"Well, my lovely wife, here we are in one of the finest French restaurants in the city," John Whitmore commented to his lovely wife. "Do you know what you'd like yet?"
Penny's pert face peered out from behind the huge menu. "I dunno," she said.
"Well, can I suggest something?"
"What?"
"Perhaps some pate de foie gras to begin with…"
Penny shook her lovely head and her glistening red lips formed themselves into a grimace of displeasure. "Oh, not liver," she protested. "I just can't stand liver, it makes me want to throw up."
John shuddered. Jesus Christ, did she have to express it in just that way? He knew how she felt about liver, lots of people did, but they were more polite about their feelings at least! But John said nothing to his wife. They had gone through too many unpleasant scenes after he had made some attempt to smooth her rough edges. It never did any good, the edges remained as ragged as before, and only lead to more of the mutual dissatisfaction they felt towards one another. He thought for a moment of suggesting caviar, but remembered only too well her reaction to that. "Fish eggs, yuk!" Which was true in a sense, although he considered them one of the great delicacies of the world.
John had to say something to his wife, that was obvious. They couldn't just sit there across the table, staring at one another in silence. He called the waiter and ordered onion soup, then handed him back the menu. With a false bright smile, he took a sip of the fine red wine and asked: "Well, my dear, did you like the play tonight?"
Penny let forth a raucous laugh that grated on John's nerves and made others near them in the restaurant turn and stare. "Trash," she said. "That's what it was."
John stared at her in silence. How on earth could she have said such a thing? Didn't she understand the significance of the play? The subtle beauties of it, the profound depths of feeling, the startling ideas? Apparently not. But he knew he could never explain them to her and so he merely said at last, "Why do you say that, Penny?"
"Because there were those garbage cans on stage," she answered emphatically. "That's why."
This time John felt obliged to protest. "But garbage cans on stage don't make the whole play 'trash' as you so elegantly express it." There was just a hint of irony in his voice.
"It does to me," Penny said, shrugging her lovely shoulders and turning to stare around the room. "Oh, look," she said suddenly, pointing to a couple who had just come in and were now being seated against the other wall. Once again John blanched. Why did she have to point at people? He saw that others, attracted by her strident voice, were in turn staring at his wife.
"Yes, Penny," he said quietly. "Look at what?"
"That woman over there. Did you ever see such an awful dress in
your life?"
John closed his eyes, wishing that he could disappear. Why, why did Penny always have to make such a spectacle of herself? He answered the question himself. Because that was the way she was; there was no other explanation. And there was no way to change her, either. He knew that from long experience. And then the other question, the basic question that nagged at him came to his mind. Why had he married her? The answer to that, he supposed, was that he just didn't know any better.
She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, that night when he had first set eyes on her at the old Dewitt Theater. She was in the chorus, third from the end, as he still remembered, and he had sucked in his breath in awe at her loveliness when she first danced onto the stage. And he had to admit that he hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening!
Penny didn't really dance well, he thought now, although she certainly moved with an exquisite grace. But to John Whitmore, still in college, she represented a whole new world of excitement and intrigue. She was alive, vibrant, her world, the real one, he had thought. The university, where he was a senior, with its shaded walks, its discreet and even modest red brick buildings, its musty books arranged on the shelves of the huge library was remote, unreal, dead compared to her.
That first night he had seen Penny, John had had a date with a wealthy debutante who was studying art, and he'd not had the courage to ditch her in order to go backstage and meet the lovely brunette chorus girl. But he'd bought a single ticket for the next night's performance and had hurried around to the stage door immediately after, only to find that someone else had got there first.
But, John had gone back a third time, and his persistence was rewarded. He not only met this gorgeous creature but took her out to a late dinner after the play. He was dazzled by her beauty. Her skin was like alabaster, white and smooth as marble. Her features were finely chiseled, her big blue eyes set wide apart in her lovely face. Her nose was, perfect, that was all… and her lovely lips parted to show a row of equally perfect teeth. And her figure was absolutely breathtaking!
She had firm high breasts that her chorus girl costume, and later the low-cut dress she wore showed off to the fullest advantage. Her waist was tiny and flared into firmly rounded hips and thighs. And her legs, even now John caught his breath at the thought of them, her legs were superb, the best he had ever seen; long and slim and tapering into curves that were simply indescribable!
So John had been dazzled. He had sat and stared at the raven-haired beauty, ignoring both what she said and how she expressed it. She was perfection, at least in appearance, and that was enough for him. He pursued her ardently, and in spite of the objections of his aristocratic family, he offered her marriage.
When Penny accepted, the two hurried off to a Justice of the Peace; when they emerged from his dingy office, she was Mrs. John Stewart-Linden Whitmore IV. After a brief honeymoon and an even briefer visit to John's parents, who were not in the least impressed by their new daughter, Penny went back to the chorus line, and John went back to school.
