought he looked tired and preoccupied, but she still felt resentful at his lack of attention to her. She tried to mask her reaction under Tom Carter's shrewd, observant gaze. "To a quick trip home," Tom toasted, and raised his glass. Janet downed her martini in a gulp. Harry looked surprised, and Tom wagged a finger at her. "Hey, that's not like you," he admonished her.
Joan shrugged. "Since I have to celebrate my husband's promotion alone tonight, I might as well get started quickly," she said with more of an edge to her voice than she had intended.
"Shall I tell her now?" Tom said to Harry, who nodded. "We decided that you shouldn't miss a good party just because your traveling old man is out of town," Tom continued to Joan. "You're coming with Alice and me tonight. The reservations have been made and everything ordered. Besides, I'd like to prove that I'm still not too old to squire two women at once, even if it's only for one night." He grinned at her companionably.
"Oh, Tom, I don't really think so," Joan began, but he interrupted her immediately.
"Don't be a spoilsport, Joan. I've already talked to Alice. She's been getting ready for three hours for the party, and she says she doesn't mind sharing me for the evening. So you can't say no." He took Joan's hand warmly, and she sensed the controlled strength in the masculine body.
"In that case, Mr. Carter, I suppose I can't refuse," she said with a little smile. "What time should I be ready?"
"Eight o'clock," he said promptly.
"I've got a plane to catch," Harry broke in. "Come on, Tom, let's get a move on."
He kissed Joan goodbye absentmindedly, ran up the stairs and right back down again with his bag, and walked out the front door. Joan tried to smile through her hurt at the brush-off as Tom Carter prepared to follow Harry. "See you at eight," he said quietly, and Joan nodded. She watched Tom's white convertible roar down the street, trying to still a single wayward tear that persisted in creeping from beneath an eyelid and down her cheek. If Harry's new position in the firm kept him as busy and with as little time for her, she didn't know how she could stand it.
Disconsolately she went back upstairs, removed the housedress, stood in front of the mirror for an instant stroking her brassiered and pantied curves, then went to the closet and took out the evening gown which she laid out carefully on the bed.
Two hours later Tom Carter and his wife Alice shared a drink in their bedroom as he dressed for the party. Alice sat propped up against the headboard with a large pillow behind her. She had on a lacy negligee casually parted in front to reveal lissome tanned thighs.
She was a handsome woman but one terribly afraid of the first faint signs of aging which appeared in her boudoir mirror. She was also head-over-heels in love with her debonair husband-had been ever since the first day he had appeared so spectacularly in her life-and putty in his hands. Willing putty.
"It's working out just as you predicted," she said, sipping at her drink. "Do you think she's ready?"
"Ripe for plucking," Tom said, smiling at her as he buttoned his shirt. "And for fucking."
Alice smiled, too. "A comedian you're not," she informed her husband. "But since you want her, I hope you're right."
"When am I wrong about these things?" he said confidently. "You should have seen her face when we drove away just now. She's the loving, neglected wife. She's ready, all right. There'll be no trouble. And even if there should be, I can change her mind. With what I know about Harry's not-so-clever manipulation of the Sadaris account, I can compel her acquiescence by threatening his exposure. No, I've had my eye on her aristocratic-looking lilywhite big ass for a long time, and tonight's the night I get it between the sheets."
"I'm kind of looking forward to trying out Harry after you've broken in Joan," Alice said comfortably. "He looks rather the innocent type." She looked at her husband archly. "Won't you be jealous?"
He smiled. "A little, perhaps. I usually am, when I think of someone screwing you. But it usually only lasts long enough for me to get into the rack with one of your girl friends." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get going. I'm curious to hear Joan's reaction when I tell her that you have an unexpected headache and can't make it tonight."
