Kitty finally adjusted to her evenings at home with Harold, to retiring precisely at ten, accepting his immediate fuck-thrust without foreplay, handing him the Kleenex box, then hearing the regular breathing of his deep sleep.
It hadn't been like that in the early days of their marriage when he needed her, needed her desperately, and when he wanted her, really wanted her. He had crawled to her then, licking from her toes up, begging entrance to the delights of her pussy.
Kitty kept telling herself she was better off than most. Harold rarely drank too much, chased women or mistreated her. He was cold, but solid: successful, a good provider of clothes, a car of her own, and a home with a pool.
She couldn't stop her restless nights, or the sexual fantasies that crept through her mind the instant she was alone in their sprawling, silent house. But she could keep them to herself.
When strong lust plagued her, made her restless, filled her with the feeling of missing something in life, something basic and important, she ignored it and rearranged the furniture, or went shopping.
Then James came on the scene.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, James came to mow the grass, water and trim the, shrubs.
James never looked at her, which confused Kitty. She was used to having men look at her. When she had been a waitress, they looked at the full swell of her tits as if they wanted to order them instead of the luncheon special.
When she had been a cocktail waitress, they looked at the swell of tit-flesh that threatened to spill out of her scanty uniform. They had looked at the cheeks of her ass and her bare thighs as she walked away to get their drinks. She was used to men looking at her.
She loved it. It was as if their devouring eyes were warm, eager hands exploring her body, creating excitement, desire everywhere they touched.
James never looked at her. When his eyes touched her, which was rare, she had the feeling he was looking through her. His apparent disinterest puzzled her at first, then filled her with a sense of exasperation.
He aroused the longings within that she had learned to ignore, aroused fantasies. The mere sight of his bronzed shoulders, glistening in the hot desert sun, made her wet between the legs.
Even tough it was July and the temperature often went above a hundred, she made a point of going outside for something every time James was working in the lawn. She retrieved glasses left around the pool, wiped down the tile walls of the outside shower.
She lingered outside, her eyes darting to wherever James was working, shirtless, his bronzed skin glistening in the sun, his dark hair bunched over the sweat-band he wore around his forehead. She hoped to catch him looking at her, as other men looked at her, devouring her.
He never did. He was always bent over a lawn tool of some kind, his broad muscular back toward her.
Once, when James was edging the grass near the patio around the swimming pool, she came out in a swimming suit that consisted solely of strings with three small patches. She walked slowly to the diving board and made a graceful swan dive. James didn't even notice.
Feeling frustrated, rejected by a mere lawn man, she retreated into her house. The man was unreal!
"Do we really need him?" she asked Harold one morning, interrupting his concentration on the morning paper.
"What did you say, dear?"
"That gardener! He's costing us an arm and a leg!"
"Let me worry about the bills, dear. You know how hard it is to find a good gardener."
Kitty decided to never go outside again and suffer the humiliation of his disinterest, but she didn't stop looking outside. Every Tuesday and Thursday after Harold left, she ran from room to room, looking out windows until she found where James was working. As she watched him work, her restlessness grew.
It was more than just his muscular build and his handsome, sweat-covered face that attracted her. It was a certain animalistic confidence that made her feel he knew she was watching, and was amused by her interest.
He knew all right, she decided, her humiliation increasing with the knowledge.
And it was all so damned silly! She was a grown woman, edging toward thirty-five, not a teenaged rock fan with a crush on the face and body printed on a poster.
I must get control of this, she decided. I must not let it bug me so much.
The way to do it, she decided, was to face the man, talk to him eyes to eye. Once she got to know him, to see him as a man like all other men, the familiarity would breed contempt. The wild fantasies, the deep hungers would disappear.
She made a pitcher of lemonade, filled a tall glass with ice and marched into the back yard.
"Here," she said, handing him the gins and pouring it full. "This should help fight off the heat."
He looked into her eyes, or rather through her eyes, as if seeing something even Kitty didn't know was there. His face was deeply tanned, dripping with perspiration. His dark eyes gleamed.
"Thank you," he said, emptying the glass with one long drink, then returning it with his eyes still boring into her.
"More?"
"No thank you," he replied, returning to his work.
Kitty returned to her house, more agitated than ever.
Damn him! she thought. Who in the hell does he think he is?
But she wouldn't give up, not yet. At noon, when he normally left for the day, she went out again.
"Wouldn't you like a cool shower before you leave?" she said, expecting the offer to lead to a conversation, a chance to get to know him, to see his weaknesses.
He looked at her as if reading her mind, causing her to blush.
"Good idea," he relied. "Thanks."
He was suddenly standing nude before her, his sweat-stained pants and shirt on the ground at his feet. "Can you throw these in your washer for me?"
