Arlene tried to pretend her husband was merely away on business, but her mind refused to be tricked. She felt empty and lonely.
Hal was in jail.
She couldn't imagine how he was coping with the situation. Such a proud, upstanding man. Did he exchange friendly talk with the other prisoners? Or did he simply keep his eyes cast low and never speak at all? These thoughts pained Arlene so much that she forced her mind to wander to images less disquieting. She forced herself not to worry about her community standing, forced herself not to think about how she and Hal would feel toward each other when he was released from jail in three weeks. What she thought about was Judy. How warm and loving her daughter had acted today. And it wasn't a special sort of day at all – no holiday, nobody's birthday or anniversary. Judy was such a wonderful daughter. Perhaps Arlene worried too much about the girl's manner of dressing and her obvious flirtations around boys. She should put more trust in Judy, Arlene decided. Her daughter was too bright and too self-respecting to let those boys have their way with her. The more she thought about it, the more certain Arlene became that Judy wouldn't let any boys get into her pants.
Even though she was certain of this, the mere thought of some boy between her daughter's legs sent strange shivers storming to Arlene's brain.
Were they shivers of revulsion? Or were they shivers of excitement?
Arlene was in bed. It was eight at night, and both Bill and Judy were at a party. The fact that her children were partying on Monday night with school tomorrow struck Arlene as odd. But Judy had been especially sweet and thoughtful ever since she got home from school this afternoon. It would have been awkward for Arlene to have objected when her daughter had mentioned the party tonight at dinner.
Arlene's hand had seemed to slip between her thighs of its own accord. Realizing she was beginning to masturbate, she yanked her hand away and flushed the image of Judy and an unknown lover from her brain. What's the matter with me? she scolded mentally. Thinking about her own daughter like that. And… and enjoying it.
Aloud she grumbled, "And what the hell do you think you're doing in bed, anyway, Arlene French?" No sooner had Bill and Judy gone out the door than she'd stripped, got into her housecoat and flopped onto the bed.
She made what she thought was a legitimate effort to get out of bed. But she managed only to turn onto her side. She felt her clitoris hammering one lustful throb after another. As her hand once more crept down toward her vagina, she ordered it to stop. She willed her hand to fall limply to her side – but it didn't. It was as if two separate parts of her brain were waging war, the decent, rational part against the forces of lust. And lust was winning.
Her fingers danced up under the hem of her housecoat, going directly to the ultra-slick, distended lips of her cunt.
Quivering tremors of excitement shot through her. Her legs opened automatically as she rolled onto her back again. The tip of one wiggling finger stabbed the cunt's threshold, the hot flesh lubricating the invading digit. Arlene groaned hotly. She rocked on her hips. Her other hand went quickly to join the first. Several fingers now teased around the edges of her orifice. She fucked up at her fingers, babbling throatily, squirming.
She knew she had no control. She was going to make herself come again, just like that night. Just like the night before last. Just like always. She was going to fingerfuck herself again because she couldn't help it.
Expelling a harsh, lustful sigh, she spoke aloud. "Damn you, Arlene! All right, all right! You want to make yourself come, so let's get it over with! For God sakes, don't spend all night playing with yourself!"
She kept one hand busy against her crotch as she rolled on one side and reached for the nightstand drawer. She quickly fumbled to the rear of the drawer, finding the scarf which held her cherished tools of masturbation. She unwrapped the candle, set it aside and grabbed the battery-powered vibrator.
She wasted no time. Flicking the switch at the base of the five-inch long, one-and-a-half inch wide, phallic-shaped vibrator, she slipped it beneath her housecoat. She didn't linger around the edges of her cunt. She jammed it right in – all the way. It buzzed, a low-pitched buzzing that accompanied the lightning-quick tremors. God, what a thrilling sensation. No hands could ever duplicate the fantastic effect. And it would go on and on as long as she could endure the exquisite pleasure.
Sometimes she could come within a minute of inserting the smooth plastic shaft into her vagina. She felt now that she was going to be able to climax almost instantly.
