"Christ, Jill, you're not going to unpack now, are you? I thought we were going down to the bar for a drink?"
"If I get it done now, it won't be any trouble later on," answered the beautiful young woman standing by the edge of the bed.
Tom Parker sighed with impatience, looked around the luxuriously decorated living room of the small resort cottage, and then lowered his tall, muscular frame into an armchair in the corner of the room, watching as his wife opened their suitcases and began to unpack. Tom's throat was parched after their long drive to Hidden Valley Resort, and he was really looking forward to that drink. His wife had been frustratingly disagreeable the whole trip, and this last bit of petulance only served to increase Tom's own irritation. He would have much preferred to leave his young wife at home for this week's trip, after all, it was supposed to be a business conference but Harry Sommers, Tom's boss, had insisted that he bring Jill along and there had been nothing he could do. It was going to be a terrible week, Tom decided, and that unpleasant thought made him get up from the armchair and begin to pace the room impatiently.
"Look, Jill, it's hot as hell in here. We'll turn on the air conditioning, and by the time we get back, this place will be bearable."
"I'd rather get it done now, Tom," said Jill, in a tone that clearly showed her own impatience.
"But we agreed that before we did any unpacking, we'd go down to the bar…" Tom began with overbearing exaggeration.
"You go down to the bar if you want to," Jill said testily. "I'm going to unpack. And I want to get a shower and change clothes."
"What the hell do you have to change clothes for?"
"Because I want to! Is that all right with you?"
Tom stood staring at his wife, and then turned abruptly toward the door. "Jesus! This week is getting off to a fine start!" he said angrily.
"Well, that's not my fault, damn it!" Jill shot back at him. "Maybe if you tried treating me with a little.
"Oh, for God's sake, Jill, don't start, all right?"
"You're the one who started!"
Tom felt the blood rush to his face as he really became angry now, and he felt the tension from the long, five hour drive to the resort that day begin to escape his control. Before he lost his temper completely, he moved quickly to the front door of the cabin.
"I'll be down in the bar… but don't hurry down or anything!"
"I won't," Jill said, but her words were cut off by the slamming of the front door. As the sound of the footsteps on the gravel walkway died away, Jill sighed, and then moved across to throw herself into the armchair her husband had just vacated. She passed a hand across her face and then leaned wearily back into the softness of the plush armchair.
Jill Parker was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that. She was medium height and on the slender side, with breasts slightly larger than usual for her build, boyish hips, and long, finely sculptured legs. Her feet were small and her waist was waspish, highlighting her firm young breasts even more so. Her face was oval and had high cheek bones, a pert, upturned nose, and almond shaped eyes with very dark, very deep pupils. Her lips were naturally full, red, rarely needing much lipstick, and they were relatively thin, although her lower lip curved outwards and down in a constant mock pout. Her satin textured skin was of a golden hue as though she had a tan the year around, and her honey blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders to cameo her face in its silken softness. There was an air of independence in that face, and at first glance one might take her as being headstrong, impulsive, and full of the love for danger.
However, the surface appearance of Jill Parker was different than the young woman beneath. For all her functional, no-nonsense ways, there was still the child inside who needed to be comforted and tenderly encouraged and, yes, even protected. Jill Parker had fears and inhibitions and restraining ties which had made her life one long series of taboos. She couldn't do this, she didn't like to do that, she refused to do another. She was afraid of herself, a fear that dated back to her earliest childhood when her mother had raised her with the insistent use of a willow rod on the backsides, and father had gruffly rejected her tentative feelers for affection, since he hadn't wanted the girl in the first place.
In the hands of a kind, gentle, patient man, the childhood damage to Jill could probably have been undone in time. That man could have become a replacement father for the one she never had, and she could have trusted him and believed in what he directed her to do. Her mental legs, so long undernourished, would have been weak at first, but with care they could have grown strong until she would have been able to stand on her own two feet. But Tom Parker, for all his good points, was too young, too barren of experience, too impulsive to take that needed time. He only saw the surface, and consequently was distressed, hurt, and confused when she could not respond the way he had expected her to.