Alice rose from the bed and approached her husband. She was tall enough so that her crown of dark hair came just under his nostrils as she put her arms around him and rubbed her palms against the small of his back. "Don't waste it all on that blonde tonight," she whispered. She dropped her right hand to Tom's buttock and pinched it lightly, then moved her hand around to the front and rubbed her knuckles against his groin. "Save a little something for me for when you get home."
Tom grunted at her touch upon his penis. "If you don't stop fiddling with the machinery, I'll paddle you pink, Alice. Or make you suck me off."
"I'd love to," she said promptly, and reached for his zipper.
He pulled away. "I haven't time. I'll be late, probably after three."-He started for the bedroom door.
"Remember that I'll want to hear all about it," Alice called after him.
She returned to the bed and sank slowly down upon it as she heard Tom's firm tread descending the stairs.
Joan had been ready for twenty minutes when she heard Tom's knock at the door. She finished the last of her martini, the fourth since Harry and Tom had left, and walked rather unsteadily to the door to let Tom in. He explained quickly about Alice's supposed migraine headache, and Joan shook her head. "We don't have to go out, Tom," she began to say.
"Of course we do," he said quickly. "Harry's expecting it. I'd feel I'd let him down."
"Well," Joan said with a forced smile, "I guess we'll have to do the best we can."
"That's the spirit," he said encouragingly. "How about a drink before we leave?"
"I'll make one for you, but I've had enough," Joan replied. She was already feeling the results of her previous libations more than she had anticipated. Or desired.
"Then I won't have one, either," Tom decided. He picked up her mink stole resting haphazardly on the back of a chair and held it out to her. His knuckles brushed her bare shoulders as he draped it over her, and Joan shivered. There was a maleness in Tom Carter that plucked at the very roots of her sensibilities.
He tucked her into the convertible, then walked around and got under the wheel. He drove so smoothly that she was soon lost in her own thoughts. It was Harry that was uppermost on her mind. She wanted her husband back so desperately, the eager, loving husband he had been before. Was it possible she was losing her sex appeal? Perhaps if she tried making Harry a little jealous? It seemed a bit childish, but she was ready to try anything. She glanced at Tom Carter's handsomely craggy features. If she flirted with Tom a little, remained a little secretive about her night out with him ... there could be no real harm in it. Tom was a good friend, after all, Harry's best friend despite the difference in their ages.
Joan smiled tentatively and moved slightly closer to Tom on the convertible's front seat. More than a few men had propositioned her, knowing she was married and admiring her physical attributes. She had been flattered but never unfaithful to Harry. And it could never come to that with Tom. She found herself wondering suddenly how Tom was in bed with Alice. Joan had always admired Alice's cool sophistication, and she found it difficult to picture Alice and Tom in intimately entwined embraces. She felt her cheeks getting hot at the thought. She wasn't accustomed to speculating about friends-even good friends-in this wayward manner.
Tom glanced across at her and favored her with his attractive crooked grin as the convertible charged on through the warm summer night. "Everything okay?" he inquired.
"Fine," Joan declared stoutly. She was feeling warm, and she raised the long skirt of her evening gown surreptitiously and let cool air from the vent play upon her thighs. In a moment the teasing stream of air was eddying around her tightly-pantied crotch, and Joan relaxed at the subtle titillation. She sensed that Tom was gazing from time to time at her displayed thighs, but she found she didn't care.
He reached across her suddenly and opened the glove compartment, handing her a flask. "Have one for the road," he invited her. "No reason it should be so long between drinks. It's exactly what you've been drinking."
Joan started to refuse, then changed her mind. So what if she was feeling her drinks a little? One or two more couldn't hurt. She wasn't a child. And Tom was a friend. Besides, she felt a compulsion tonight to blot out her hurt and anxiety over what she was afraid was a growing estrangement with Harry.