While one hand clutched the base of the vibrator, holding the object firmly, her other hand played around one side of her clitoris, making the mini-erection throb wildly though she never touched it.
The intense vibrations seemed to draw the juices from the inner walls of her vagina in a never-ceasing flood. The glue-like substance poured out of her cunt, sticking to her fingers and thighs, matting her pubic hairs. She danced around helplessly on the mattress, striving, striving, striving…
The doorbell rang.
"Damn it!" Arlene moaned, and for several seconds she made no move to get off the bed. She merely continued to fondle her lust-aching cunt, shoving the vibrator up her passage as deep as it would go.
Her muscles twitched and fluttered, her thighs rippling tautly as she stretched and relaxed, stretched, relaxed. The sensations were unbelievably intense, and she had to come. She had to.
Again the doorbell.
"Oh, damn!" she almost shouted. She rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, her brain dizzy and confused. Reluctantly, she switched off the vibrator and, pulling the slick object out of her vagina and placing it beneath her pillow, she stood up.
Her legs were shaky. She adjusted her housecoat and staggered out of the bedroom, down the hall, through the living room.
She cracked the front door open slightly, and said, "Who is it?" Her voice was hollow and annoyed.
"Ralph," came the reply.
She opened the door fully. She tried to smile. She really liked Ralph. He was so well-mannered, so polite. She wished that all of Bill's friends were like Ralph, that way she wouldn't have to worry about her son. Sometimes she had hinted to Judy that Ralph would make a good boy friend. Then there was the disquieting thing about Ralph. Ralph, Ralph, Ralph. His name seemed to sing through Arlene's mind all day long. But it wasn't his fault. He was just a bright, personable boy, and he had never done anything to encourage Arlene's perversion. Perversion? Yes, what else was it? A grown woman constantly masturbating and often thinking about the handsome sixteen-year-old Ralph as she fingered herself.
She could hardly look him in the eye as he stood in the doorway. She felt guilty. She had used the mental image of this boy while she made herself come. That was ugly, dirty, unnatural. How could she ever look Ralph in the eyes with this terrible deep secret burdening her?
"Hello, Mrs. French. I came by to borrow Bill's science textbook. I lost mine, and he said I could borrow his."
"Bill's out at a party right now," she told the boy. Then she added, gazing down at her bare feet, "But I'm sure it would be all right if you just went into his room and got it."
She stepped aside and let the smiling Ralph enter. He closed the door behind him, and Arlene felt a hot shiver in her groin. God, I'm alone in the house with Ralph!
For some reason, unclear even to herself, she followed Ralph to her son's bedroom. She trusted Ralph, and it would have been perfectly natural for her to let him go into the room unescorted. But still she stood in the doorway while the boy rummaged through Bill's drawers and closet.
Arlene realized with amazement that she was getting more aroused. Watching Ralph was turning her on, and she tried to fight it. But the mere nearness of the boy sent undeniable waves of lust through her. Several times Ralph turned to look at Arlene.
Could he tell she was aroused? she wondered. Did he know she was completely naked beneath her housecoat? Could he sense that her nipples were firm and aching? That her thighs were smeared with her own seeping passion juice? That she was deliberately contracting her vagina again and again while she watched him?
Despite her revulsion, her mind conjured up the lewd, lewd image of her and Ralph tangling naked on her son's bed. She pictured herself fucking the surprised Ralph, bucking around like some cheap gutter whore.
"No!" she gasped aloud.
"What?" Ralph asked, turning to face her.
"Nothing, oh, nothing!" she said. "I was just talking to myself." She tried to breathe normally, but she knew that Ralph had detected the shrill excitement in her voice.
She couldn't stand there any longer.
Fighting to control herself, she said, "You'll have to excuse me, Ralph. I was taking a nap when you rang the doorbell, and I'm still pretty tired. You just look until you find the book, and lock the door behind you when you leave the house."
"Okay, thanks, Mrs. French." His voice sent ripples of pleasure through her whole body.
