First she washed her face, toweling away the dotted cum in her hair. Even so, she was a mess, and first thing in the morning she'd have to shampoo and rinse. Damn him! Squirting in her face like a high-school boy on his first hot date! He was no boy. He was a man. Or was he? Had his duties at the office perhaps turned her husband into some kind of pathetic frump, good only for sitting at a desk and looking very executive?
"I don't know," she told the Melinda in the mirror. "I've tried everything. Has… has he just lost interest in me?"
She didn't know, and neither did her mirror image. Both of them shook their heads simultaneously, one sad face staring back at the other. Even her tile looked sad, the nipples drooping like downcast eyes. She cupped her breasts from beneath and stared hopefully at the mirror. It didn't help.
She stepped back, surveying her naked body, intent on catching the slightest flaw in her appearance – anything that might have turned off her husband, caused him to lose interest in her. She could see nothing. At twenty-nine, she looked almost as she had the day she married Neil, four years ago. Her hair was still lustrous and shimmering, her face smooth, her eyes bright but candid. And her figure? She hadn't put on a pound in years. She could still wear the clothes she'd worn in high school – except that those styles were out of fashion now. Her tits were still full and high, nicely separated, capped in small dark nipples that were perky when she was perky, sorry when she was sorry. Her waist was trim and long, flaring out into a woman's hips and ass. Below, that proud butt long, slender legs carried her with a smooth-stepping gracefulness. She walked well, she danced. Well or at least she had, once. Neil hadn't take her dancing in a couple of years. Something else he'd lost interest in.
She was a brunette, tinged in natural highlights of red, and her hair was beautiful. Melinda scooped it up, swirled it around her face, hoping it would add a little note of gaiety to her somber features.
She looked down, sadly, at the small, almost perfect V of hair at her loins. It was brunette too, darker than the hair on top but tighter-curled. Right now it looked like the "before" of a shampoo commercial. The frizzies. Even her bush reflected the rest of Melinda.
She ran a hand down her body and it came to rest idly upon the slightly prominent mound of her pussy. Her fingers leafed through the dark thick curls of hair and she found herself touching the warm, still moist flesh. God, she'd come so close! Her cunt had been dripping impatiently as Neil's finger worked in and out, and in her mouth his cock had swelled and blossomed like a flowering orchid. And then – just as she was ready to mount her man and ride their mutual passion to a tumultuous breaking – he'd… he'd… oh, it made her sick to think of it! His hard-on, so carefully nurtured, so happily arrived, bursting in her face, spewing semen everywhere except where she most craved it – in the churning depths of an orgasmic pussy. Melinda looked up. She really ought to take off her makeup. There was no need to be glamorous now. Not for a sleeping husband.
But her hand was still clutching her pussy and she couldn't bear letting go. Instead, she clutched a little tighter, feeling her cunt swell slightly in her clasped hand. Man it-it felt nice! And lately she'd done so much masturbation. How else was she to release the need that built and festered inside her body? Neil was obviously little interested. God, how could a man get so caught up in his work that he would neglect the woman who loved him? Didn't he see what it was doing to her? Couldn't he guess? Tonight's getup – the negligee, the perfume, the makeup – it was a desperate effort to recapture his interest. Oh, why had they ever left Pittsburgh? They'd been happy there, their sex life dynamite. Six months in their new home and everything had gone to hell. She wished… she wished…
Melinda looked round the bathroom. Neil's clothes were where he'd left them, folded neatly, ready to go into the hamper and to the washing machine. "Your clothes," she said. "I see more of your clothes than I see of you, darling. I wish you were here now, with me, so I could tell you…"
Aaaahhh!! Her fingers dug into the puff of her snatch and she felt a throb of excited response shoot through her body. Melinda's eyes closed, her head spun. She clutched at the basin for support, but she didn't take her hand off her twat. Instead, if anything, she clutched it more despairingly.
"Oh, I need something," she whispered, "and if I can't get it from Neil…"
Her eyes still closed, she turned round and stumbled toward the john. She found it with a questing foot and sat down, more by instinct than anything else. The cloth cover of the lid warmed beneath her buttocks and she squirmed about, moving till her ass felt comfortable. Melinda opened her eyes and fixed her gaze upon Neil's clothing. His shirt, his tie, his trousers. The undershorts which held, all day long, the cock she couldn't even get at night. Oh, God!