She took a full swallow from the flask, savoring the tart bite of the martini. Tom nodded approvingly and followed suit. They continued the drive in silence until Tom headed the car into the neon-lighted bustle of Broadway and pulled to the curb in front of a garishly-lighted night club. Tom handed the obsequious doorman an over-large tip, and a man appeared to park their car. Joan stumbled slightly as she stepped up to the sidewalk from the depths of the convertible, assisted by Tom's strong arm. "Oops," she murmured. "Tom, you're going to have to see to it that I don't make a spectacle of myself," she continued half-seriously. "I'm afraid the drinks are getting to me."
Tom's hand closed comfortingly upon her bare arm. "You know you could never make a spectacle of yourself as far as I'm concerned, Joan," he said warmly. She felt an inner tingle as the male voice brushed sensuously against her nerve ends.
She gazed curiously at the posters and pictures in the lobby of the club as Tom ushered her inside. Numerous unclad girls were depicted in various attitudes of dancing. Joan wondered what it must be like to get up on a platform without so much as a thread between one's naked body and the world and perform all manner of wriggling gyrations. It must be dreadfully degrading but at the same time somehow stimulating, she thought.
The blaring beat of a rock band enveloped them as they walked inside, the strong rhythm so loud the sound waves were almost tangible. Strobe lights synchronized with the beat made Joan blink as she struggled to adjust to the comparative absence of light inside. They were seated at once at a small table, side by side, and Joan glanced up toward the stage in front of them to see a spotlighted naked girl swirling her bare hips in contortions that twitched her pubic hair at her audience. Joan looked quickly away in confusion.
Tom ordered drinks from a bikinied waitress whose large breasts appeared about to overflow her skimpy uniform-top. "How d'you like it here?" he inquired expansively when the girl had placed their glasses in front of them and smilingly accepted Tom's tip. "Or are you still trying to get into the mood?"
"Perhaps that's it," Joan admitted. She took a taste of her drink. "I couldn't help thinking how those poor girls must feel up there with nothing covering them, hour after hour. They must feel awfully bored."
"Probably no more so than you," Tom suggested. He leaned closer to her so that his lips were close to Joan's ear. "You probably have your pick of beautiful female bodies close at home when you cuddle with your girl friends."
Joan shook her head smilingly although she could feel her face pinkening. "I don't cuddle with girls," she said. At least not since I married Harry, she amended it silently. She hurried on, anxious that Tom not think he was wasting his money. "I really am enjoying it here, Tom."
He was quiet for a moment as the dancer left the stage and was replaced by a rather plain-faced girl wearing collegiate cap-and-gown. The girl sang a rather pointless little song about sexual education and then removed the gown to display an amazingly well-made, plumply-curved nude body which caught Joan by surprise. The girl danced rather well, too. "She has a really cute figure," Joan observed. "I don't wonder that men come to these places." Glancing around, she was amazed at the number of women in the noisy but intent audience, and suddenly she didn't feel so conspicuous. She relaxed and took another swallow from her glass.
Tom leaned toward her again. "Remind me to tell you sometime how fortunate I was at the age of fifteen to discover there was no such thing as an unattractive female body," he muttered into Joan's ear.
She smiled but made no reply. Her attention was back upon the stage. She still couldn't really get over the fact that she could see everything the girl had. She hadn't dreamed that such license existed in public. She wondered if Tom was mentally undressing her and comparing her to the girl on the stage whose exotic vibrations jiggled her glistening flesh enticingly, and she felt herself growing warm at the thought. She supposed she should have found the exhibition upon the stage vulgar, but the girl's cutely pert little body and confident demeanor somehow prevented it.
Tom was speaking in her ear again, his breath tickling her lobe. "I've noticed that Harry hasn't been paying much attention to you lately," he said. Joan jerked herself back to the present. Was it so noticeable? She hated the idea. "I've been having a little problem with Alice," Tom went on. "One reason I've been hitting the bottle a little hard lately, I guess."
Joan felt a quick rush of sympathy. She certainly knew how it felt to be neglected. "I thought you and Alice were perfectly happy, Tom," she said softly. "I'd never have suspected that you were having problems, too." She felt an immediate twinge of guilt at having so quickly admitted her own situation. It seemed disloyal to Harry.