Yet who could blame him for not seeing his wife's weaknesses? She hid them well under a hard surface, and denied vehemently that she was anything, save what she seemed. Ironically, it was this same undercurrent of frailty which was both wrecking their marriage and keeping it together, for she fought for her marriage when a more independent woman would have decided that the marriage wasn't worth saving any longer. She couldn't afford to admit failure, not after the unconscious feeling that she had failed miserably as a child. For included in her fear of losing Tom was also the fear to really change into the full-blooded woman he desired. It was a vicious circle, and one that she hoped could be broken for good by going to Hidden Valley Resort.
Jill had been overjoyed that she'd been invited for this week's conference along with her husband, and had looked forward to it with eager anticipation. Tom's company, the Jamieson Advertising Agency, had reserved space in the luxurious resort for a whole week and Tom, as one of the agency's newest and best young account executives, had been invited to the conference over a month ago. He hadn't been happy about bringing his wife along, Jill knew; but Harry Sommers, the president of Jamieson, had insisted all the executive's wives be present, and he'd had no choice. But all during the long drive up to the resort, Tom had made it clear to his beautiful young wife that he would much rather have used the week as a vacation from the tensions and general unpleasantness of their marriage.
They hadn't talked much on the five-hour drive, and when they did speak, it was to pick up on the small, petty quarrels that seemed to fill their days together now. Tom had been tense, and she had been unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of venting his irritation on her with impunity, and so they'd sat silent for the greater part of the trip, rather bearing that uncomfortable silence than taking the risk of another argument. And besides, nothing had to be said; their marriage had deteriorated to the point where words were useless vestiges and used more to hurt than to communicate. She had learned her husband's ways well enough to know what his irritability would mean for her tonight. She knew the scene which would happen as it had happened so many times over the last three years, and she dreaded it.
She knew that tonight, in the privacy of their room, Tom would come at her like an uncontrolled animal, demanding sex rapaciously, tearing into her with his lust-hardened penis without thought to her requirements or wishes, but only to use her as a receptacle for his scalding male seed. And she also knew of her complete inability to respond under such horrible, animalistic circumstances. She froze in terror at times like that, her vaginal passage always woefully unprepared and her legs locked in rejection. No, there was no tenderness, no affection, no "love" in it. It was. what was the word Tom used? Yes… it was fucking… and that lewd word described exactly the nightmarish act of perversion which he perpetrated on her defenseless genitals.
Fuck… Jill shivered from the evilness of that foul, ugly monosyllable. She hated that word and what it stood for, but when she pleaded for Tom not to use it, he only laughed sardonically and called her frigid, a Goddamn icebox on legs with as much sex drive as an iron radiator. Their marital bed was a place to sleep and that was all, for as he became more frustrated with her unresponsiveness, the harsher he got; and the harsher he got, the less she was able to give of herself
Jill sighed a deep almost silent sigh of resignation, and got up to finish the unpacking. She knew, though she didn't want to admit it, that her hopes that the week at Hidden Valley Resort might act as some kind of catalyst for the salvation of her marriage, were ridiculously impossible. No, this week would be like any other week, full of resentment, anger, incriminations, recriminations. Jill knew that there was only one answer, however painful that answer was. Unless this week miraculously brought an end to the pain and frustration of their marriage, she knew that divorce was the only way out. And she wondered, reluctantly, whether that would upset her husband in the least.
Tom Parker made his way into the crowded bar, and glanced around at the casually dressed crowd. The room was cool and dark, a welcome change from the almost unbearable heat of the day outside. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he made out his boss, Harry Sommers, and a beautiful woman lounging at one end of the bar.
"Hey there, Tom old boy, come on in and have a drink!" Harry Sommers voice was loud and a little strident as he caught sight of Tom and called to him across the room.
The young ad executive made his way through the jumble of cocktail tables, and smiled widely as he came up to the couple, sticking out his hand to grasp tightly that of Harry Sommers, president of Jamieson Advertising.
"Tom, this is my wife, Gay. I don't think you've met."
"Sure we have, Harry, you fool. At Will Bennet's party. Remember?" Gay Sommers' voice was smooth and lilting, like a cool drink on a hot day. "How are you, Tom?"
"Just fine, Mrs. Sommers. How are you?"
"Oh my, `Mrs. Sommers.' " Gay teased. `We're not at the office now, are we?"
Tom laughed, and leaned across to the beautiful brunette. "All right, I get the message. But you never know what putting people on a first name basis can do. You know, familiarity breeds contempt."
Gay laughed gaily, and hooked her hand around Tom's muscular arm. "Well, what do you say we risk it?" she giggled.