My God! she thought. He's such a nice kid, how can I think such dirty thoughts about him? What's wrong with you, Mrs. Harold French?
Her legs trembled beneath her as she turned and walked hurriedly to her bedroom. Once safely within her room, she closed the door tightly, leaned against it and heaved a long, hot sigh.
A minute later she was on her back, centered on the king-size mattress, her housecoat open down the front, her hands slipping down across her belly. There was no reasoning left in her. She had to finish herself now. Right now, and it didn't matter that Ralph was still in the house.
She rubbed hotly around the edges of her cunt, her fingers dancing and fluttering as both hands worked in tandem to excite every nerve cell.
She tried to quiet her breathing, but the task was impossible. Her hot breath was coming in swift, forceful gasps, tiny moans of passion escaping from between her tightly clenched teeth. The index finger of her right hand went into her vagina, first as deep as the middle knuckle, then all the way. She made a sweeping, stirring motion with the finger, round and round until she couldn't stand it any longer. Then she began to stroke briskly in and out while her thumb applied off-and-on pressure just below her engorged clitoris.
"Mmmm!" she purred. "Oh, mmmm, oh, oh!"
Her left hand was fanned out on her groin, two fingers spreading the top of her cunt lips wide. Then she removed that hand from her lower belly and fumbled under the pillow above her head. She extracted the vibrator, flicked it on, and brought it without hesitation to the lips of her hot, creamy cunt. She touched the rounded end to her clitoris, leaping up off the bed because of the excruciating pleasure.
She whimpered aloud. She hoped that Ralph wouldn't hear the humming of the vibrator or her hot, ceaseless moaning. She passed the vibrator from her left hand to her right. With the latter, she worked the instrument into her madly pulsating cunt. She spread her legs wide and arched off the bed again and again, laboring toward the climax which seemed so vital to her.
She lunged, hissing great sobs, perspiration beginning to shine on her body, wetting the housecoat which was open and hanging to her sides. One hand busied itself by brushing across her hot nipples, kneading the rubbery hills of her breasts, violently pushing at the sexually tingling flesh.
The vibrator droned on. And then, as she squirmed and jerked her hips in ecstatic abandon, she heard the front door open and slam, and she knew Ralph had left.
Ralph was no fool. The minute Mrs. French had answered the doorbell, he had a pretty good idea what she'd just been up to. She was disheveled, and panting like crazy. Her eyes were hazed over. She was flushed and perspiring. And the real clincher was her hands. Her fingers were glistening and coated over with a clear, sticky substance.
Yes, Ralph guessed right away that Arlene French had been masturbating when he'd rung the bell. He decided it was going to make his seduction of the inhibited housewife a whole lot easier.
He had hardly believed it today when Bill had approached him with the plan. Bill, his best friend, wanted his services. Bill wanted his own mother seduced. Of course, Ralph knew right away that it wasn't Bill's idea. Such a wild, incredible scheme could only have been conceived by Bill's sister Judy. That beautiful young nymph. When Bill had shyly approached him with the idea, Ralph had pretended to be reluctant. But it required some pretty tough acting, because he was more than eager to fuck the beautiful, blonde, prudish mother of his best friend. He liked fucking older women, especially uptight, horny older women who craved his young cock but were ashamed to admit it. Twice he had made it with mothers of girls he had dated. Once he screwed his father's secretary. But those times were different. The fucking had been secretive. What he would try to do tonight was fuck Arlene French with her children's blessing. Of course, his intended copulation with Mrs. French wouldn't have Hal French's blessing. But he was in jail, and couldn't do a thing.
Ralph hadn't acted any differently than usual when Mrs. French had opened the door. He had noted the tell-tale signs of masturbation without giving himself away. He was polite, too polite – the way he always was around adults. He was a young prince, an angel. Maybe it was his well-bred aura that turned older women on. Or maybe it was just his body – his manly, muscular, overdeveloped physical form.
Anyway, he had long ago discovered that the adults in his middle-class community responded to him a lot better when he was overbearingly polite. So that's the way he always acted in their presence.