Somehow he managed to get through the rest of the year, seeing Penny as often as possible, and he even managed to pass his exams and graduate with the rest of his class. He refused to go into his father's firm, though, and found a job on his own, while Penny quit hers. They took a small apartment and lived happily, blissfully, ideally, not ever after but for a few months, anyway. And then, in spite of all of Penny's considerable charms, John began to get bored… very bored.
Oh, God! She was still great in bed and just thinking of Penny even at work was enough to send shivers up and down his spine, make his young cock lurch with passion and swell beneath the tight cloth of his trousers until he was embarrassed to stand up to greet a client. He would hurry home after work to find her waiting, dinner on the table. They let it grow cold, never noticing, while they headed for the bedroom, John stripping off his own clothes while they went, pulling off Penny's once they were inside it.
She helped, wriggling out of her short, skintight dress that had already revealed her ripe young breasts, the sensuous curves of her undulating buttocks. And then he would slip his hand beneath the soft nylon mesh of her brassiere, fumbling clumsily with the fastening at the back of it with his other hand, until at last he pulled the two ends free and the quivering mounds of her milk-white breasts sprang forth.
He would run his hands down her soft warm flesh then, down to the waistband of her little panties, hook them beneath it and ease them down over her throbbing hips and thighs. And then she would stand before him, naked and lovely, sending shock waves of passion to rock his body… after he had pushed her down on the bed, he would hover over her, his
body alive with the excitement that was almost electric. He would fuck her then, his thick hard cock ploughing deep up into her warmly clasping little vagina. At last, satisfied, surfeited, exhausted, they would fall asleep… but it gradually dawned on John that at other times his life with Penny was as dull as dishwater. He found her friends impossible, their interests limited to local gossip and the cost of their clothes. He tried to start conversations with them, tried to discuss the latest political scandal, the state of the world, the question of war or peace. But they merely shrugged, uncomprehending.
He brought home the newest books, hoping that she would at least glance at them, that they could at least talk about those. But it was hopeless, as hopeless as their visits to the theater or to fashionable foreign movies. And as for museums! John gave up on those at almost the beginning of his marriage.
Even now, sitting across from Penny at their table in the restaurant, he blushed at the memory of the night they had gone to an opening of an art show at one of the top modern galleries in the city. He himself had been enthralled at the work of a new young painter, at the broad brush strokes in bright colors across the stretched canvases, the lights and shadows and shadings. But Penny had laughed, had opened that perfect little mouth of hers and let loose a howl of derision that had shriveled John's skin.
"What is it?" she had demanded, pointing at a picture. "What's it supposed to be?"
John had had no plausible answer and had only been aware of the amused glances of the others in the gallery. They had left hurriedly, with Penny complaining all the way home that her evening was ruined. "Why do we have to rush off?" she had repeated over and over. "Why? Are you ashamed of me or something? Is that it?"
"No," John had assured her. "No, not at all," And he hadn't been. But he had wished -oh, so devoutly -that she could learn something, meet him on his own level, could talk to him! But she hadn't, and she still couldn't.
He glanced across the table at her now, watched as she sipped her soup. He wished to God he could think of something to say to his wife, wished to God she would think of something to say to him. But nothing happened, and they ate in silence.
Finally, when they were both well into their canard a I 'orange, he again brought up the subject of the play they had seen. "I thought the man who played the lead tonight was pretty good, didn't you?"
But Penny's mind was far away, across the room again. "Oh look, John! That woman over there! She's wearing a dress just like the one I almost bought the other day."
John Whitmore gave up at last, watching his still beautiful wife as he chewed thoughtfully on his steak. There was no point in talking to her, he realized. There was only one thing they had in common. And for that they might as well go home. He waited patiently until Penny had finished the chocolate mousse she had ordered, God, how could she eat things like that and keep her fabulous figure? Then he paid the bill, and they left. They had nothing to say to one another in the taxi, nothing to say to one another when they reached their large and luxurious home. In the living room John at last suggested a night-cap and poured a brandy for himself and Penny. "Cheers!" he toasted, holding his glass out to hers.
"Oh, cheers, John. Cheers!" Penny tipped her glass and drained it. "I'm going to bed," she announced then. "You coming up?"
"In a minute, Penny."
He watched her as she turned and went out of the room, and a thrill went through him in spite of everything. She might be dull and depressing to be with, and she was, he admitted, and she was, but oh, God! Just the sight of her softly undulating buttocks, her long slim legs as she crossed the room was enough to excite him, to make his penis stiffen and throb, his loins ache with desire for her.
John took another drink, pouring it into his glass with a trembling hand, and sipped at it. It felt warm going down and good. He put the glass down, thinking of Penny upstairs in the bedroom. He heard the shower running then and imagined his wife standing beneath the streaming, steaming water, imagined her soaping her voluptuous body, lingering over her ripe full breasts, touching the tiny buds of her nipples, teasing them until they stood erect. And then her hands would wander down to the small triangle of curls there at the base of her belly, parting them, parting the hair-lined lips of her soft pink pussy…
The sound of the water running stopped at last and John took another drink, tossing it off quickly. And then, already unbuttoning his shirt, he headed for Penny's bedroom.