She reached down, then, with both hands. One set of fingers spread back the lips of her pussy, baring the slick reddish flesh inside. Flesh red with desire, slick with lustful wetness. A milky ooze emerging from the hole of her cunt itself, a milky ooze that coated and further slickened her vulgar flesh, that stuck to her fingers in glue-like beads. "Aaaahhh," she moaned, peeling back her fuck-starved labia, running one fingertip across the revealed puss and its tingly folds and crevices, hungry for love. Any kind of love. Even the kind that came from her darting fingers.
She felt so degraded whenever she had to resort to this, but what choice had she? Tonight she'd built herself up, physically and mentally, and the passion still rolled in her belly. Until it was satiated, she could think of nothing else.
Melinda didn't have to rub her clit to stir up that eager nubbin. It was already up, lithe and hot, when her finger got into action, and she pressed her love button tensely. She rolled it against her. Pubic bone till she wanted to scream for the pleasure of it. Why couldn't Neil do at least that much for her? Why did he have to be so… so fucking dead? Had he fallen out of love with her? Didn't he care?
She cared. She had to care. It was her cunt, her clit. If she didn't take their needs into consideration apparently no one would. Her finger rubbed harder against her vulva, the tip gouging now and then into the splayed mouth of her cunt.
"There," Melinda congratulated herself. "There!!"
The hole of her twat seemed to open further, and it was a real mouth now, lacking only net of teeth. She could even feel a tongue of flesh inside, or so she thought, one which lapped and tickled the finger as it suddenly thrust deep into the chum of her buttery sex.
She stabbed deeply, passionately, her finger stiff and pecker-like inside her clinging, sucking cuntal walls. Ohhhh, she was so wet! She'd been hotter, even, than she thought. No wonder her disappointment at Neil's lack of performance was so strong. No wonder her cunt ached now, ached for the release she had to give it with her hands, with her hands, with her.
Two fingers in her pussy now, two fingers that dived and stabbed and reamed the tight-clutching walls. She was snug inside, as snug as a much younger Melinda had been the first time she allowed Neil to fuck her. Oh, God, it had been so fantastic! That cock, big and hard and horny. The balls that manufactured cum by the quart, not the spoonful. The sex drive that spurred him to fuck her again and again – four times on the first night of their first date – a date that had stretched by mutual consent into a rapturous weekend together. Friday night. All day Saturday. All day Sunday. He'd even balled her in bed on Monday morning, so delightfully she'd demanded another go-round and had been late for work.
They lived together for three months, then married. He wasn't the that man she'd ever fucked – there had been two before him, one in high school, one in college – but he was the first man she'd ever wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The rest of her life? They wouldn't celebrate their fifth anniversary until next year. If they lasted that long. God knew, something had gone sour in their relationship.
But for the moment she could make herself forget. Yes! Forget! Think only of the two fingers – no! – it was three now, and each of them a passion-mad beast roving in the sheath of her cunt, thrusting up her slick, dripping channel, burning her ecstatically with the friction of their in-out strokes.
She was twisting about on the john, her legs stretching, curling, and her lower body fucked furiously at the hand which fucked it. There was a throbbing in her body, a throbbing that originated in the swollen lump of her clit.
"You too, darling," she panted. Her other set of fingers planted themselves around the beacon of her clitoris and started to massage the aching flesh there. Two fingers pinched her sex trigger from the sides, causing a thin, tight whine to seep from Melinda's mouth, and she arched her back, screwing more and more of herself into the action of her masturbating hands. It wasn't as good as sex with Neil, but it was all she had.
"Ohhhh…" Four fingers in her snatch, the thumb of that hand tickling round and round the outer lips as its partners penetrated deeper and deeper. She felt as if she could thrust her entire hand up her cunt, catch hold of her uterus and pull herself inside out. Oh, what a beautiful idea! Then all her most sensitive parts would be right out in the open, where she could get to them whenever, wherever she wanted. Melinda giggled, and each time the sweet, silvery laugh rippled through her body, it met and collided with a spurt of physical ecstasy, radiating upward from her self-violated twat.