While he scouted Bill's room for the textbook (which he had no interest in finding and which Bill had securely hidden), he couldn't help noticing the way Arlene's breasts pushed against her housecoat. Every time he cast a glance in her direction, she was looking directly at him. But each time, she quickly, timidly shifted her glance just as soon as their eyes met. She must have been even hotter than he'd guessed she was, because she suddenly had excused herself, saying she had been interrupted in her nap and was returning to bed. No sooner had she got into her bedroom than Ralph had tiptoed down the hall to her door and listened. Soon there came harsh gasps, murmurs, groans. Then the bed creaked. Ralph supposed the humming sound was some kind of vibrator.
"Mmmm!" came a strangled sob from the bedroom.
Then Ralph walked briskly to the front door. He opened it noisily, then slammed it hard. The sound of the door crashing closed echoed thunderously. He was sure that even though Arlene was concentrating on satisfying her lust, she had heard the door open and slam. Now she would be thinking she was alone in the house.
Ralph tiptoed back to the closed door to Arlene's bedroom. He crouched and listened.
Through the door filtered the woman's hot sounds. "Mmmm! Mmmmfff! Oh, God! God, oh, oh, oh!"
The bed was creaking so loudly Ralph was mesmerized. It was almost musical, the creaking bedsprings mingling with her hot gasps and the faint buzz of what Ralph judged to be a vibrator.
His cock was surging up and out, pressing against his pants, nearly erect now. He wanted to see the woman. He wanted to get a glimpse of her face and body as she struggled toward orgasm. Should he crack the door open? Did he dare? Would she notice? Probably not. She was too excited. Besides, if she did notice, it wouldn't matter. Ralph was going to make his presence known to her soon anyway.
Slowly he reached for the door knob and turned it. Then he pushed in. A narrow crack formed through which he could see into the bedroom. But he couldn't see the bed. The door opened at the wrong angle. Then he noticed the mirror, and it was positioned perfectly. The reflected image of the masturbating Mrs. French was clear, the bedside lamp supplying just the right amount of light to cast an erotic gleam over her body.
She was certainly a sight. Her housecoat was wide open, flared beneath her like a cape, only her arms covered by the material. Her legs were drawn back against her breasts, her thighs spread apart so she had easy access to her vagina. One of her hands kneaded her breasts wildly while the other held the vibrator deep within her cunt. Her pussy juices were smeared all over her inner thighs, and the sheet beneath her was stained with her passion flow. Her movements were frantic. She rocked back and forth, doing the first third of a backward somersault again and again.
Deep gurgling groans came from within her. Then she was spitting out words, words that startled the boy who crouched in the doorway and peeked at her reflection in the mirror.
"Oh, baby!" she blurted. "F-fff-fuck! Fuck me! Oh, Ralph, yes, it's so wrong! Fuck me! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck me, Ralph, I need it! I'm going to come! Ralph, oh, Ralph! Fuck!"
Ralph's fully erect penis now thrust painfully within the confines of his trousers. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Mrs. French was thinking of him while she diddled. She was pretending she was fucking him. Shit, this is going to be easy! he thought.
He watched as her leg muscles made tiny spastic ripples. She groaned deeper, and he knew she was ready to get her relief. This was the perfect time for action.
He stood, shoved the door wide open and strode into the bedroom. His gait was that of a young, self-assured conqueror.
Now that she had heard the front door slam and was convinced that Ralph was out of the house, Arlene began to fuck herself with wilder abandon. She no longer tried to muffle her outcries or to control her movements. The visit of her imagined young lover had really set the fires blazing within her body. She was building toward a climax more shattering than any she had ever experienced.
She was irrational, and she made no effort now to control herself. She didn't try to expunge the image of Ralph from her delirious mind. She welcomed it. She pretended that he hadn't left the house, that instead he had come into her bedroom and was fucking her silly.