She was standing before the mirror wearing a nightgown so transparent she might have had nothing on at all. Through it John saw the warm glow of her soft white flesh, the fullness of her magnificent breasts, the cock-stirring curves of her hips and thighs.
He stepped forward, seizing her by the shoulders, digging his fingers sharply into the soft flesh, spinning her around to crush his chest against her until the hard little tips of her nipples seemed to bite into his own flesh. His hands slid down her back, trailing across it, ruffling the thin material of her crepe de chine nightgown as it went. Suddenly he bent down and seized the hem of the flimsy garment, lifting it high above her quivering ass-cheeks.
Now he placed his palms on each of the two round half melons, cupping them to pull her close to him. His loins crushed against her pelvis and his straining cock lurched again inside his pants, sending bolts of lightning-like fire coursing through his blood.
"Take this off," he commanded suddenly, his voice hoarse with his rising passion. He tugged again at the fragile fabric of the nightgown, almost tearing it.
"No!" Penny protested, and a sudden chill struck his heart. Oh, Christ! She was going to be coy tonight, play hard to get, just at the time when his own loins were on fire, his penis already rigid with lewd lust. Tonight of all nights! Didn't the woman understand anything?
"Take if off!" he ordered, his eyes narrowing in anger, his lips twitching cruelly.
"No," she teased.
"Damn it all…!" His hand shot out to seize one narrow shoulder strap and then he wrenched at it. There was the sibilant sound of ripping silk and then the gown fell in shreds to the floor.
"Oh, now look at what you've done!" Penny wailed. "Just look!" But John merely shrugged, then began to tear at his own clothes, pulling his shirt off and dropping it on the floor, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers and dropping them to the floor, stepping quickly out of them. And then his shorts came off, releasing at last his thickly swollen cock that already jutted, rigid as a pole, from his aching loins.
He stood facing her, his eyes roving lewdly over his raven-haired wife's nakedly trembling body, stopping first at her voluptuous breasts, then descending over the slight swell of her belly, down to the sparse triangle of dark pussy hair there at the base of it.
They ran the length of her lovely legs, her slim ankles. And then he reached out to her, swooped her up and dropped her unceremoniously onto the large double bed.
"Oh, John," she whimpered. "What on earth did you do that for?" There was a hint of fear in her eyes, a glint of shock. She gasped, covering her mouth and then demanded, "John, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to fuck you," he said suddenly, ashamed of using the obscenity and yet aware that it was one of the few things his wife would understand. "I'm going to fuck you, Penny, until you scream… fuck you
silly…"
"John!"
Oh, God! He hated himself for this… hated treating his wife this way. But goddamn it, she had asked for it! She'd begged for it, hadn't she? So she'd get what she wanted, what was coming to her! He dropped to the bed beside her, stretching the full length of his body out alongside hers. He turned his head, then fastened his hot mouth over hers almost brutally. His
tongue shot out, prodding at her warm and glistening lips, prying them open at last. And then it sank deep within, while Penny gasped for breath.
She flinched a little as his hands moved down to her heavy swollen breasts and began to knead them, his thumbs stroking the small buds of her nipples, coaxing them again into taut and stiff erections. He went on, rubbing the jewel-hard tips between his thumbs and forefingers now, while Penny whimpered in fearful delight. He was hurting her, she thought with a wave of self-pity. Hurting her! It was just like him… the bastard!
Then, he lifted his head, staring scornfully at his wife for a long moment. An instant later he had flicked it forward again, and now his mouth closed over one upright, button-like nipple and his tongue laved it voluptuously. He began to suck on it, nibbling at it delicately, while Penny stiffened against her husband's uncaring assault.
His hand trailed the length of her belly again, making Penny moan in frightened anticipation. She hadn't wanted it to be like this – hadn't wanted it at all!
She felt an irrepressible excitement as he traced the soft curves of her vulnerable body, but it was mixed with anger, too. And then, as John's hands moved along the line of golden belly fuzz that ended in the strands of silken pubic hair there between her legs, she squirmed beneath him. He reached the warm moist slit of her cuntal lips at last, running his middle finger up and down along the tender hair-lined flesh, probing it as his tongue had probed and pried at her mouth before.
Penny jerked back involuntarily at his touch, wanting her husband and yet at the same time denying him -feeling the need to deny him. There was a sudden sharp pang as his middle finger snaked deep in between the fleshy outer lips of her pussy, working its way upward into her narrow cuntal channel, and she sucked in her breath. And then as she felt him finger-fucking deep up into her open cunt, she relaxed, lying back to enjoy the thrills of pleasure that seemed to wash over her. In spite of herself, in spite of her resentment of the way in which he was taking her. Why the hell did he have to act so damned superior? She let herself reach out to take his desire-stiffened penis in her small and slender hand, letting her fingers curl around it, massaging it gently, pulling the foreskin back.