The onrush of orgasm was like a kick in the belly, but it wasn't a painful feeling. Quite the opposite. It was best of all when Neil's cock was in her balls-deep, tickling her womb, teasing her with the promise of his cum as her own sex organ exploded deliriously around his prick. But she couldn't have that. He wouldn't – couldn't – give it to her. And, the lump of her fingers made a substitute nearly acceptable. Oh, bunched up this way, her four fingers provided a thick barreling tool in her churning snatch, but it wasn't the same. Not at all. She missed the steady pulsation she could always feel in her husband's cock as he fucked her, the way his heart seemed to beat massively in the extension of his prick. She missed the telltale twitching that always heralded the bunting open of Neil's cum-ducts, the flood that would saturate her cunt in boiling milk. When had she last felt that?
This evening, as she rubbed his dick on her face. That same giveaway twitching, and she'd known, even as his cock began to spray her, wasting that delicious gooey load.
"Oh, Goddd!!" Melinda moaned, her heart twisting in pain inside her body. She didn't want to think about… couldn't think about… not now not when it was… when she was…
She poured out heart and soul, not to mention her pussy and all its seething bubbling juices, and her head rocked, long hair swirling across her face and back again. She could smell his cum in her hair, where stray gobs had squirted, and it helped. A little. But this orgasm was nearly all her on doing. Her fingers. Her memories. Melinda's ass bobbed up and down on the john's seat cover, and by now the cloth was scorching hot, set afire by the heat of her quivering body.
She wrapped her legs around the hands in her cunt, and she squeezed herself up into a seated knot, pressuring her pussy even as it shuddered and convulsed with its juicy release. Her toes curled and uncurled in mid-air, clenching, grasping. Her pussy was clenching and grasping too, and it sucked at the fingers inside it as if the sly little snatch never meant to let them go. Melinda threw her head back, shaking hair from her face, and she gave her snatch full rein. Do what you will, she thought. You deserve what little pleasure you can get.
She rocked and rippled and came, and she leaked pussy milk until the entire bathroom seemed to be suffused with the aroma of her climax. The flutter of her cuntal muscles finally relaxed, and she was able to extract her wet aching fingers.
"Ohhh," she sighed, "it seems to get better each time I do it. Practice makes perfect? God, how much longer will I have to reply on my hands? Neil, what is wrong with you? What is wrong with me?"
She raised her hands, stared at the sticky cream which covered them, and then, as she had done before, as she knew she'd do again she began to suck her fingers dry. The taste of her orgasmic juice was delicious, but she already knew that. She'd kissed her cum from Neil's mouth, she'd sucked his cock greedily after it had spent several minutes reaming and fucking inside her cunt. Once upon a time. When their marriage was good. When they were good. Together.
"I just don't know," she lamented. "I just don't know."
When she could stand, she went to the sink and took off her makeup. The face that reflected from the mirror was plainer, with lipstick and eye shadow and rouge removed, but it was by no means a plain face. She had good bone structure, good coloration. She was not an unattractive woman, neither in her face nor in her body. So why did her husband now choose to devote ninety-five percent of his time and attention to his work and none to her?
"This," she said aloud, "is what happens after 'They all lived happily ever after'. The Prince gets bored with Snow White and…" Tears glistened in her eyes, tears of self-pity perhaps, but if she didn't feel sorry for herself, who would? Certainly not Neil. He was too busy at the office.
"Maybe I'll call his boss," she said. "Tell him he's working my husband too hard, that it's ruining our marriage."
Oh, God, what a fantastic idea! It would screw up everything that isn't already screwed up. Little as that may be.
Melinda shook her head sadly. She went to the closet, found a robe, and sheathed her body in it. An old robe, terry-cloth, floor-length, frowsy, the kind of thing any housewife might wear around the house. Especially a housewife who no longer had anything to be glamorous for.
Neil's clothes. She might as well carry them down to the hamper. Tomorrow was washday. And she didn't feel like going to bed quite yet.
Better check first, see if he'd left anything in his pockets. Neil was pretty good about cleaning his pockets, but once he'd forgotten to remove a half of important notes and Melinda had sent them through the washer along with his clothes.
