Neil was already home when she got there.
Melinda gasped in astonishment at the sight of his car in the driveway and she wondered what in hell could be wrong. He quarreled with Kathy?
Maybe the pretty young blonde's period had started without warning? Whatever the reason, her husband had obviously come straight home from the office, and it fucked up all of Melinda's plans. She wasn't ready to confront him with her knowledge of his guilt. She needed time to work out the scenario, so she could manipulate it to her best advantage. Oh, damn it to hell! she thought, going into the house.
"Hello, darling," she said evenly, hoping that the anger in her mind didn't show in her voice. He had the balls to look so calm and innocent, too, when only last night he'd fucked Kathy, told her he loved her, romped with her on that big brass bed, its posts shaking as the tempo of lovemaking mounted. She wanted to claw his eyes out, rip his deceptive heart from his cheating body. "I didn't expect you home so soon," she added. "I've been… shopping. Dinner isn't ready…"
Neil smiled. "It's okay, hon. I'm just here for a pit stop. Mr. Shepherd caught me by surprise today. He asked me to go up to New York for a mini-convention this weekend, and I really couldn't refuse. I'm just picking up some things to take along…" He held up his suitcase.
All sweetness, she thought, all honey and pie with whipped cream on top. If I was that bitch Kathy, he'd have me on the floor already, my skirt up and my pants down. Oh, I hope he came down with swine flu! It would be such poetic justice!
"Well," she said. "I'll run up and grab what I need. Are we staying at the Plaza, as usual?"
Neil colored. She'd taken him by surprise. Score two points for Melinda. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, the Plaza, but… uh, I'm afraid…" Here it comes, Melinda thought. "You see, I, uh, have to catch the next plane, so I can go over notes with Mr. Shepherd… about the approach we're going to take when we get there, you know? And it's leaving in just about twenty minutes. I'm late as it is… heavy traffic, and there was a two-car collision which slowed things down to a crawl…"
"Oh, that's all right," Melinda cut in. "I really didn't want to go. I should defrost the refrigerator this weekend." He seemed to like that. Apparently he didn't know that their fridge was the modem kind, self-defrosting.
And how much of the rest of it was true? Was he really going to New York? He had his suitcase. Surely he wouldn't employ such a clumsy lie so he could go shack up with Kathy and rattle that brass bed all weekend? Maybe he was in earnest. Maybe he had a plane to catch and just couldn't wait for her to get packed. Maybe.
"Well, be good," she told him, tiptoeing to kiss his mouth. His lips were dry and cool, stiff where hers touched them. Not at all like the kisses she'd traded with Dave Hammett this afternoon. It was as if Neil had become a different person, one who no longer responded to the woman he had married four years ago. Melinda felt a chill in her body as she looked at her husband's face. She wondered if there was anything left for them.
He hurried to the car, and she stood watching from the doorway. Oh, shit! He wouldn't be home till Sunday. When would she be able to collar him for that necessary conference on his secret life? The knowledge rankled in her bosom. Could she stand a weekend of keeping it there, locked up inside?
Or – and her hands began to shake a little – did it mean anything after all? Neil had cheated on her, lied to her. Perhaps he was lying to her now, gone to a rendezvous with his mistress instead of to a business convention.
She went to the bar and pawed herself a very stiff Canadian-and-water, heavy on Canadian, light on water. It warmed her somewhat, and she had another. While she was sipping the second drink, an idea occurred to Melinda. She finished the drink in a gulp and hurried to the telephone.
The girl handling the reservation desk at the airport confirmed that Mr. and Mrs. Stillman's tickets for New York were all in order, which the plane would be leaving in about half an hour. Melinda felt a cold gorge in liar throat. He'd even lied to her about takeoff time. And a ticket for Mrs. Stillman? Who else could it be but blonde, pert Kathy? The real Mrs. Stillman was sitting in her lonely house, demeaning herself by checking up on an errant husband.
"If he's taken her on the plane with him," Melinda mused, "then he probably has a hotel room for her too." Neil had been a little nonplussed when site mentioned the Plaza. Odds were that he had reservations there. Well, she could find out.
"Yes," said the desk clerk, "the suite for Mr. and Mrs. Stillman is ready."