He groaned in pleasure, encouraging her to tickle her fingernails over the smooth rubbery head, to draw them beneath the aching shaft, to tease her fingertip around the tiny parted hole at the tip. And then she cradled his smooth sperm-laden balls in the palms of her hands. But once again, the brunette former chorus girl stiffened in resistance to her husband. Damn him! she thought. He was treating her like a whore, acting as if she wasn't as good as he was! Well, she was, and she would show him!
She began to move beneath him, pretending that she enjoyed it, just the way a whore might have. She writhed and turned as he continued to work his finger into her wet and smoothly throbbing passage. He withdrew it then, with a soft lewd sucking sound, and once more as his hands were all over her, clutching and squeezing at her soft, sensitive
flesh.
Abruptly he rolled over between her thighs, and his hand shot down to stroke briefly at the moistened flesh there before he spread her legs wide apart. He hovered over her then, the blunt bulbous head of his fleshy shaft poised above the tender lips of her vagina. With his middle finger he found her clitoris and began stroking maddeningly at it, sending unwanted excitement shooting through his wife's still resistant body.
John began to massage the tiny nub with the lust-hardened tip of his swollen penis. "I'm going to fuck you tonight like you've never been fucked before," he said crudely. And then, as a cruel afterthought, he added, "at least not by me!"
Penny shuddered at the implications -oh, God! She had been faithful to John! She had! And once more her resentment of him rose to overwhelming proportions. What a bastard, she thought! What a bastard!
She tensed once again, resisting him just as his lust-bloated penis pressed brutally hard against the small elastic opening of her little cunt. He lunged forward with all his might and his iron-hard penis plunged through the taut little ring of flesh, plunged up deep into the narrow channel of her cunt.
Penny half-screamed, squirming as if she had just been impaled on the sword of some barbarian. "Don't… Don't… oh, God…"
But John was beyond caring. He thrust once more, ploughing deeper, and Penny recoiled, feeling as if her cunt were being torn to bits. She wasn't ready… she didn't want it to be this way!
But there was nothing she could do. She felt his huge cock plunging in to the hilt, felt as if it would split her helpless little belly in two. Oh, Jesus! She thought he had reached the limit, but he was still pushing deeper, forcing the warm, yet unreceptive walls of her vagina in rolling waves before his throbbing thick penis.
"Oh, John!" Penny moaned. "John!" "John who?" "Oh… Oh…"
"Oh, fuck, Penny…" And once again he lunged forward, once again ploughed deep up between her narrowly clasping cuntal walls. His rock-hard penis smacked against her cervix this time, bringing a muffled scream from her tightly compressed lips. And then she suddenly took fire, set aflame by this invasion of her soft moist vagina. She was sore and burning, but somehow vibrantly alive in spite of the pain. She squirmed
her buttocks down into the mattress as John sawed his blood-engorged penis roughly in and out, and she squirmed and thrashed beneath him. A low moan escaped her lips, a slight whimper of pain.
John ignored it, fucking forward again, feeling the smooth sheath of her clasping cuntal walls cradle his raging cock. He groaned in his own excitement, and then at last his balls slapped hard against her whitely rounded ass-cheeks as his aching cock sank to unplumbed depths.
A shock of sudden pain, cruel and unexpected, shot through Penny, and she twisted on the bed beneath him in an effort to escape it, but John only thrust harder, impaling his wife on his thick hard cock, skewering her like an animal on a spit. Staring down at her, he felt a surge of sadistic pride in subjugating his woman in this way. Christ, he thought, it was the only thing she was good for!
He ground his loins deep into her quivering flesh, and then Penny strained back under him, her own loins arching upward to meet him and then to match his deep and vigorous thrusts. Her mouth was open now and her head flailed from side to side as her lust-inflamed husband buffeted her about in his desperate passion.
Penny moaned ceaselessly beneath his pounding body, almost, but not quite, enjoying the pain, the humiliation to which she was being subjected. And then she realized with a shudder of horror that John had reached under her between her buttocks and was drawing his middle finger up along the now wet crevice there. Oh God, no! she thought. He wasn't going to… he couldn't… he wouldn't…
But suddenly he found the tiny little opening of her anus, moistened by the warm wet rivulet seeping from her cock-spread pussy, and he probed at it experimentally for a moment. He pushed hard and felt the tight nether ring give way, while his finger slid in up to the first knuckle.
Penny's body contracted in a spasm of excruciating pain and she screamed, "Oh God. it hurts… it hurts!"
A flicker of a smile played across John Whitmore's lips at her anguished outburst. Good! he thought. Great! He thrust again, sinking his finger in still another inch.
Penny screamed again, but in spite of her pain she began to move against his finger as it rotated around in the warm fleshy depths of her rectum. Through the thin membrane separating the two passages, he could feel his cock sliding in and out of her pulsating vagina, and he began to fuck into both ravaged passages in a quickening rhythm, his strokes longer now, faster, deeper.