"Hey, watch it now!" Harry Sommers laughed, "That's my wife you're getting familiar with."
"Don't pay any attention to him, Tom. He's just jealous," Gay smiled, with something secret playing around behind her eyes. Her husband smiled back at her, and then turned to his young account executive again.
"Say, Tom, where's Jill?"
"Oh, she's unpacking, I think."
"Hell, you mean you put her to work while you go out drinking? Now there's a man after my own heart."
"No, I… I told her to come on down," Tom said, "But she wanted to get all unpacked first. She'll be down in a little while."
"Great, great! We've got to go unpack ourselves. But we may be back down later on." Harry said.
"Can't I buy you a drink or something?" Tom offered.
"No, we've really got to get settled in…" Harry's voluptuous wife smiled, "But thanks anyway."
"All right, I'll see you later, then." Tom smiled at them as they got up from their stools. "But meanwhile, I'm going to get me something to wash five hours of driving down my throat."
"Nice to meet you again, Tom," Gay Sommers said in a sudden throaty voice as her husband walked to the other end of the bar to pay their check. "I hope I get to see a lot of you this week."
Tom paused. Was it his imagination, or was there a hidden meaning somewhere in the tone of voice Gay was using? God, it sounded almost as if she were suggesting that he and she… No! It must be his imagination.
"I hope so too, Gay," he smiled, and then watched after her as she moved across the crowded room and joined her husband by the door. Her hips moved provocatively against the thin material of her light dress, and her smoothly rounded buttocks danced in rhythm to the graceful tempo of her walk.
Hell, she must be a holy terror in bed, Tom thought to himself, and then raised his hand to return Gay's wave as she and Harry left the bar. Turning to sit on the stool she'd just left, Tom let his mind wander through fleeting visions of Gay Sommers and then laughed at himself All he needed to do was get involved with the boss's wife.
Tom signaled the bartender, thought a moment, and then ordered a gin and tonic. That ought to take the heat of the day and cool it off some. As he waited for his drink, he thought again of Gay Sommers, only this time his mind moved quickly to uncomfortable images of his own wife, Jill. When they'd married, he had loved her deeply; but that seemed like a thousand years ago now, and a lot of things had happened in the three years of living together. They were incompatible, that's all; unable to adjust to one another's needs socially or sexually, and no amount of trying to start over was going to change that fact.
Tom knew that Jill considered this week as yet another chance to try to bring about a reconciliation, and it irritated him. It was too late for that kind of innocent romanticism. It wasn't going to work. He knew it in his bones. There was just too much wrong with their life as man and wife to have Hidden Valley Resort cure it in a week. Not that he disliked Jill, he assured himself He still had feelings for her, and he hoped the best for her. She was good-looking enough to snare another man without too much trouble – one who had a sex-drive which needed fulfilling one night a month. But Tom knew that he just couldn't take it much longer. It was bad enough having a wife who was cold as an iceberg. It was intolerable when she blamed him for it, though.
Tom was on his second drink when he looked up into the mirror that ran the length of the wall behind the bar, and saw his wife standing in the front entrance. He didn't turn around, but waited until she had spotted him across the room, and came over to sit beside him on the high bar stool. He didn't speak first.
"Darling, why don't we sit at a table, these things are terribly uncomfortable." Jill said hesitantly.
"Hell, they're all right."
"Please darling"
Tom cursed under his breath, as though her request were totally irrational and demanded a great effort to satisfy, and stood up from his stool, gathering his drink in his hand. Quickly, Jill climbed off her stool, and followed him across the room to an empty table. As she walked, she noticed her husband's large, powerfully built neck and arms, the legacy of a brief but successful career as a collegiate gymnast. His tall, lean frame moved easily through the tangle of small tables, and Jill noticed his muscular body drawing the covetous glances of many of the women in the bar. It was always like this, though, wherever she went with her husband. Tom's handsome, almost innocently open face had caused him to be the target of many a willing girl's schemes before his marriage; and now, Jill had to admit, things hadn't really changed that much. As far as she knew, Tom had always been faithful to her, but her innate doubts and fears were continually convincing her that her husband's recurring dissatisfaction with her might easily lead him into the arms of another woman. They sat down at a little table in the corner of the room, and Tom signaled the waitress. Jill really didn't want anything to drink, but she ordered anyway, knowing that it angered Tom if she didn't drink along with him.