Kitty was speechless for a moment, her eyes fixed on the long cock that dangled between his legs. "All right!"
"I'll need a towel, if you have one handy."
She didn't want to look shocked. And why in the hell should she? Sooner or later all of their parties ended up with everybody swimming nude.
Still, her entire body was shaking when she went inside to start the washing machine and get his towel.
When she returned, holding the towel in front of her, he turned off the shower.
"You do it," he said.
It was more of an order than a request.
"That is, if you don't mind," he added, smiling politely.
He knew, Goddamn it! He knew she wanted to touch his beautiful body, to feel the texture of his flesh, to run her fingers over his thighs, his flat stomach. He knew and be was making fun of her. That bastard!
But her sense of embarrassment, her deep humiliation, didn't stop her. Nothing could have stopped her. She began rubbing the soft towel down his muscular chest as she would wipe down the shower wall.
"My feet," he said, his eyes never leaving her. Kitty dropped to her knees without realizing it, bending down like a scrub woman, dabbing at droplets of water on his toes, his ankles, the calves of his well-formed legs. She dried his skin as gently as she would the skin of a baby, then touched him with her fingers, thrilling to the velvet-like smoothness.
She couldn't believe she was doing this. She had caressed the flesh of men before, many men, many times, but always to please them, to con them, to win their approval fin a month's rent on an apartment, a second-hand car, a trip to Hawaii. She had never done it for her own pleasure, not like the pleasure she was feeling now.
She dried his thighs, then touched him again as if starved for the feel of him.
He held his cock so it pointed at her, soft and still moist from the shower. She looked up into his eyes, then thought of Harold, of her marriage that she had to preserve at all costs, of her future.
"No!" she said, almost in a frantic scream.
He grasped a handful of her blonde hair with a broad, powerful hand. "It's what you want. Why pretend?"
He guided her head down between his legs. His cock-shaft went into her mouth like a streak of lightning. She closed her eyes and sucked like a newborn puppy on a mother's tit, feeling his massive cock grow in her mouth, caressing his balls gently, fondly.
She loved it! The realization shocked her. Sucking cocks was a way to please a man, to pay for the gifts he bestowed, for the attention he lavished. Even sucking Harold's cock had been a mission of duty more than an experience of pleasure.
Yet she loved this gardener's cock. She loved the feel of it in her mouth, the smoothness of the hard cock-flesh, the taste of his cock. She loved it!
She sucked hungrily.
Suddenly she pulled back. "No! No!"
She felt the painful jerk of her hair, pulling her head back. Her mouth opened with pain. Then she felt the round hard bulb of his prick touch her lips, and once again she sucked, and she kept sucking. The more his prick grew, the more it throbbed, the harder she sucked. The more she loved it!
Her hands reached around him, squeezing the cheeks of his soft ass, pulling him toward her, filling her mouth with the smooth hard cock-flesh that began to pulsate against her tongue, the inside of her cheeks. Her mouth devoured his prick eagerly, passionately. Her thoughts shot to the moon and tack.
"No!" She cried. "Please…"
Her jerked her head back again, squirting a stream of warm sticky milk-like jism into her face, her eyes, down her nose. She opened her mouth, eager for the taste of it.
Holding the base of his cock with his thumb and forefinger, James snapped his heavy prick across her face, much like a teacher slapping the hand of a misbehaving child with the flat side of a ruler. He slapped her again. And then again.
The soft cock-flesh hit with a thud. The pain was exquisite.
"Get my clothes!" he ordered, and stepped back under the shower.
She took one last look at his bronzed body, standing motionless under the fine spray, his back to her, the tip of his soft prick visible between his legs. She felt an urge to reach between his thighs and squeeze his cock gently, one last time.
"Go!" he snapped, turning off the water and reaching for the towel.
Kitty instinctively raced inside the house, retrieved his clothes from the dryer and returned. As he dressed, she felt a sense of panic.
"You're not leaving!" she said.
"I always leave at this time."
"But…"
He looked into her pleading eyes, a slight smile crawling across his wide, thin lips.
"You have my address," he said – and left.
It was mid-afternoon before Kitty stopped walking in circles throughout the empty house, unable to keep still because of the heat in her pussy.
It was mid-afternoon, after she had brushed her teeth, washed her hair, and taken a scalding shower, that she began to think straight, to realize what had happened to her, to measure the danger, the senseless danger, she had subjected herself to.
What a fool she'd been! What a stupid, childish fool! If Harold had come home unexpectedly. If one of the neighbors had dropped by for coffee. If she could have lost everything! Everything she had always dreamed of having. Never again, she decided firmly. Never, never, never again!
Harold came home later than usual, exhausted. She mixed him a tall gin and tonic as he undressed for a dip before dinner. Kitty rarely joined him for his before-dinner swims. She didn't like to get her hair wet. This time she did, diving in nude, edging close to him as he paused at the deep end before pushing for a series of laps.