"We haven't even been to bed together in the past year," Tom continued. "I sleep in the guest room."
Joan was shocked. "Here I've been brooding about my own love life, or lack of it, and you're worse off. Although not by much," she added frankly. Impulsively she leaned over and kissed Tom's cheek affectionately.
He smiled and patted her hand. "Just a couple of losers, that's us," he said. "Is it all right to ask what's wrong between you and Harry?"
"I'd tell you if I knew," Joan said ruefully. "I've thought it was his work, but even on weekends he seems too busy for me. I guess I'm old before my time."
"like hell!" Tom responded emphatically. "There isn't a man in this noisy place who wouldn't want to go to bed with you right this minute."
"You're sweet, Tom," Joan said gratefully.
He glanced toward the postage-stamp-sized dance floor. "Want to try it? This number seems a little slower."
Obediently she left her place and followed him to the floor. He slipped an arm around her and whirled her away to a beat that admittedly was slower but still strongly influenced by drum and bass. The flashing strobe lights intermittently illuminated the faces of the dancers. Joan's breasts pressed against Tom's chest. Her gown was the type which demanded no bra, and her pectoral muscles felt stimulated against the hard male body. She could feel his leg between hers as they danced. Between the drinks and the stimulation a sudden light dampness made its way from her vagina to the flushed lips of her vulva, surprising her. She had never experienced it before just from dancing. She tried to ease away slightly from Tom's strong body. Making Harry jealous was all right, but she didn't want to go too far, and at the moment her instincts seemed on the verge of betraying her.
But Tom tightened his grip and pulled her even closer. Joan closed her eyes, trying to shut out the flashing strobe lights and the strange effect they seemed to be having upon her. The tempo of the music had increased, and along with the liquor it was getting to her. She could feel their blended bodies, her own responding as her breasts rubbed against Tom, her taut nipples straining against the thin veneer of lightweight summer clothing.
When she opened her eyes, Tom was watching a new dancer on the stage. Joan looked at the undulating girl, naked, throwing her pelvis up at the crowd, and she. began to dance in unconscious imitation of the girl's suggestive movements, aware of an increased heat in her own loins. Joan jerked her body in rhythm, feeling her breasts bounce, a film of perspiration on her forehead, hot flashes coursing through her body.
And Tom was responding. He held Joan even more tightly as her hips writhed to the beat, in time with her bouncing breasts. She felt free, alive, and-as she realized suddenly-terribly in need of a man. One of Tom's legs was between Joan's thighs as he whirled her around the dance floor, and she could feel the elongated bulge of his aroused penis against her swollen-feeling pussy at each surging pivot they made. It excited her beyond belief as a tre-mendous surge of long-repressed emotion caused her to toss caution to the winds.
Deliberately she ground her pelvis against the bulge in Tom's trousers. She could feel it straining toward her. She swayed her hips, trying to intensify the contact. Her mouth was half open as she breathed heavily, spurred on by the increasing heat within her. The lights flashed in brilliant colors on her half-open lids, deepening her sudden erotic frenzy.
She found herself with one hand on the back of Tom's rugged-feeling neck as she leaned backward, pushing her burning crotch against his erection. Each drum beat seemed to arouse her more, pounding at the core of her being. Their bodies were blended, touching everywhere. Joan imagined them suddenly to be upon a bed, ready for each other, and hot though she was, she drew back from the picture. What on earth was the matter with her? She was acting like alike a slut!
But then Tom pulled her closer again as she instinctively sought to break the close contact that was demoralizing her good intentions. He kissed her, crushing his lips against her partly opened mouth, thrusting his tongue deeply into her throat. Joan found herself responding eagerly before she realized what had happened. The shock of the strongly sexual kiss aroused her from her previous indulgence in herself. It wasn't fair to Tom, she told herself desperately. It wasn't what she wanted, so how could she lead him on like this?