Jill's husband didn't talk very much, and when he did it was only to offer some new complaint about that afternoon's ride, or about Jill herself Tom carefully reserved his complimentary opinions for the occasional appearance of a bikini-clad beauty who would come into the bar from the swimming pool to get a drink. His comments about the girls were both crude and admiring; he often talked about the way other girls looked and acted in front of his wife, knowing it bothered her. It was a sort of constant underhanded dig at her as though she needed to be continually reminded that she wasn't wife enough for him.
Tom drank heavily, and Jill matched him. If she didn't, then he would sit and stare at her impatiently until she had drained her glass and they could reorder. He would not buy a drink for himself alone. Jill found herself getting high quite soon, and no wonder. Neither had eaten since breakfast, they had been keyed up all day and were now exhausted.
The atmosphere between them was strained and brittle, like a finely charged high tension wire, ready to explode at any moment. The silence wasn't even so much a result of that day's irritation as it was the cumulative result of all the arguments and tension that had occurred in the past; cumulative because Tom and Jill never really settled an argument, or cleared the air. Because of their inability to communicate, the void between them was left charged with all the bitterness and acrimony of past campaigns, lost and won, and this in turn left open wounds that were easily inflamed by the slightest word or deed.
"Tom, darling, can we get some dinner, please? These drinks are really going to my head."
"Christ, Jill, we just got here. Let me relax a minute, OK?"
You've been here at least twenty minutes."
Tom cursed under his breath, looked away across the room, and then back at his wife.
"You go get yourself some dinner if you want, but don't start nagging me, all right?" he spat at her.
"I wasn't nagging, darling, I only said…" Jill started.
"I know what you said, so why don't you just button it up!"
Jill lowered her eyes to her lap, and tried to fight off the tears that threatened suddenly to spring into her eyes, Why, oh why, was it always like this? Why couldn't they be happy and uncomplicated? Why did they have to insult, dig at, and humiliate each other all the time? Why couldn't they just be easy with each other?
"You can become a nag," Tom continued relentlessly, `the minute you become a wife, but not before. Understand?"
"Please, Tom.
"I tell you what," Tom said, a sadistic leer crossing his face. "I'll give you a chance to be a wife right now. How about going back to the cottage and seeing if these drinks have thawed you out at all?"
"Go back to…?" Jill stammered, looking up fearfully.
"Sure. Seeing all this tail around here has made me horny as hell. Let's go back to the room and fuck! Now!" Tom grinned evilly as he saw the reaction his words had on his wife.
A slight tremor of agony rippled through Jill. There was nothing she wanted to do less right now than to submit to her husband's violent lovemaking. And now, it would even be worse than usual, because he was slightly drunk, and that caused him to be even more demanding, more cruel than he normally was. Jill searched her brain to find a way to postpone the inevitable moment when she would be forced to bend before his irrational lust.
"Well, what about it?" Tom rambled on, enjoying the torment he knew he was putting his wife through. "Are you going to be a dutiful wife and take care of my great big hard-on, or not?"
"Tom, please… you know I want to try to please you, but can't we get something to eat first? Then, if you want.
"Please me?" Tom interrupted. "I don't want you to please me for God's sake! I want you to please us both, don't you understand that? I want to have you enjoy my loving, be excited by it, be… " Tom stared into the unresponsive eyes of his wife, and gave up trying to explain his feelings to her. After all, he'd tried many times before, to no avail. And he could still see the same look in her face, the look that told him she thought he was a beast simply for wanting to have a meaningful sexual relationship with his wife.
"Oh, to hell with it!" he finally stated flatly. "You don't understand and you never will. You think sex is something dirty, and completely separated from love. Well, it isn't… but you're too Goddamned frigid to realize that."
"Tom, please," Jill began, "It's not that.
"It is that, sweet little wife of mine. You're a lousy piece of tail, and you always will be!"
With that biting insult, Tom got up and pushed his chair back from the table, motioning to a cocktail waitress across the room.
"Tom, where are you going?"
"Out, baby… Just out. Maybe I can find a little action around this place. It's a cinch I'm not going to find it with you!" "Tom!"
The waitress came over, and before Jill could say anything more, Tom had given her instructions to serve his wife whatever she wanted and to put it on his room bill, and then he was gone, disappearing out the door without so much as a backward look in Jill's direction. Jill sat, stunned, not able to believe what he had just said. He was going to find a little action? The depth of the insult only gradually made itself clear to Jill's liquor-fogged brain.