The vibrator was tremoring relentlessly inside her incredibly drenched cunt. She became wilder and wilder, one hand playing havoc with her tingling breasts while the other anchored the massager. She brought her legs up, doubled, and pressed her knees almost against her tits. She nearly somersaulted backward. Then she began an insane, rhythmic rocking.
Words and garbled moans escaped her lips. Finally she was almost coming, and she ranted, "Oh, baby! F-fffk! Fuck me! Oh, Ralph, yes, it's so wrong! Fuck me! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck me Ralph, I need it! I'm going to come! Ralph, oh, Ralph! Fuck!"
Her legs quivered. Her stomach trembled. She was sliding toward her climax, her brain numb. And then…
God, she thought, there's someone in the room!
Even as this ominous truth blanketed her brain, Arlene continued to writhe. Instead of immediately halting all movement, her fingering of her breasts and vagina began to taper off slowly until finally she was able to remain relatively still – the vibrator still humming deep in her vagina – and turn toward the unknown intruder.
It was Ralph. The boy she had just pretended was fucking her now stood two feet from her bed, a smoky lust in his eyes.
She should have felt rage, but she felt nothing of the sort. The blood swirled like a tornado inside her head. She wanted to faint.
She'd been caught. Caught. Caught.
A grown woman. Playing with herself. And this teen-age boy gaping down at her, staring at the vibrator that still buzzed within her vagina. God! she thought. Don't let this be real! But it was real, terribly, unchangeably real – and she felt like dying.
She had been on the verge of coming, and now her lust seemed to be frozen right on the edge of orgasm. She was neither cooling off nor getting hotter. Her clitoris went right on throbbing. But her brain would have no part of her sexual excitement. All she could think about was the ugly trauma that confronted her.
Her legs lowered and came to rest on the mattress. The vibrator slipped halfway out of her cunt, still buzzing.
She drew her thighs together, and somehow had the presence of mind to reach down and flick off the vibrator. She tore the instrument from her vagina and threw it asides if this ridiculous gesture could help make things right again. She began buttoning her housecoat, hardly realizing what she was doing, putting the top button in the wrong hole.
He stood over her, a partial smile on his lips.
Arlene's thoughts had no consistency, they merely floated around in her brain. She felt only shock and guilt and distress. A horrible, creeping shame swept over her. It was worse than a nightmare.
She finally managed to fit the last button into a buttonhole. Her housecoat was uneven, but at least it was on – at least Ralph couldn't stare at her depraved nudity any more.
She looked away from the boy, her eyes open and fixed on the ceiling. If she remained perfectly still, if she said nothing, perhaps he would slip out of the room and go away. Perhaps he would leave her alone to suffer.
This hope was quickly shattered.
"Were you having a good time, Mrs. French?" His voice was cocky, assured, so unlike the normally polite tones he used.
Tears of shame and humiliation formed in her eyes. She threw the top sheet over her to give her still another shield against his stare.
When she failed to answer, he said, "Must be real lonely with your husband in jail, huh, Mrs. French?"
"Ralph, don't! Please, don't!" His words were cruel, terribly cruel. Surely this wasn't the same mannerly boy she thought so highly of.
"Want me to get in bed with you?" he asked coyly.
"No!" she sobbed. "No! No! No! Please get out!"
"If I get out, you'll just finish what you started. Would you rather make love to that vibrator or to me?"
His words stung her. "I… I could never make love to you," she whispered. "You must leave!"
He sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes.
"No!" she screamed, suddenly aware of what his intentions were.
He wanted to fuck her.
Before she realized what was happening he had wormed his hand beneath the sheet and between two buttons of her housecoat. Without hesitation, he shoved a finger up into her cunt.
"Oh, oh, no!" she cried. Her hand gripped his wrist firmly, trying to pull him away. Her thighs remained locked together, and this only served to imprison the finger she was struggling to expel.
She sobbed in frustration. He was so strong. And now he was wiggling his finger around in her vagina. And it felt good. Oh, damn, don't let it feel good! she thought.
"Get away! Get out, damn you!" she screeched.
"It feels good, doesn't it?" he breathed, leaning over her and pressing his lips to hers.