As her tit rubbed against his forearm, he looked at her with a frown.
"Now look at your hair!" he snapped, then pushed off and began swimming laps.
Precisely at ten he went to bed. Kitty joined him completely nude. Her fingers touched the inside of his thigh gently, hesitantly.
"I've had a busy day, Kitty," be mumbled, turning his back to her and falling asleep immediately.
"Pack my bag," he ordered as soon as she got up the next morning. "I'll be in 'Frisco until Saturday night."
She felt both relief and fear over his leaving. She needed some time alone, time to sleep late, then to watch some soaps and stay up for a late movie, time to get her head straight, firmly straight.
So finally had everything she had always wanted – plus a sense of security she once feared she would never have. She had worked for it, worked hard. And she was going to keep it!
Nothing was going to take it away from her! Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
At ten o'clock she drank a glass of white wine to help her sleep. It didn't. Neither did a double gin and tonic. At eleven she stopped fighting it and drove to a run-down neighborhood across town, where house numbers were either missing or too faded to read in the dark.
She looked until she found James' pick-up truck in a carport.
He lived in a small, unpainted, two-bedroom house, sitting in a row of small unpainted houses, all deteriorating at about the same speed. But it wasn't the shabbiness Kitty noticed, or the smallness.
It was the smell. The instant James opened his front door, the smell engulfed her. It was the smell of yesterday's garbage, sweaty clothes, a pile of greasy dishes in the kitchen sink. She almost vomited.
He was in his shorts, barefoot, unshaven, hair tousled. He didn't invite her in. He merely stepped back and allowed her to enter, then closed the door behind her and clicked off the blaring television set, making no effort to scrape away the litter of discarded clothes and newspapers that cluttered the cramped living room.
There was one short easy chair in front of the TV. In it were the work clothes he had worn all day.
"Aren't you going to offer me a chair?" she asked.
"I've only got one, mine."
"Harold's in San Francisco," she said, feeling obligated to say something by way of an explanation.
He was looking through her again, his dark eyes gleaming with a superior smile. She wondered what he saw, what he was thinking. She wondered why she had come.
"Beer?" he finally offered. "No thank you."
He led the way into a small bedroom, as if talking big her on a tour of his house. The sheets were gray and tangled. The odor of locker-room sweat was overpowering. He clicked off the light.
Kitty stood frozen as he quickly unbuttoned her blouse, removed it, then unsnapped her bra.
"You don't waste time," she said. His powerful hands squeezed her tits painfully. "Oh!" she squealed.
He squeezed again, more painfully.
"Please, James!"
"It's what you came for, isn't it?"
Was it? She felt confused, uncertain of what she wanted, fascinated by his confidence, as if he knew, as if he knew her better than she knew herself.
He pushed her backwards onto the bed, then peeled down her shorts and panties. Suddenly he was sitting on her, his limp prick resting in the valley between her tits.
"You're… you're hurting me!" she said, hardly able to breathe.
A laugh came from deep in his throat. His eyes gleamed in the darkness.
He lifted her legs onto his shoulders as he would two small sticks, then buried his head in the moist patch of cunt-hair. His hands grabbed both tits, his fingers pinching her nipples.
"Oh!" she screamed again, feeling her pussy get moist as his warm tongue darted inside her, feeling pleasure like she had never felt before, pleasure mixed with the sharp pain from his grip on her nipples.
Her legs went around his neck, pulling his face into her. She squealed, then muffled her sounds by putting her fist in her mouth, biting hard on her own knuckles.
"Nobody will bear you," he said, grabbing the cheeks of her ass with powerful hands and squeezing them red.
"Eat it!" she suddenly screamed, her words coming as a surprise to her. "Eat my hot pussy!"
His tongue darted faster, deeper. His teeth locked onto soft, wet flesh, causing a loud scream of pain. His long tongue slid deep into her cunt-tunnel, touching places that had never been touched, in a way she had never before experienced.
"Oh my God!" she screamed, her teeth clenched. "I love it, James! My God how I love it!"
Her first orgasm, the first real orgasm she had experienced in a long time, came suddenly, unexpectedly, and lasted for a sweet eternity. Her breath caught in her throat. When she finally gasped for air, the odor that saturated the room was no longer there. The foul, nauseating stench had become the sweet smell of sensuous pleasure.
She came again, with such force she thought she might faint. She loved the smell of him now. She wanted to smell his arm pits, his asshole.
"Now it's your turn," he said, picking her up and literally dropping her on the hard floor beside the bed. He pulled her face between his legs. "I like a fast tongue!"