"What can I get you, deane?"
The voice brought Jill's mind back to the present, and her eyes came up to meet those of the smiling waitress. She didn't answer right away.
"If you'll pardon my suggesting something," said the waitress gently, "a little Drambuie always helps calm you down."
"Yes… yes please, that will be fine," Jill answered vaguely, hardly aware of what the girl was saying. In no time Jill found a slender glass in front of her, filled with the thick, rich drink.
"There you are deane, that will settle you down."
Jill picked up the glass and sipped it, and was pleasantly surprised by the drink's good taste.
"That's fine," she said to the waitress. "Thank you very much."
The waitress smiled again understandingly, and left, leaving Jill to her thoughts. Tears of anguish began to form in the young wife's beautiful eyes, and a choking sob threatened to force itself out of her tortured throat. It was no good. It was all over, she knew that now. There was no hope for her marriage, and she was suddenly reluctant to even try any more. Her life seemed to be lying in pieces around her, all her hopes and dreams shattered into a thousand pieces impossible to ever repair. And it was all her fault.. she wouldn't blame Tom if he went off with another woman tonight.. and never came back.
The smarting insults of her husband filled her brain, convincing her that she was frigid, did think lovemaking was sick and depraved, never had allowed herself to experience the joys of sex. She was a prude, like Tom always said, and not fit for the love of any man. "Mrs. Parker?"
The gentle voice surprised Jill, and she looked up to find herself looking up into the kindly face of a man about forty-five years old, fairly short and stocky, with a little mustache lining the crevice of his upper lip. Somehow the man looked vaguely familiar.
"I'm not sure you know me, Mrs. Parker, but I'm Harry Sommers."
Of course, the president of Jamieson Advertising! Jill made an attempt to compose herself into some semblance of normality.
"Oh yes… yes, Mr. Sommers… how do you do?"
"Oh, I'm just fine. I recognized you, believe it or not, from the photograph on your husband's desk at work. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Well, I… I was just leaving Mr. Sommers… "Jill began.
"Call me Harry, all right? And if you don't mind, I'll call you Jill. It makes everything less formal." The older man's eyes were shining, taking in every curve of his employee's beautiful young wife.
"Of course… Harry " Jill managed unwilling to let him see how upset she was. "I'd love to sit and talk, but I'm really very tired from the trip and… and I've got to get unpacked and everything.
"I thought Tom said you had already unpacked," Harry smiled
"Oh, you've seen Tom?"
"Yes, we were here in the bar when he came in.
"Oh… well. I didn't quite finish before I came down, and… Jill's voice trailed off in confusion, and there was an uncomfortable pause in their conversation.
`Well, then, I'll walk you back to your cottage?" Harry offered, coming around Jill to hold her chair.
"Oh no, you don't have to do that…!" But when she stood, Jill staggered and she realized she had had more to drink than she thought. "Oh my, I'm a little unsteady."
"Yes, you certainly are," said Harry, quickly taking her arm with one hand. "Let me help you. It's no trouble at all, believe me."
Jill was suddenly thankful for her husband's boss's help as she recognized that she was, in fact, drunk, and without noticing it, she leaned against him as they made their way to the door of the bar. They made their way out of the main lodge, and into the glare of the summer sun outside. As they began the walk to Jill's cottage, Harry suddenly spoke.
"I hope you'll pardon me for asking, but you seemed kind of down in the dumps back there."
Jill hesitated, and tried to control her voice.
"Oh it was nothing… really," she answered with difficulty.
"Tom was in the bar when we left," Harry said carefully, looking down at the voluptuously ripened body of his employee's wife with obvious appreciation. "Didn't he wait for you?"
And suddenly without meaning to, Harry's words caused a sob to rise in Jill's throat. She tried to catch it, failed, and found herself crying out loud. She must be drunk! She was making a fool of herselfi
"Why Jill, what's the matter?" said Harry, with apparent concern in his voice.
"Nothing… really… nothing…" But she was unable to stem the weeping now that it had begun, and leaning heavily upon Harry Sommer's strong arm, she sobbed out her anguish and torment. He moved his arm around her slender shoulders, and tried to comfort her.
"Look," he said, "There's something that's troubling you deeply. Let's go to my cottage and talk about it."