It wasn't what she wanted ... was it?
She knew it was wrong. "No, Tom," she tried to say, half-struggling away from him. She'd gone too far. It had to stop. She freed herself from his unwilling arms and walked quickly but unsteadily from the dance floor, bumping into people en route.
She walked to the nightclub exit before she looked around.
Tom was picking up her wrap from the hat-check girl, his expression grim-faced in the psychedelic light patterns.
Chapter 2
Thoroughly ashamed of herself, Joan sat quietly and in a semi-stupor as the white convertible sped along deserted streets. I've ruined a friendship, she thought bitterly. What could have gotten into me that I led him on so far? She'd only intended to make Harry a bit jealous, but now she'd undoubtedly hurt Tom. It had been inexcusably selfish of her to think she could use him like that.
Deep in self-accusation, she had failed to notice that the car was pursuing a direction at variance with either of their homes. Before she could question their position high in the hills above the city, Tom turned the car suddenly into a short side street and then immediately again so that it faced outward from a secluded parking place with the brilliant lights of the city below. "I thought you'd enjoy the view," Tom said matter-of-factly as he got out of the convertible and walked around it to Joan's side. He opened the door and helped her out, supporting her as she wobbled slightly. "It's too beautiful a place to pass without stopping on a night like this," he continued casually. He gave a short laugh. "Besides, it should clear our heads a little."
Joan allowed him to lead her to the outer edge of the parking place where they watched for a moment in silence the panorama that unfolded far below them. It seemed natural that Tom should put his arm around her waist as he stood beside her. Perhaps they were still-friends, she thought hopefully. Tom was an adult, if she wasn't. He would understand what could happen to a girl taken unaware by her own emotions.
She flinched slightly as Tom's arm rose and his large palm cupped a full breast. No! she thought. I mustn't! But she made no further movement as strong fingers closed upon the soft globe fluttering from her rapid breathing. She could feel her taut nipple pulsating as the invading fingers first brushed against it and then returned to massage it lightly. Her groin felt on fire as Tom massaged her resilient flesh with increasing urgency. "Ooooh, Tom!" she breathed huskily from a throat that seemed clamped in a vise so she could hardly speak at all.
She thought fleetingly of Harry, and then the thought was gone. The only room in her crowded brain was for the sensation afforded her by the urging of the strong hand upon her breast that was kneading her and manipulating her into a white-hot fever of desire. She took a step backward and leaned more heavily against his arm, and Tom took hold of her and pulled her around to face him. He pressed against her, and a rock-like bulge in his trousers twitched involuntarily against her belly. The dampness between Joan's legs renewed itself as she thought longingly of what the huge thing would feel like boring its way inside her. It's wrong to think like that, she told herself desperately. But it felt so good. So gooooooood. She made no attempt to escape Tom's hard lips as once more they fused upon her own.
The kiss left her breathless. It was eager, expert, and demanding. Her mouth opened willingly to accept the tongue which probed her unresisting mouth. She was so far gone in sexual arousal and excitement that she didn't even mind the small moans of pleasure that escaped from her straining lips. Tom held her immobile for an instant, then released her so suddenly that she almost fell.
Joan couldn't stand it that the strong, supporting arms were suddenly gone. "Tom!" she whispered urgently. "Do it to me, Tom! Do it to me!"
She didn't really believe she had said the emboldened words, but the sound lingered in her own ear. She was shameless, and she didn't care. All thoughts of loyalty to Harry had vanished in her alcohol-dimmed mind. She just knew she wanted Tom. Knew she had to have him regardless of consequences. There was a hot flame in her crotch that only a sturdy male organ could extinguish.
Tom led her back to the car. Standing beside it, he kissed her on the mouth again while his hands went behind her and gripped the pliant cheeks of her buttocks, squeezing, compressing, drawing in, releasing, pinching, and pressing together her soft globes until Joan thought she would expire from pleasure.