Nothing in his shirt. It smelled of tobacco. Neil didn't smoke, but everyone else at the office did, and he came home reeking of the foul stuff. Well, the wash would take it out. Until the next time he wore his shirt to work.
She picked up his trousers, rummaged through the pockets, and then nodded sagely. Good thing she'd looked. Melinda extracted a rolled-up piece of paper. Probably something highly important. Neil had a habit of writing things down on tiny scraps of paper, scraps he was always losing. Well, she'd saved this one. Wonder what it might be? The outline for an important contract? Melinda unrolled the paper.
Darling Neil,
I feel like a schoolgirl passing you a love note, but, that's what this is. Oh darling I don't think I can wait till tonight. Why don't you call me out of the typing pool and we'll lock ourselves into your office and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… And then well fuck some more. Mmmm! I'm getting all wet and creamy, thinking about you, and me.
Oh, call me, or I'll just volunteer myself to your office, door. Who said you couldn't trust anyone over thirty? You're thirty and I trust you. To give me enough hot hard cock for three women. Please call me, darling, please. My pussy is pouting for you. It's hungry. Feed it your cream.
Melinda dropped the note and it fluttered to the floor. "Good God," she said aloud, then knelt and retrieved the note. It was typed and, she recognized from her own secretarial days, typed on an IBM Electric with Courier Italic font. The "K" was handwritten, in black ink, and she was certain that it was a female hand. "Oh, Jesus," she said, shuddering. Of course a woman had written that "K". If her husband was fucking around with anyone on the side, it wouldn't be with a man. Fucking around? On the aide? Her vision, went black for a moment and she didn't know if she were still standing. Melinda had a flash of the floor making up to meet her but it was a delusion. When her eyesight returned to normal she was on her feet, the piece of incriminating paper quivering in her fingers.
Not for a moment had she even suspected that there might be another woman in Neil's life. But… could it… could it be?
The note was explicit, full of X-rated language. A woman wouldn't send a note like this one to a man. Not unless – K. Had Neil ever mentioned a "K" from work?
She didn't remember. Someone in the typing pool, apparently. Melinda rubbed her fingers and mouth, wanting to burst into tears or fall into a coma. But she couldn't. She needed all her energy, all her concentration. Had he come to her tonight – and how many other nights – fresh from another woman? Instead of working late at the office, instead of working weekends in a natural junior executive's passion to get ahead, had Neil been gripped by another kind of pension? An adulterous relationship?
She read the note again, though she knew she could never forgot a single word of it, as long as she lived. And then she wiled it, carefully, into the same thin twist it had been when she found it. He mustn't know she'd seen his pornographic love letter. Not until she was ready to tell him. And when she was… Anger blazed in Melinda. She was glad she couldn't see her face in a mirror now, for it would not be an attractive face. It would be the face of a woman outraged, a woman determined to fight for what belonged to her. This bitch "K" could not take Neil away from Melinda. No matter what Neil thought, no matter what "K" thought.
She replaced his clothes, just as he'd left them. As far as Neil was concerned, she hadn't touched anything. Melinda tied the robe tightly about her and went into the living room. The thought of going back to bed, of lying down beside a man who had cheated her, betrayed her – she couldn't handle that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
"But first," she told herself, "I have to find out. Who she is. How long this has been going on. I can't fight until I know the details."
She wanted to sit down, but her feet would not cooperate. They carried her past the couch, into the kitchen. She drank a glass of milk but it curdled on its way down her digestive tact. Something I can do, she thought, but what?
The next morning, after Neil had kissed her cold lips goodbye and started for the office, Melinda was drinking her third cup of black coffee, trying to read the morning paper. But not even Peanuts seemed funny. Not today.
She flipped past the comic page, into the Want Ads. And there, glaring in bold print three-quarters down a column of advertisements, she saw it.
Concerned? Anxious? Do you have to know what someone is doing? Qualified, discreet investigation services are available for your peace of mind. D. Hammett Agency. Call 892-1713 for appointment.
"A sign from heaven," Melinda said hoarsely.
She finished her coffee and went to the telephone. Her fingers trembled so nervously she had to dial it with a pencil, and then, holding her breath, she waited for an answer at 892-1713.