Once again Penny screamed and the sound was music to John's ears. He could feel his cock growing, burgeoning deep up inside his wife's quivering belly, could feel the tension mounting in his sperm-bloated balls
that smacked against her upturned buttocks. Oh God! He was near the end -near his final explosion that would send the ultimate joy shooting through him when at last he emptied his sperm deep up inside his wife's belly! And he knew that Penny, too -in spite of her pain, her resistance to his fucking he was inflicting on her -was about to cum. Her face was contorted with her lust, her eyes half closed, but filmed with her passion.
In a sudden involuntary movement, her legs jackknifed up tight., and she pressed her knees back against her breasts until the whole of her moist vaginal slit was offered up to her husband for his complete pleasure. She locked her ankles over his shoulders now, still squirming beneath his pounding body, his thrusting cock. And then she let out a long low wail, and he felt his own climax as his white-hot sperm shot the length of his rigid member to spew forth into the farthest depths of her cock-filled belly.
Her own orgasmic fluids seeped forth then, bathing his pumping cock in their warm moisture and the two rocked back and forth together, their minds blank, their bodies all but consumed with their ecstasy… then, it was over at last, their one act of togetherness. John withdrew his now deflating penis and rolled over to Penny's side, breathing heavily. He sighed, knowing that he had hurt his wife, and knowing that he would be ashamed of it later. But for the moment he was satisfied, as satisfied and contented as Penny was…
John Whitmore sat before the huge expanse of his modem desk and moved his silver fountain pen languidly across the smoothly polished surface. From one corner of the desk a photo of his wife Penny stared reprovingly at him from its large, solid silver frame. He glanced away, reluctant to meet her eyes, even from this reasonable facsimile of his wife. Oh, Christ! He'd been rotten to her the night before. Rotten! What a bastard he was!
Not that she hadn't asked for it, he thought, trying to assuage his conscience. Not that she hadn't asked for it! She had!
But had she? He shook his head, wondering. Was it really her fault? Really her fault that the two had nothing in common any more? He shook his head again. He didn't know; he just didn't know.
But he had known, back when he first met Penny, that there was a world of difference in their lifestyles. Their backgrounds were so wide apart that that alone would almost make a successful marriage impossible. But in those days he had found her ignorance part of her charm. And he had to admit that he'd been certain he could change her; had been certain that eventually she would accept his values and strive to attain them.
It was there, he knew now, that he had gone wrong. Even if it had been possible to change Penny, for the better, he still insisted, even if it had been, had he the right to try? No, he concluded at last, he hadn't. If he loved Penny, and he was still certain that he had, he should have accepted her as she was… but he'd not been willing to do that. He'd had to try reforming her, changing her, polishing her. He shrugged. Live and learn, he thought. Live and learn.
Again, John Whitmore picked up the silver pen and tapped the desk reflectively with it. He had learned nothing, he decided. And, as for living, how could he live without Penny? The answer to that was obvious. He couldn't.
On the other hand, he couldn't live with her. And so here he was, sitting behind his fancy polished desk from which he directed the destinies of hundreds, unable to control his own life.
His mind wandered back to those early days when he had first met Penny, to that first night she had gone with him to a hotel. He'd been a student then, living in one of the colleges at his university, spied upon, he had always thought, by the housemasters. Taking Penny back to his room had been out of the question. But there were plenty of small hotels around and they had gone to one of those.
John still remembered how he had quaked when they had registered as Mr. and Mrs. Lindley, how he had signed his name with a flourish, even so. He remembered the scornfully curved lip of the bellboy who took them to their room, his amused glance as he asked for their luggage. They had none, of course, and John invented some wild excuse to explain the lack, knowing all the time that no one on earth would believe him, but it didn't matter in the least. They reached the small drab room at last. He tipped the boy handsomely and sighed with relief when they at last were left alone.
As the door closed behind him, Penny's arms went up around John's neck and she pressed her voluptuous body tightly against his. John felt the excitement that it generated… oh, Christ! It was like being plugged into an electrical current, and he shivered almost in shock… and then mashed his lips against hers. Her tongue flicked out to taunt him, to press between his lips and swirl around his own, and then he kissed her back, his own tongue sliding deep into her mouth.
"Nervous?" Penny asked solicitously, and he wondered how many times she had done this before, how many other young men she had accompanied to dingy hotels in this part of town. Or had she gone with older men, business tycoons like his father, to the luxurious establishments in the center of the city? He didn't know and he quite honestly didn't care. Nothing mattered at the moment but the fact that the, two were together
and that in a moment he would fuck the beautiful chorus girl for the first time.
"Nervous?" Penny repeated, and this time John shook his head. Why should he be, he thought, unless his old man were to find out? But that would hardly be possible, and anyway, even if he did, it wouldn't be too terrible. He would make a scene, of course, shouting and threatening and blustering about, swearing, of course, that John would be cut off without a penny of his father's fortune. But, damn it all, the young student thought, it would be worth even that just to be with Penny for one night!
Penny didn't really believe him. She smiled, though, and suggested that John needed a drink. "Me too," she added.