Tom opened the car door and reached for a lever at the back of the seat, releasing a catch that held it upright. The seat descended into a reclining position, and Tom handed Joan into the car. She rolled onto her back after releasing the catch on the second seat herself, then lay back trembling, her legs slightly parted. She knew what was going to happen, and she wanted it to happen. No thought of love or loyalty could penetrate the sex-haze enveloping her.
Despite her desire, she felt a tremor of fear. This was all new to her. She hadn't had another man since her marriage. She felt almost like a virgin. She almost cried out as Tom leaned down upon her and their arms and legs and bodies came together in an unplanned, slow-motion embrace that engulfed all her sensibilities.
Tom's leg pressed between her parted thighs, widening them still more. He kissed her neck passionately, his moist tongue immediately pursuing a course under her throat, then down to the deep valley between her heaving breasts. Joan gasped at the feeling. Harry hadn't touched her in three months. No lips had made love to her breasts as these lips were doing. Tom pulled the straps of her dress from her shoulders and lowered it until her large breasts bulked large in the dim light and her quiveringly erect pink nipples danced in the air, reveling in their freedom. They were free to be kissed; free to be tantalized.
"Ohhh, God!" Joan whimpered, spreading her legs farther apart as Tom's hot mouth plunged from nipple to nipple, titillating each unmercifully. She raised herself slightly upward so she could feel the strong muscles in Tom's intruding thigh probing against the wetness between her legs.
Tom grasped her right hand and pulled it down to the long bulge in his trousers. Joan responded to the silent directive by stroking the throbbing penis while she marveled at its massivity. She rubbed gently at first, then harder, and she could feel her partner's excitement mount steadily. He tapped her shoulder, and she raised her hips again obediently as he quickly stripped her gown from her completely and flung it to one side.
Tom paused long enough to stare down at the female form beneath him. There was no blemish in the sleekly sensuous curves. He could even see the slightly darker patch of her soft blonde pubic hair beneath her skimpy white silk bikini panties. He tugged at them impatiently, and Joan once more lifted her hips to assist in their removal.
Joan rested on her back, scarcely breathing, while Tom hurriedly divested himself of his clothing. She waited for the instant when his straining cock would be freed from his shorts. Even after feeling it, her eyes widened at its sudden appearance. It was both thick and long, huskier than any she had seen. It probed the air proudly as Tom knelt on the seat beside her, and a rippling shiver of salacious anticipation caused the saliva to flow more freely in Joan's mouth as she thought of the big prick's breadth and length plunging deep inside her belly.
Tom knelt above her for an instant, his breath coming in quick, hard gasps. Then he plunged upon her, ravaging her breasts and naked belly with wet kisses. His enormous cock pressed hard against the soft flesh outside her thigh, its heat starting a whole new chain of sensations in her frantic, molten interior. She wriggled beneath him, trying to force it into herself, but Tom was in no hurry.
He stroked her sides and belly and her softly swollen mound. His fingers slid lower and plummeted into the feathery fleeciness of her pubic hair, tickling and teasing until Joan writhed in exquisite sexual agony. Then a finger darted down and plucked lightly at the ragged, fleshy fissure of her sexual parts and slipped inside.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" Joan bleated involuntarily. "Oooooh, Tom!"
She surged upward with her hips to meet the finger and increase the pressure. "God, are you wet!" he exclaimed in surprise. "I could see a damp spot on your panties, but you're really wet"
Wet and unashamed, Joan thought fleetingly as the finger massaged her, rotating inside her in a circulatory movement, manipulating her inside walls with an excruciating deliberateness she had never experienced before. She held her breath as the hand covering her pussy moved slightly so that two fingers widened the lips of her splayed cunt and the finger of another hand massaged her clitoris. She jerked wildly beneath him as a fiery bomb seemed to go off in her interior, and then the finger returned to her lubricated open passage.
"Oh, oh, oh!" Joan cried as pleasurable sensation flooded her.