"Goddamn it to hell!" Melinda snapped as soon as she'd broken the connection. She slammed down the telephone receiver. She and Neil had stayed at the Plaza on their honeymoon four years ago. They'd also stayed there the first time they went to New York, before their marriage. She closed her eyes, remembering the view of Central Park you got from the Plaza. This time of year the Park was gorgeous, the spring leaves beginning to green, flowers dotting colorfully in the grass, kites, sailboats floating across the lake, young couples strolling hand in hand. Not to mention the muggers, the flashers, the soapbox orators, and all the other weirdo's and perverts who made New York Fun City U.S.A.
But. Neil and Kathy wouldn't have time for that vista of Central Park. If the videotape she'd seen was any indication, they would probably spend most of their weekend getting good use out of one of the Plaza's spacious, comfortable beds. At least they didn't shake and rattle the way Kathy's brass bedstead did when it hosted a hearty round of fucking.
Not until she felt nails digging into her palm was Melinda Stillman aware that she had clenched a furious fist, that she was hammering that fist upon her knee. She looked down at it, seeing the white of her bent knuckles.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked herself. "I'm an attractive woman, I'm at the height of my sexuality. But my husband has gone off to spend the weekend in New York with another woman. While I sit here fretting because I didn't get the chance to tell him I know he's an adulterer."
And her hand unclasped then as she tilted her head to one side. She remembered vividly the other night with Neil, when she'd dolled herself up in the hope of seducing him, when she'd failed so miserably. Well, how could she help but fail? He'd spent the early part of the night screwing his Kathy; he had nothing left to give his wife. Anger swept over Melinda in a furious tide.
"Well, Goddamn it," Melinda addressed the empty room, "I didn't drive him to another woman! He went of his own free will. He had a choice, and he chose Kathy. There's nothing wrong with me, and none of this is my fault. Why should I suffer, mentally or physically, because that bastard came down with a case of the four-year-itch?"
She picked up the telephone and dialed Dave Hammett's office. The detective had proven himself to be all man this afternoon. If he was interested in a return engagement, so was she. But there was no answer.
Melinda grabbed the phone book and leafed through it. There was no listing for him, except the agency. Didn't he have a home phone?
"All right, Dave," her voice quavered. "You had first crack. But Neil isn't the only man in the world, and neither are you. I don't intend to go to bed alone. Not tonight. If my husband can go catting, so can I." She had another drink to seal the bargain, then went upstairs to take a bath, change her clothes, fix her face and hair. If she was going to hunt a man, she ought to look her very best.
"It still seems too good to be true," he said, undoing his tie. Melinda stretched on the bed, hap behind her neck. She shook her hair sensuously, then extended one foot toward him. Her toes crawled up and down his thigh. "I mean, Jesus," he went on, "here I am, sitting in a bar, minding my own business, a stranger in a strange town. And you show up. Sit down beside me, ask all pretty-please if I'd buy you a drink. And now here we are at the Holiday Inn and you're feeling my leg and sexy enough to give a hard-on to that statue of William Penn downtown, and you say you're not a hooker, that this isn't gonna cost me a cent. I just don't get it"
"There's nothing to get," Melinda soothed, her toes drifting into the crotch of his pants.
He turned, saying, "Don't do that, baby. I'm on a short enough fuse the way it is," but he didn't step back, out of her reach. Instead he reached down, caught her ankle, and ground the sole of her foot against his pants and his pecker blossoming inside. "Mmmmm, that feels good, baby," he complimented, and Melinda stretched her leg for his benefit. If he were looking – and he was – he could see all the way up her thighs to the scandalously sheer pair of bikini pants she wore under her short skirt. Hair and flesh showed through thorn panties, she was aware. And so was he.
"Is it the badger game?" he went on. "I read a book the other day, a porno novel, about this girl who worked that racket. She'd take a guy to a motel room and start to ball him, and then somebody would break in and tell the john that the girl was underage, he was gonna call the cops, that whole bit. It that what's gonna happen? Somebody come in here and threaten to bring down the pigs unless I pay him a lot of cash? Hmmmm?"
Melinda laughed. "I'm definitely not underage," she promised. "Can't you just take me at face value? My name's Melinda and I'd rather sleep with someone than go to bed alone. And tonight, I'd like to sleep with you. I don't have any ulterior motives. Unless you count fucking your brains out."