"Yes, but…" The young man scarcely had the courage to call room service, and for the moment he didn't see any other possibility. But Penny had thought of that and, like a good scout, had come prepared. She opened her capacious. handbag and pulled out a silver flask, opened it and poured a drink for John into the bathroom tumbler.
The young college student sipped at it gratefully, then held the tumbler out to Penny and watched her as she finished off the drink. They shared another, and then, relaxed and happy, John watched the voluptuous girl he had brought up here as she undressed. She did it gracefully, unselfconsciously, without the slightest trace of lewdness. Her short, form-fitting dress came first, eased off her shoulders to slide down over her full wide hips and then to the floor.
John gasped as she stood before him in her little black bikini panties and her black brassiere. Oh God! It was the most exciting, the most sensual thing he'd ever seen, with Penny's pure white skin set off against the sheer black cloth of her underclothes! As she turned her back to him to pick up the dress from the floor, he felt his cock lurch and harden beneath his pants. Oh God! She was beautiful… beautiful! He stared open-mouthed at the full rounded spheres of her buttocks, then gasped as the sheer black nylon strip of her panties tightened between her firm full thighs, then slipped into the furrow between her quivering ass-cheeks, making him swallow hard with lust… and then, quickly and just as gracefully, she released the hooks of her bra at the center of her back and slipped the straps off her shoulders, then eased her panties down over her firm white hips and thighs.
She stood before John then, a vision of naked loveliness. Her magnificent breasts were full and voluptuously high-set, their nipples little pointed buds that sent chills of desire rippling through him Her lust-inciting curves were absolutely breathtaking, and John could only stare, his eyes almost popping from their sockets. Oh, God! God! God!
He was still staring, open-mouthed, gaping in unabashed admiration when Penny moved toward him, hands outstretched. "Now you!" she said, giving him a smile that made him tremble uncontrollably.
A moment later she had unbuckled his belt, opened the waist and unzipped his trousers. Then she slipped her slender hand beneath the rough material and maneuvered his already hard and lurching penis out into the open. She began to massage it gently, stroking it, drawing the heavy foreskin up and down. Oh God! It was setting him on fire, making him burn like a stack of dry logs, and the desire-crazed student knew he couldn't wait much longer! He moved away, tearing at his own clothes, pulling them off clumsily, frantically, and then at last he stood before Penny, as naked as she was. She smiled seductively at him and moved over to the bed, quickly throwing back the bedspread and the covers, then dropping to it to stretch out invitingly.
A moment later John was on the bed with her, his hot and hungry lips pressed to hers, his tongue darting deep into the warm cavern of her mouth. His hands explored her lovely body, throbbing now with the excitement she could no longer suppress, and he cupped her swollen breasts, kneading them, teasing the hard little button-like nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
Penny moved up against him, her thigh against his loins, making his aching penis swell and harden until it felt as hard as iron. He pressed it almost savagely against the chorus girl's nakedly writhing body, searching and finding the hair-fringed split of her cuntal lips, then hovering there, ready to plough deep up inside her belly… Almost by reflex, Penny spread her legs wider, opening her loins fully to the young man.
A wave of shocked pleasure surged through John as he gazed down at the softly palpitating lips, at the tiny bud of her clitoris enfolded within them. He sucked in his breath, then let it out suddenly as she reached down to take his hard thick cock and guide it to the moist little opening of her vagina.
With a sudden lunge, John drove his throbbing penis deep into the quivering orifice, sending it far up between the moistly clasping walls that seemed to encase it the way a scabbard sheathes a sword. Oh, Jesus! It was so good… so good! He'd known it would be, but never imagined it would really be like this! He groaned and began thrusting wildly, his long aching cock plunging all the way up into her warm tight cunt.
Penny whimpered with joy at his pounding assault against her moist warm flesh, twisting beneath him to give him even greater access to her warm soft belly, taking the blood-engorged head of his cock into the cock-hungry depths of her secret flesh.
As it crashed against her cervix, she let out a soft wail of delight that incited young John to even greater efforts, set off little explosions of
pure and simple joy in his blood. Oh God! Penny was good! The sight of her, the very idea of her lying beneath him, subject to his will and impaled on his own lust-thickened cock, gave him a sense of power he had never known before. She was his, he knew, to fuck at will!
And then, almost as if she could read his thoughts, Penny whimpered, "Oh, John! For God's sake. Fuck me… fuck harder, John.
Harder!"
He lunged forward again and again, sawing in and out now while she thrashed beneath him, raising her loins to meet his plunges, falling back, grinding her softly undulating buttocks deep into the mattress. Suddenly, she strained up against him and her legs shot out to twine around his naked back, her heels digging hard into his flesh. She began to move with him, matching the ever-increasing rhythm of his thrusts, mewling with ecstatic joy.
It seemed to John that he would explode from the pressures building inexorably in his aching loins, deep in his throbbing cock, in his sperm-bloated testicles which now swung against the small unprotected orifice of her anus. Penny gripped him tighter still as her face contorted in her lust and passion. She clenched her teeth, moaning through them, and John knew then that she too was approaching her climax.