"No… I couldn't, My… husband would mind that, I'm sure."
"Would you want Tom to see you like this?" prodded Harry, with a strange insistency.
In a burst of honesty, Jill blurted, "He… he's probably not in anyway. I don't know where he is."
"Ah, the truth will win out," smiled Harry gently. "I thought as much. I saw you with Tom in the lounge, and when he walked away and then you started to cry, I just couldn't let the matter rest. Please… trust me. It's not only because Tom is an employee of mine… I want to help because you two seem like such great kids."
The tortured, beaten girl nodded mutely and as though drugged, she allowed Harry to lead her to his own cottage. Entering the front door, she almost toppled onto the small couch, and then she hung her head, burying her face in her tiny, trembling hands. "Oh, Mr. Sommers. I don't know what to do" she wailed in a broken slurred voice.
"Call me Harry," he urged, sitting down next to her. He took one tightly clenched fist and uncurled her fingers and placed a tumbler in her hand. "Here. more Drambuie. I saw that the waitress had given some to you and she was right. It does help soothe."
Jill was unsure whether she should have any more to drink. She already had consumed more liquor than she ever had before, and her head was spinning terrible. She couldn't think straight, couldn't control her innermost emotions from breaking through the layer of propriety and modesty. Everything was so mixed up, and it seemed that only Harry Sommers and the Drambuie were between her and complete mental collapse. She sipped the drink, and the burning softness of its honeyed taste did help. Harry was right there, too, so near and so kind..
She talked to Harry then, pouring out her heart to him in total freedom, sipping often and occasionally stopping her confession in order to cry or use a handkerchief And Harry stayed on the couch, pouring a little more of the Drambuie when necessary, always using a soothing calm voice to commiserate or ask a question. The liquor and the almost soporific tone of voice and the relaxation of her mind as she poured out her agonies made Jill drift as time passed, and she found it much more restful to lay her head against the back of the couch and shut her eyes as she talked.
She barely was cognizant that her hand which did not hold the glass of Drambuie was being stroked tenderly between two soft palms. Only that there was a pleasant sensation, as though she was being sent to sleep by a loving parent.
From far, far away came the slumbering drone of Harry's voice. "Poor Jill," he murmured, "Poor, poor Jill."
The torpor increased, and Harry's words faded into meaninglessness. There only remained the sound of that soft, hypnotic voice and the increasing fog of alcohol and the soothing feel of his fingers upon hers.
"I'll rub your head, Jill," Harry said. "Would you like that? I know you would
"Yes… yes," she heard herself say. but it was from miles away. And then she felt her temple and forehead being rubbed and contentment flow through her… and she began to drift farther and farther into the nether world. It was an escape from her life with her husband, abandonment of her travails and woes, total denial of herself and her inner conflicts. There was a small warning voice in the back of her head saying that she should stop, she should get up and leave… but it was too far away and she disregarded it.
"You need understanding, Jill," the mesmerizing intonations of Harry Sommers continued in her ear. "Understanding and a different kind of love. A gentle love, a painless love." "Yesssss.
"You're a beautiful woman, Jill… so beautiful. Soft skin like velvet to the touch. You like my touch upon it, don't you? Yes, you do. I can tell that you like my touch… let me touch your body and massage it as I am your head.
"Yes… please yes… " Jill replied thickly, still not comprehending his words, but only his hypnotically wonderful sound.
And then Harry moved his hands across Jill's smooth white throat and down her shoulders and along her sides, carefully avoiding her full upthrust breasts. Then, slowly, he insinuated a finger, then two, then all five under the edge of her sweater and began to rub the flat plane of her naked stomach in a circular motion. Then upwards, across her rib cage and then tentatively brushed across the cotton cups of her brassiere. Then back down to her belly and below… a grazing touch in the triangle of her tightly closed thighs.
Jill moaned slightly, and if she had been more conscious she would have reacted with righteous indignation at this blatant disregard of her modesty. But now her mind was asleep, and her young, sensually aware body, long overdue for it's say in her life, began to automatically respond to his caresses. Her hips undulated slightly, and she unconsciously squirmed her firmly rounded buttocks down against the couch cushion. Lovely she thought, so lovely… so nice… and then Harry parted her sensuously-curving thighs and slowly slipped his hand up between her legs, rubbing and kneading the soft, still panty covered vaginal mound. Jill began to squirm more freely and tiny beads of working perspiration broke out on her forehead, and her dazed mind said nice… Tom is so nice to me for a change.