He blushed. Maybe he'd never heard a woman say "fuck" before. A lot of men hadn't. But the blush was cute, and she wiggled her foot against his dick for good measure.
He wasn't really Melinda's type. If she had a type. She wasn't sure she did. She hadn't been with all that many men. Ron was on the short side, funny-faced rather than handsome, with a bald spot at his crown and the rest of his hair receding to meet it. She supposed he was in his early thirties, possibly a traveling salesman of some sort. He'd looked lonely, sitting at the bar, though, and tonight she was very much aware of what loneliness, desertion, could feel like. So she'd gone to him, instead of to one of the younger studs in the room. Anyway – he was only to be the first of a long chain. What had Dave Hammett said, explaining Neil's behavior? That men were basically polygamous animals while women adhered to monogamy? Well, by God, Melinda Stillman could be as polygamous as any man alive, if she wanted to be. Her husband found satisfaction with another woman? She knew how to strike back. She'd become the bluest fucking female Mormon alive.
"Hurry up and undress," Melinda purred. "I want to see your body. I'll bet it's dynamite." She let her foot fall away, then sat up on the bed, lips opened into a smile, waiting Ron laughed awkwardly. "Even if I was in shape," he said, "I wouldn't make more than a firecracker. Oh, Jesus, I feel like a Goddamned dummy. I know that as soon as I get my cock out, you're going to clamp your legs shut and not open them up again till I fork over fifty dollars. Fifty? Hell, you look like at least a hundred dollars' worth."
Melinda flushed, but not with anger. He'd paid her a very pretty compliment. What woman wouldn't like to think herself worth a hundred dollars a lay, on the open market. But he seemed so tense, so nervous. If he kept on at this rate, he might not be able to perform tonight at all. And if she wasn't going to be fucked by a stranger, why had she bothered coming to Ron's motel room in the first place?
"Maybe this will prove something," she suggested, a throaty hint of invitation in her voice. Melinda dismounted from the bed, walking shoeless over the soft carpeting, and she stopped about two feet beyond lion. "Watch very carefully," she purred, taking hold of the top button of her blouse.
She undid it casually but determinedly, one button at a time, allowing the shin to fall open of its own volition. The bra-covered mounds of her tits thrust out at him, and her dark nipples were faintly visible through the clinging nylon. Her tits were erect, and their points were more than faintly on display. She stroked herself for a moment, fingers dwelling on her nipples, and it felt very strange, very nice, to be touching her body this way in front of a man she'd only just met.
She wiggled her shoulders and the blouse fell away. Ron's eyes widened at the sight of her creamy flesh, in such pretty contract to the skimpy beige bra, and she heard him whistle. "There's more, tiger," she told him, unbuttoning her skirt it dropped to her feet, and she stepped out of the fallen pile.
Now Melinda was wearing only her underwear and stockings, and her under things were more than they concealed. She'd bought them for Neil's benefit, but he seemed to have other things on his mind lately, so a stranger would have to reap the visual joys of her matching bra and panties. Which Ron seemed to be doing, in a big way. The front of his trousers was really tented out now, thrusting with the weight of a growing erection.
"DO you like it?" she asked. "It can be yours, and it won't cost you anything except a little effort, darling. All you have to do…" she moved toward him, her hands extended, ready to snake him into her embrace, "…all you have to do is make violent, mad love to me, right on that sweet, soft bed. But I know something that isn't sweet and soft. In fact, it's as violent and mad as it can be. Can you guess what I'm thinking of, darling?"
He groaned, terrifically, as Melinda oozed against him and her almost naked body touched his. She rubbed the growing bulge in his pants with her thighs and tummy, and she was a little sorry that her fingers found him to be on the flabby side, though he wasn't fat. But there would be plenty of time for Melinda to try on for size the young men, hard-muscled, with broad shoulders and year-round tans.
The most surprising part was how easy it all came to her. She'd thought it would be difficult, to say the least, picking up a man, fucking him in cold blood as a kind of revenge on her cheating husband. But it wasn't difficult at all. She seemed to know exactly what to say, how to act and Ron was so sweet in his confusion and uneasiness. Turning him on, keeping him turned on, and using him challenged and enthralled Melinda. Oh, did it ever!! She pound her cunt against him, then stepped back.