Suddenly, her shrill wail split the air -oh, my God! I'm cumming… I'm cumming…" Her head flailed from side to side, like a flower bobbing on its stem. And then her body tensed and held for a full long moment. It happened then…
John felt the soft warm moistures that gushed forth from her still clasping cuntal walls, felt them bathe his aching cock lovingly. And then his own seething hot sperm, boiling in his balls, at last shot forward, spurting the length of his lust-hardened penis and spilling over into Penny's still wildly sucking vagina…
It was over at last, his thick cock milked dry and beginning to deflate. In a surfeit of ecstasy, he rolled over at last to lie beside the lovely satiated body of his chorus girl. And then the two of them had fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Sitting at his desk, glancing uncomfortably at the picture of his wife framed on it, John Whitmore remembered it all. He'd been young then, the world had been his oyster, and Penny had been the pearl he'd stumbled across. But that was over now, and he thought with a twinge of distaste of the way he had possessed her the night before, fucking her brutally, cruelly, knowing he was hurting her and, oh Christ, wanting to, even! He dropped his head to his hands, feeling the throbbing at his temples. They seemed to beat out a rhythmic tattoo that would drive him mad unless he found some way to stop it. And his marriage was like that too, he thought. He couldn't go on like this much longer, and neither could
Penny. And yet, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. No, he thought, shaking his head sadly, that was no solution with her. He couldn't live without Penny, not after all these years, after all their shared hopes and joys! Then the telephone rang, and he picked it up to answer. He spoke briefly, his mind elsewhere, annoyed at the interruption of his thoughts and yet relieved, too. And then, when he had replaced the telephone on its cradle, he was haunted again by the problem he faced with his wife. He managed to get through some of the work on his desk, however, initialing memos, dictating letters, riffling through the papers that awaited his attention.
He called in his secretary, Emma Lowrey, and went over the appointments she had made for him. His afternoon was free, and for that he was grateful; there was plenty for him to do in the office. He set to work at it with a vengeance, cleaning it up by the time late afternoon rolled around. And then again he was free to think, to ponder the relationship into which he and Penny had drifted. And, for the thousandth time, he wondered what exit there was from this web which enshrouded the two of them. What did other couples do? They went on sometimes, he admitted, or sometimes they broke up. Or… but no, he brushed that thought away. It was too radical, too disturbing… but, it came back to haunt him. Sometimes other couples tried wife-swapping. That was the expression they used these days. They brought new excitement to their marriages, made them work in a way that, God knew, his and Penny's was not working. And if they did… but again he brushed the thought from his mind. Other couples might change partners but he and Penny weren't other couples… or were they?
John put his pen down, shoved aside the contract that had become a blur of ciphers before his eyes. Why not? he asked himself. Why shouldn't he and Penny find another married couple, just the way others did? John mulled the idea over in his mind, accepting it, rejecting it, and then at last accepting it once more. Okay, so he and Penny might really go ahead on the wife-swapping bit. But another question presented itself. With whom?
He ticked off the names of their closest friends in his mind, knowing that he would never ask them. They would be shocked, he thought, or maybe titillated. But, in any case, they were sure to refuse. And then what? He would have made a fool of himself, and for no reason. He wondered how other couples found willing partners, how and where. And then at last he pushed the whole idea from his mind, giving it up as useless.
John finished some last minute work and thought of asking Miss Lowrey, Emma Lowrey, to have a drink with him, then discarded that idea as he had discarded so many others. It was pointless, purposeless. Oh,
sure, his secretary was a good-looking girl with the kind of figure that made his eyes almost pop out of his head. But, if he got involved with her the way he'd like to, if he got her into bed and fucked her silly, which was what he wanted to do, then what? Nothing, he thought disconsolately, except that he'd soon be looking for a new secretary. And he didn't think the delights of a quick fuck would compensate for the troubles that would follow.
He laughed bitterly. Jesus! He must be getting old! Well, whatever it was, he didn't think much of the idea of taking Emma Lowrey out. Not tonight, anyway…
John signed the last letter on his desk, put a few important papers into a drawer and locked it, pocketing the key. Then he got up and walked out, slamming the door behind him. He said, good night to Emma Lowrey in the outside office, walked the length of the waiting room and went out into the hail. Pausing at the elevator, wondering whether it might not be better to work late, to call Penny and have her beg off any date she might have made for the evening. But that too seemed useless, fruitless, and he pressed the button at last, saw the light flash red with the little arrow pointing downward, and then the doors slid open, noiselessly, and he stepped inside the small cage. It glided downward, depositing him on the ground floor in a matter of seconds. And then John Whitmore walked outside.
He stopped at the corner, looking up, his spirits revived and refreshed by the soft breeze that blew through the tops of the trees lining the avenue. It whipped up the tiny skirt of a young girl standing at the intersection, waiting for the light to change, showing her soft white thighs, the twin spheres of her rounded buttocks outlined beneath the little white panties she wore. John stared, then watched with a sinking heart as she walked off in the other direction. Then, he followed her discreetly, wishing he had the courage to approach her.