"Give me a hand, dear," Harry's soft, gentle voice demanded. "Give me your hand. Obediently Jill lifted one hand and Harry took the glass from it and placed it on the table. Then he placed her hand on his thigh and he reached over and ever so slowly slid the sweater up under her arms, pulling up the wool to reveal the now gently rising and falling breasts straining against the confinement of her brassiere. His hand went around one full cup and squeezed lightly, stroking the cloth and rubbing his finger over the tip. He could tell that her softly quivering breast was hardening into a firm fleshy ball of sexual excitement, and that under his ministrations, her nipple had become like a diamond chip, ready to burst in full erection if given the opportunity. And Harry was the one to offer just such an opportunity. He bent further forward, touched his lips to hers, and flicked his tongue inside her warm wet mouth while his hand made tantalizing little caresses against her nylon-clad cuntal crevice up between her limply open legs.
Jill moaned, and in a response she was consciously unaware of, she raised her other arm and wrapped it around Harry's neck. and stretched her lush young body out, her passion growing hot and eager, and threatening to overcome her. Her wetly quivering vaginal lips were swelling in their hunger and she began to splay her legs out so that his gently working hand could gain deeper entrance and more area of her now eagerly pulsing cunt
"Arch your back, dear," Harry sighed, "Arch your back so that I can take your bra off"
She did without question, lost in the vaporous madness of liquor and sensuality. There came the touch of his fingers on the strap, the hooking of his hand so that the little snaps would come undone… and then her brassiere was free.
A little puff of air crossed over her now ripely exposed breasts, and her hard, red tinted nipples, so perfectly formed and centered in the darker pools of her aureolas, jumped with the sudden turgidness that comes from need… and it was that distinct feeling, that difference between being dressed and being naked, which finally snapped Jill into awareness. She was still drunk, and still hazy as to what and where and who… but she knew in that instant that it was not her husband making love to her! Her eyes flew open and she comprehended her near nakedness and the lusting light of lasciviousness which shown like lanterns in Harry's eyes. with his hands caressing her hotly throbbing vaginal slit and her warmly tingling breasts. Oh dear God! her mind screamed. What is this; What is he trying to do to
"Noooo'." she cried out. and gagging she jackknifed to her feet, throwing Harry aside. She clutched at her crumpled sweater, crouching slightly as though she were trying to protect her warm and still frantically pulsating vagina from his beady, leering eyes.
"You monster! You took advantage of me. You waited until I was so drunk that I didn't know what I was doing and then you… you tried to to use me… as a… a whore!"
Harry raised himself back to a sitting position and smoothed back his hair casually. His face broke out in a wide grin "Now Jill." he said suavely to her, "You were enjoying it for awhile. What turned you off? You might have liked it, you know."
"Shut up! Shut your disgust… disgusting mouth up!" Jill's voice rose in a shuddering wail. "How dare you… how dare you think that I would… that I could..
"Oh, come off it, Jill." Harry said calmly. "From what you've told me, it's obvious that you're frustrated sexually. You're not at all frigid like your husband thinks. You've just never been opened up to all the wonders of physical joy."
Jill's ears pounded and she shuddered from the casual vulgarity of this man she had trusted. "Just because… because… of what I told you has happened between my husband and myself doesn't give you the right to assume I… would allow you liberties… so disgusting as… as.
Harry's lewd laugh interrupted her.
"I'm… I'm going to tell Tom on you, do you hear?" Jill screamed hysterically.
"That won't do you any good. He's probably out getting his fill of strange pussy right now, and even if you tell him later, he won't believe you." Harry stood up, an obscene grin across his face. "And if he does, I could say that you propositioned me and that we ended up screwing half the night away. Now calm down, Jill, and be reasonable.
Jill stood in agonized silence for a long moment. Oh God, what can I do? With the instinctive intuition of a woman, she knew that Harry would not hesitate to do as he threatened, and Tom, as impulsive and resentful toward her as he was, would probably believe him. But she just couldn't sit back and let the incident be forgotten, could she? Could she?
The tears came in a torrential rush then, and Jill turned and flung herself across the room and out the door. The door slammed behind her, cutting off the sardonic laughter of Harry Sommers.