"Now it's up to you," she said. "Undress me with your hands. Strip away my underwear. Make me naked."
"Oh, shit," Ron moaned, but when he got his fingers on her there was no stopping him. He pulled the cups of her bra downward, till her tits with their small but darkly erect nipples spilled over in a double flood of white, inviting skin. Melinda had to show him the little hook between her boobs. He undid it and the bra fell away. "Oh, my God," he said, staring at her tits, drool foaming on his lips.
His hands came up to seize them, and Melinda groaned at the roughness of his caress. "God, they're so big and hot," he told her, squeezing, stroking, pinching off nipples between his fingers. Melinda shifted her weight from foot to foot, and her tits lifted and fell in his clutching hands. In its own way, it was an exciting situation. She felt moisture farming on the lips of her twat, inside the tight-fitting nylon panties, and she was more and more anxious to see what other delights might enrich her body from this evening of adulterous adventure.
"My pants," she whispered, removing one of his hands from a tit, steering it down her body. "Why don't you take off my pants, too?"
Mi, Neil! Bouncing on a bed at the Plaza with his little blonde fluffy, no doubt. Assuming that his wife was sitting at home watching television, blissfully unaware that her husband was mixing business with pleasure this stolen weekend. She wished Neil were here to see this. Especially when Ron's hand stole into her skimpy panties and took a big fistful of dark pussy hair and the damp cuntal silt hidden inside, "Aaaaaaahhhhhh…" Melinda groaned and thrust against his clutching hand, dripping her juices upon his palm and fingers. "Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"
Ron was shrinking. Wasn't he? He'd been looking wistfully into her eyes, but now she could see only the top of his head, the bald patch at the crown. He had his tongue out, and it was licking a path down the slope of her tits, just like a skier. Aaggghhh!! He'd found her nipple!
"Suck it," Melinda panted as the nipple swelled and extended in his mouth. "Suck it for me, nil nice and sweet… I feel like a mother nursing a darling little baby." Perhaps if they'd had children, she and Neil mightn't have gotten into this miserable mess. But neither of them wanted to be tied down so early in their marriage. So maybe it was for the best. If the marriage broke up because of Neil's philandering, because of her own method of getting revenge, children would only be an encumbrance in divorce court. And besides – even a famished baby could suck tit with as much charming eagerness as Ron showed right now.
His hand was still busy in her pants, feeling her cunt, a finger or two sliding up and down the vaginal crease, in, out, in, out, till Melinda was heaving and sighing against the man. "Fuck me with your finger," she whispered. "Slick it in. All the way in. I love it when you touch me. God, I love it!"
She wasn't lying. It had been a long time since strange fingers had explored her cunt. The session with Dave Hammett this afternoon had been fantastic, but she had six months of neglect to make up for, and if Ron's fingers could help, they were Goddamned welcome to do it.
He sucked both her tits, chewed on the ends of them, bit and sucked and nibbled and lipped the nipples until Melinda felt woozy all over, and still she was sorry when his mouth finally abdicated the chore and he dropped both hands to her panties. He took hold of the waistband and pulled it down as he dropped to his knees, and Melinda felt cool air touch her bush as the panties descended.
Ron was staring at her cunt. "Jesus, it's beautiful," he whispered reverently. Melinda looked down at the kneeling man, and she saw the overhead light glint slightly on his bald spot.
"Yes," she agreed, "and it's yours, if you want it. Kiss me! Oh, God, kiss me!"
He raised his face and started to rise, but Melinda touched the top of his head. "No," she said. "Kiss my pussy. It needs loving too."
Ron made a face, as if he weren't sure. But that frown turned into a pucker, very quickly, and he slammed his mouth against her groin. She felt his lips on her sopping heat. His mouth fluttered, and she thought he might have used his tongue once or twice, but it was too quick to be sure. Obviously he wasn't used to giving head to a woman, she realized with a little regret, and she loosened the grip of her hands on him.
He settled back, gasping. "I don't want to eat," he sighed, "I want to fuck. But it's still too Goddamned good to be true."
"Is it?" Melinda panted. "Take off your clothes and find out for sure, tiger."