But when she turned and stared at him, oh Christ, just as if he were a dirty old man, he stopped before a newspaper stand and studied the magazines that were affixed to it. Then, a row of glossy covers, adorned with drawings of half-naked girls, caught his particular attention. He picked up one from a pile on the counter of the stand and started to turn the pages. There was a naked woman spread from one page to another as the centerfold, the staple that held the magazine together stuck straight through her navel. He stared at her voluptuously mounded breasts, thinking once again of Penny. And then he heard the vendor's harsh voice rasping, "Read it at home, mister. Come on, move it along. Buy it here and read it at home," A blush of shame spread across John's handsome features.
What did this character think he was, anyway? Some sort of dead-beat? Some oversexed satyr? A bum? Oh, Jesus! He glared across the counter at him, then plunked down a couple of coins, picked up the magazine and walked off with it.
As he waited for the light to change, he riffled once more through the pages of the magazine still clutched tightly in his hand. A title at the top of one page caught his attention, much as the cover had a few minutes earlier, and he read it with a quiver of excitement. "Join the club," it said. More explicit instructions followed -an address, a coupon to be filled out, the group's rules, and then his eyes ran down the column of advertisements inserted by those who were already members, women looking for men, men looking for women. There were couples, too, couples looking for other couples, and it struck John, much as a beam of light might illuminate a page he had been trying to decipher, that this was the answer to his problems!
The light changed, and he rolled up the magazine and stuffed it in his pocket. He could put his own ad in. Why not? he asked himself again as he crossed the street and headed for the lot where his car was parked. He climbed into it, pulling the magazine out of his pocket and laying it on the seat. And then he started the motor and drove off. Once home, he tucked the magazine back into his pocket before going inside. Penny was waiting for him, dressed in a long black hostess gown that clung to her curves like a racing car at high speed. He felt a flash of desire for her, an aching tenderness that made his loins blaze like a brush-fire.
God! He would like to screw her now, like to pull her down beside him right in the middle of the living room carpet and fuck up deep inside her. He stood in front of her, waiting for some sign of recognition of his overpowering need, but there was none, and he pecked dutifully at her cheek and went in past her.
Just as dutifully, Penny brought the cocktail tray, laden with the well-chilled martinis in a shaker, the stemmed crystal cocktail glasses, the little silver dishes of nuts and crackers. "Darling," she said, "You look
tired."
John nodded. "I am," he admitted. "A little."
Penny poured a drink out for him. "This is just what the doctor ordered, then," she said. She smiled, sending sunlight through the room. But the light seemed to fade almost at once, and John felt, as he had a hundred times recently, that they moved on separate wavelengths, in little worlds of their own, orbiting in their own spheres, passing close yet never really meeting.
He was grateful to Penny, grateful for so many things, and yet, there was a wide, yawning chasm inside him, an emptiness that ached
unbearably. Oh, God! He wished that things were different, wished he knew how to make them so.
They had dinner by candlelight, one of the sophisticated touches that Penny had agreed to because it pleased her husband, although she secretly thought it was "rather silly". She had worked hard over the dinner, too, hoping to please him, but even she had to admit that the steaks were overcooked. John liked his rare, something Penny thought sickening, and the salad was tired and wilted. He groaned inwardly at the store-bought ice cream, but finished it off dutifully, and then lit a cigarette while Penny cleared the table. Later, they sat opposite one another in the luxurious living room, John reading a novel and Penny leafing through a confession magazine. She sighed at last and put the magazine down, stifling a yawn. "I'm tired," she said plaintively, "I'm going to bed."
John looked at her over the top of his book.
"Are you coming up?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not right away."
"Will you be long?"
"No."
Penny waited, not quite satisfied with his answer, then asked querulously, "How soon?"
John glanced at her with just a trace of annoyance on his fine features. "Not very long, I said," he repeated, and she at last turned and went slowly down the hall. As soon as she had disappeared, John found the magazine again, then poured himself a brandy before he sat down to thumb through it.
He stared admiringly at the models in it, all in scanty attire, showing their large and lovely breasts, their white rounded ass-cheeks. There were even those who exhibited sparse patches of pubic hair for his delectation. He sighed, thinking that Penny would put any one of them in the shade, at least as far as feminine pulchritude went.
He turned the pages slowly, tearing himself away from the full page photos and then, at last, came to the column that had caught his attention. He read through the advertisements carefully, wondering if he would find exactly what he was searching for among them. None, though, seemed to offer just what he wanted, and at last, he went into the library and sat down there at his desk. With a paper and pencil before him, he carefully composed his own advertisement. He wrote out a check, slipped it into the envelope along with the letter and sealed it. Fishing in the top drawer of the desk, he found a stamp, licked it and affixed it to the letter. And then he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. He would mail it in the morning on his way to work…