'How d'you like it?" Tom queried hoarsely.
"Ohhh, yes, yes, yes," Joan sighed. "Please, more!" Her hands cupped her own breasts as Tom's finger thoroughly aroused her as it plunged in and out of her clinging sheath.
Still he continued to manipulate his fingers inside her, sometimes one, sometimes two pressed together. Joan's cunt had felt tight and puckered at first from recent disuse, but as Tom pumped his hard-boring fingers in and out of her she gushed a torrent of sticky wetness over them that seemed to enlarge her materially. She was panting from pleasure unknown in recent months.
"Please, Tom," she whispered as beads of per-s p i r a t i o n formed on her smooth forehead. "Please, I can't stand it any more! Please!"
"What is it you want?" he asked sadistically.
She knew what he meant. "I want you to put your prick in my cunt and f-fuck me!" she said unsteadily, the words at the same time shaming and further stimulating her.
They excited Tom, too. No longer in complete control, he was unable to prolong his titillation of Harry's wife, the target of his sexual ambition for so long. Her desire was so uninhibited and so fierce that he was caught up in her wake. "Yes, now!" he said savagely, and jammed his big cock between her wide-apart legs against the small, hairy, narrow opening of Joan's cunt. He probed brutally for a moment as Joan bit her lip at the soft-lipped entrance-violation taking place.
Then Tom speared her doughnut firmly, shoved in for an inch or two, and lowered himself upon her. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Joan cried out as she felt the big head slip moistly inside her.
Her mouth pursed in half-pained, half-delighted apprehension as she felt it worming-its course so deeply inside her ravening cunt that the hardened flesh seemed to be just, under her breasts.
Joan rocked from side to side as Tom's prick thrust even more deeply into her heaving' belly. "Oooooooh!" She cried shrilly. "It's-in, isn't it?"
For answer Tom surged with his hips, and Joan groaned as another inch of gristle penetrated her quivering sheath. But it was a groan of pleasure as much as it was of pained distention. She thrust her straining thighs even farther apart in an effort to get even more of him inside her. "Ecccccecccell, don't stop!" she burbled. "Don't-stop!"
Tom was surprised at her abandon. Surprised and excited. Here he had been thinking of her as a mealy-mouthed little bitch who wouldn't say shit if she had a mouthful, and beneath him he had a sexual wildcat whom even in preliminary movements seemed to have her handsome bare ass on ball bearings. He hovered above her for a moment, his thick prick sunk inside her to his balls which brushed gently against the' billowing, yielding globes of her bottom.
"Fuck me!" she pleaded. "Fuck me, Tom!"
He began to move upon her, slowly at first. An inch or two of the slippery prick outward, then a deep plunge inward. And again. And again. Then a further withdrawal, and a deeper plunge. He wanted this first fuck to last; wanted her to remember it so there'd be less convincing necessary the next time. Joan moaned at the penetration Tom was achieving, and strained her buttocks upward from the lowered seat, hungry for the plunging rod that was beginning to increase its speed.
Tom lengthened his strokes fractionally each time, grinding his rigid prick into Joan's quivering gash with her groaning beneath him. Mercilessly, he drove his fleshy spike into her crammed cunt-walls while Joan sobbed in sexual frenzy. Her cunt felt as if it were about to explode. Never had she known such excitement as with this oversized cock fucking her furiously.
A succession of electric shocks burst through her body as she grabbed for his shoulders to hold him more closely to her. If the world had come to an end that instant she would have been unable to concentrate upon anything except the fucking she was getting. Her upraised hind cheeks began to twitch spasmodically as the interior muscles in her pussy grabbed at the hard-fucking prick and threatened to freeze upon it.
Then she could feel the deep-stirring tingle presaging her come, and she fought desperately to hold it off. She tried to make each second last as Tom pounded her belly with such furious strokes that she grunted audibly at each impact. Her quivering legs wrapped around him tightly as a giant wave slowly welled up inside her.