She walked past him, hips swaying perhaps a bit more than normal, and she sank onto the bed. Her long legs stretched, partly open, and the puffy swell of her pubic hair was aimed at Ron's uncertain face. Melinda pouted her lips and reached into her crotch, fingers delving through the bush, finding the wet lips of her cunt, and slipping inside. "Ohhhhhhhh…" she moaned, flogging herself wickedly. "Hurry! Or I'll just have to start without you."
She'd never seen a man undress so fast. Ron tore the buttons off his shirt, trying to get out of it, and he almost stumbled over the pants, fallen to his ankles, which he didn't bother stepping out of.
His body, as her instinct had told her, wasn't too great. On the skinny side, pale, with a swelling of potbelly round the middle. He should join a good health club, and soon, she thought. Do wonders for him. Maybe if he were in better shape he wouldn't be so insecure about being picked up by strange women in bars.
But his cock was rampantly erect, all six and a half inches or so, and the tip was fat and juicy. His nuts were small, tightly enclosed in their sac, and they jiggled, as did his prick, when he came to join her on the bed. He settled down beside her, Melinda making mom for him, and she reached for his cock at the same moment their lips met.
The only cocks she could remember with any clarity were Neil's and Dave Hammett's, and this one didn't match either. It was rather slender, though big at the knob, and not as long as her husband's or her first lover's. But it was a cock, damn it, hard and red, and there was no reason why it couldn't slip into her pussy and fuck her till cum overflowed her silted lips. No reason at all, she thought, feeling it throb and pulsate in her fist. No reason at all.
He was sucking her breast again, mouth flying from one to the other, and she kept squeezing his cock in her fist. "Fuck me, hmmmmmm?" she cooed to the top of his head.
"Oh, shit, yes," he groaned, working her legs further apart by sliding his own between them. Melinda still had him by the pecker, and she brought the tip of his dong to rest on the widening lips of her twat. Her hand forced it up and down, along the creased slice, and her moisture flowed out to coat him in its sticky warmth. Ron thrust at her, anxious to bury his dick in her sopping tunnel, but she wiggled her ass and eased away from him.
"Not yet," she said. "First you have to get all greased and juicy. Your cock is so big, I'm afraid it'll tear me apart, otherwise." It wasn't true, but it had a brilliant effect on Ron. He reared back, seeming to grow at least a couple of feet in height, and his face broke into a smug, confident smile. Good, Melinda thought. The more masculine he feels, the better he'll be when it gets down to fucking business. She soaked his cock in her juices, ten looked at him all wide-eyed and anxious. "Now," she whispered. "Stick it in me now. Fuck me, darling. Fuck me till I screw for mercy."
"Bet your Goddamned ass!!" he shouted, pushing her down upon the bed. Melinda sprawled beneath him, her legs angling out, ass drawing back as he lined up his cock with her twat and began to shove it up her.
He went in quickly, hard, deep, and she moaned in delight. God, it felt so good to be screwed by someone who meant business! This was her second time today, but a dozen more wouldn't begin to make up for the shameful, callous neglect her husband had been showing her the last several months. Still, it was a beginning and it damned sure wasn't the end!
As soon as he was in her she wrapped her legs around him, anchoring them inside his thighs, and she looked up at his face. "This had better be good," she said, "because you don't get loose until I've gotten my rocks off. At least twice. So fuck for all you're worth, baby."
His answer was a deep, hard thrust of his stiff pecker, a thrust that awakened old memories in Melinda, made her cry out in joy.
She bounced up to meet him, and her hands enfolded him just as her legs had already done. God, she thought, it's perfect! He's fucking me because he wants to, because I want him to. So go ahead, Neil Stillman. Screw the ass off your little blonde twinky, you son of a bitch. You gave up more woman than you could ever handle, and I hope you're happy, wherever you are, whatever you're doing. I know that I am.
"Stick me," she grinned. "Stick me with your fat hard cock, you sexy devil, you!" A come was building in her guts, a come stirred from the thrill of a stiff prick, the excitement of adultery, the stereotypical atmosphere of this motel room. And, not least of all, the obvious excitation of her pickup partner. God, he was fucking like a hurricane! She wondered how long he'd been on the road, how long since he'd scored a piece of juicy cunt. Oh, she didn't want to know. The only thing that mattered a Goddamn was the prong he was feeding her hungry little pussycat. When she'd drained him, she'd find herself another man just as hot, just as horny. And after him, another. And after him…