She kept her mouth tightly closed, refusing to have anything to do with the kiss. Waves of shock continued to engulf her, but she couldn't deny that his probing finger was reawakening the explosive lust she had felt when he entered the room. She had to stop him. He was going to make her come. She had to make him leave.
His mouth still pressed to hers. Involuntarily she uttered a hot gasp, and her lips parted slightly. He took the opportunity to lick his tongue across her straight white teeth.
Then his thumb was up against her clitoris, and she couldn't prevent herself from lunging with her hips. Her thighs opened slightly.
"Please don't!" she begged. "Please, please, please, please, please don't!"
When she was finished with her plea, her mouth remained open. She couldn't help herself. He wedged his tongue into her mouth, and her tongue tasted his.
"No!" she mumbled. "Nnnooooo!"
Her legs shot wide apart, acting without any instructions from her brain. She realized he was unbuttoning her housecoat, and she didn't stop him. Then his hand left her cunt and he quickly stripped his clothes away, heaving the garments carelessly onto the floor.
She was horrified. This was going too far.
"Oh, no! No you mustn't!" But she watched him disrobe, and when his huge young cock was unveiled, she gasped. It was bigger than her husband's. Much bigger. It was even bigger than she had imagined in her hot fantasies.
Then he was naked and he pulled the sheet off her body. Her housecoat was open now, showing her flawless breasts, her vagina wet and slippery, the cunt hairs gathered into unnatural sticky curls.
Her mind froze. Suddenly he was over her, his cock held in one hand, aimed at her vagina.
A dizziness clutched her mind. She couldn't let him. She'd never let anyone except her husband. It was wrong, dirty, perverted, and her clitoris was throbbing like crazy.
What's wrong with me? Those same haunting words jolted her mind again and again. She couldn't let herself be fucked by a teen-age boy.
"I'm going to fuck you now, Mrs. French!" His calm words sent the ultimate shock through Arlene's already tormented head.
Then his hand was no longer guiding his cock, but was teasing her cunt and clitoris. She squirmed despite herself. She groaned.
He kissed her more feverishly than ever, and she returned his kiss with a savage tongue.
But then the true horror of what she was doing dawned on her, and she broke the kiss, crying, "Oh, we must stop! Oh, don't do it! Please, don't!"
But his hand was working her into a frenzy of lust she couldn't control. She spread her legs wider. She bucked beneath him.
Ralph smiled to himself. He had her now. Only her mind was fighting, her body was his to fuck.
She said, "Go away, Ralph!"
He almost laughed out loud at her silly plea. She no more wanted him to leave than she wanted to die. She wanted to live and fuck. He'd never seen a body more desperate for it. Just to prove his point, he rolled away from her. He even got up off the edge of the bed and began slipping into his underwear.
"Wh-what…" She left her thought unsaid.
"You told me to go away, Mrs. French!"
My God, has it come to this? Arlene thought. Does he want me to beg for it?
Suddenly she knew she must speak to save her sanity. She couldn't let him leave, not now.
In a whispering voice, choked with passion, she said, "Come back!"
"What for?" he asked coolly.
She knew what he was hinting at. He wanted to hear her say that awful debasing word. He wanted to hear her beg crudely like some street whore.
"Say what you want!" he demanded.
She couldn't possibly. She sobbed in agony as his cock was buried within the fabric of his shorts. He began to step into his trousers.
"I can't…" Arlene whined. "I can't say it!"
"Yes you can," he retorted. "You can and you did! I heard you. And you used my name, too! So why can't you say it now, Mrs. French?" He spat the words at her as if he were enjoying her torment.
He continued to dress.
Arlene's legs arched, her thighs quivered. Her whole body pulsated in excruciating arousal. Her hands danced down to her belly, but she didn't touch her vagina. She didn't dare.
And then nothing seemed to matter except her hot, rampant desire and she groaned, "All right! God, I can't help it! I want it! I want you to. Come back! Come back and fuck me! Hurry, Ralph! Hurry and fuck me!"