The first convulsion started almost lazily. It quivered deep in the pit of her convulsed belly and moved downward to titillate her prick-filled chasm. Joan's half-closed eyes flew wide open. "Oh!" she exclaimed tentatively, and then her cunt boiled over. "Ohhhhh!" she shrieked. "Ooooh! Tom! T-Tom!" Her stomach surged upward as she erupted internally. "Ohhhhhh, yes! Now! NOW! I'm-ooooh! coming! I'm-aaiieeeeeeeeeee!-coming!" Her hands drummed on Tom's shoulders. "OHHHHHHHHHHHH-h-h-h-h!" she expired as her juices filled her passage, lubricating it still more.
Her almost maniacal frenzy overpowered Tom. Shoulders hunched, he almost stood up on his prick as he slashed it into Joan's overflowing orifice. He bellowed like a bull with his lips against her neck as his moment overtook him. With her own frenetic passion subsiding, Joan clasped his shoulders firmly as Tom's buttocks worked like a pile driver as he shot his load into her, hot fluid from his straining cock spurting deep into her wide open cunt.
"Good, good, good, oh good!" Joan whispered when she felt his spend filling her. Tom fell on top of her, completely spent, crushing her with his weight. Her legs splayed limply to either side as she tried to concentrate mentally on the pleasure she had been receiving a moment before.
But with the cessation of activity in the region of her aching pelvis her mind swiveled to other matters. She had loved it while she was getting it, certainly, but it was still wrong. A rising tide of guilt enveloped her. Being fucked by her husband's best friend in his car-what kind of a schoolgirl performance was that? She couldn't tell Harry; she couldn't expect him to understand that his own neglect of her was a primary cause. Not that it was an excuse. There could be no excuse. Her passionate nature had burst its normal discreet boundaries and turned her into a pulsating, slavering, female animal.
Joan stirred uneasily beneath Tom's bulk. "Let me up, Tom," she murmured. "We must have been out of our minds. Suppose someone had come along and seen us?"
He grunted something unintelligible but finally heaved his weight up from her pinioned body. Immediately her stomach and cunt felt chilled with the removal of the warm male body covering them. Joan felt a fresh wave of embarrassment as she realized how she must look, spraddle-legged and still on her back. She sat up hurriedly, snapping her thighs together to conceal the focal point of all that delicious but forbidden activity.
Tom was silently pulling on his underwear, his expression unreadable. Joan scooped up her white bikini panties, still damp from her dance floor excretion, and stuffed them into her handbag. She pulled her dress over her head and wriggled it down over her hips, resting her weight on one plump haunch at a time as she pulled the gown beneath her. She had to get out of the car to get it properly settled around her lower body, and she knew it must be a mass of wrinkles even though she couldn't see clearly in the semi-darkness.
Tom was under the wheel when she got back into the car. He started the engine and had the car in motion before Joan was fairly settled in the seat. She wondered what he was thinking. That his best friend's wife was a hot piece, no better than a whore? She shuddered at the thought that he might tell Harry. "I-I don't know what happened to me, Tom," she said honestly, acutely humiliated that she should have to apologize for her conduct. "Can we-can't we just forget that it ever happened?"
The quick glance he cast in her direction was inscrutable. "We'll talk about it over coffee at your place," he said. The convertible descended swiftly from the hills and nosed through the streets in the direction of Harry and Joan's house.
"There's nothing to talk about, really," Joan declared with attempted firmness. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was after two a.m.! "And I don't think you should be coming into the house at this hour even for coffee."
There was no mistaking the white glint of his teeth as Tom smiled at her remark. "We'll talk," he said with finality.
They completed the balance of the ride in silence. Joan removed her house key from her purse nervously. She didn't understand this new facet of Tom's personality. Surely he didn't expect to trade on her moment of weakness? Just because she had succumbed temporarily to his male strength and her own loneliness?
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