She licked his growing cock-shaft, his sweaty balls, the crack under his balls. She felt her mouth moisten as saliva dripped down his ball-sac, then she head a wild sucking sound, the obscene sound of animals devouring their kill, lapping at fresh meat with a hunger that was insatiable.
At first she couldn't believe she was making such sounds, or that she was listening to them with the fascination of one hypnotized by the smell, the feel, the sound of animal passion. She couldn't believe she was on her bare knees on a hard floor, dripping her saliva over cock-flesh that smelled of grit and sweat, yet tasting it with erotic pleasure.
She couldn't believe the pain in her knees, the sudden jerking of her hair, the kneading of her shoulders and nipples by strong, cruel fingers was sending streaks of pleasure through her body that made this horrible moment one of exquisite desire.
She couldn't believe how much she loved the hot come that gushed into her hungry mouth.
"Swallow it!" he commanded.
She instinctively, happily, crazily obeyed, then fell in a heap on the floor, her hand caressing his soft cock, the salt-like drops of come drooling from one corner of her mouth.
James went to the kitchen for a beer, took a long swallow, then poured in a double shot of whiskey.
"Here," he said, grabbing a handful of hair and jerking her head up, tilting the can to her lips. She swallowed greedily.
James clicked on the overhead light and plopped on the bed with his boilermaker, looking down at her curled body remaining motionless, totally comfortable, on the hard floor.
"Had enough?" he growled.
Kitty's eyes remained closed. A faint smile parted her full lips. "There isn't enough."
He gave her another swig of the boilermaker, the high-powered liquid joined the white come that dripped from her chin, onto her tits.
"There's more," he said, finishing the beer with one long pull.
He scooped her off the floor and headed for the one easy chair in the living room.
"I thought nobody sat in that chair but you," she said.
"You aren't sitting in it," he said, draping her body over the soft back of the chair, the cheeks of her ass pointing toward the ceiling, her face buried in the smelly work clothes in the seat.
He stood behind the chair, rubbing his cock against her asshole.
"No, James! No!" she protested.
He stuck his finger in first. She felt like he was ripping her apart.
"Oh!" she cried.
"Yell your guts out if you want," he said. "Nobody can hear you."
He lunged forward to get the head of his cock into the tight opening. Kitty clenched her teeth, trying not to cry out from the pain, her face buried in the crotch of his work pants wadded in the chair, pants still damp from sweat.
He lunged deeper, penetrating virgin territory, painfully, steadily.
The pants began to smell sweet as Kitty became dizzy from a combination of pain and pleasure.
"Stop!" she said. "Please, please stop!"
He lunged harder, deeper.
She licked the crotch of his sweat-soaked pants, then sucked the moist material into her mouth and chewed it. It tasted salty, then sweet.
The pain in her ass soon lessened. His fingers reached for her pussy, working her clit. She felt his fingers become moist and slick from her fuck-fluids.
She sighed, feeling all of her inhibitions dissolve in the acid thrill of supreme pleasure. She licked at his pants, his shirt, wishing for his shorts, his socks. She had a hunger for any and all of him.
"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me, James! Fuck my ass!"
His come gushed into her body, then rolled in a warm sticky stream down the inside of her thigh.
She felt like she was going to faint. She fought it.
The sensation was too great, too wonderful to miss.
She didn't want to faint. She wanted to feel.
She had a strange urge to roll over and lick his come from the inside of her leg.
"Enough?" he asked, returning from the kitchen with another boilermaker.
Kitty stood on wobbly legs, clutching his discarded pants in her hand. She pressed the wadded piece of clothing to her face and inhaled deeply.
"There'll never be enough," she whispered.
James nodded skeptically, with disbelief. She would change her mind tomorrow, after she thought of what she had to lose if her husband found out. They all thought like that in the light of a new day. Then she would decide to climb back into the role of proper housewife.
"I want to see you again," she said, rubbing her hand between his legs, offering her lips, her tongue, thrilling to the feel of his unshaven face, the vile smell of beer and whiskey on his breath, the taste of her pussy-juices in his mouth.
She would change her mind, he thought. Her type always did after fearing a suspicious glance from the husband who paid all the bills.
What the hell, he'd make it easy for her. And why not? There were others out there, bored, huffing, just waiting for the right moment, the right man. James never had a problem finding a woman.
He grasped her left tit and squeezed until she cried out in pain, falling on her knees before him. Instead of screaming in protest as he expected, her mouth opened, her tongue lapped at his cock like a puppy wanting to please a master.
He slapped his semi-hard cock hard against one side of her face, then slapped the palm of his hand against the other.
"Get the hell out!" he said harshly, shoving her toward the door. He threw her clothes at her then disappeared into the kitchen for another beer and whiskey.
Kitty returned home in a daze – hurt and confused – but physically satisfied, totally satisfied. She felt grateful for the pain and confusion. It would help her to do what she knew she had to do.