Grant Roberts: The wayward wifes

She had forgotten just how bad the exhaust pipes of Tom’s car were. They roared with the echoing sound of motorboats as she started the engine in the garage, and she heard Tom’s shout as he awoke and realized she was leaving. Luckily the garage door was open, she moved the lever into reverse and stepped on the gas just as the massive hulk of Tom raced out the side door.

He waved his fist, an almost ludicrous sight as he stood naked in the driveway, silhouetted by the Impala’s headlights. Then he was gone from her vision as Patty gunned the car forward and down the otherwise quiet residential street.

Marcia! That was it! The name of Marcia Allen came to Patty like a flash as she neared the first traffic light. She had met Marcia Allen when Larry had returned from boot camp. He had run across Marcia’s husband, Roger, while he was in training. They had been in the same barracks together by chance, and after they had found out they were from the same city, they became friends. The four of them went out together a few times when Larry and Roger were home, and Larry and she had even gone to a New Year’s Eve party at the Allens. She liked Marcia and Roger… and Marcia would surely understand her plight of all people.

After all, Marcia was also alone. Her husband was away in Viet Nam now, as was Larry, and that made a certain common bond between them. Patty drove across town to a slightly better section around Westlake, and then to the stucco duplex where Marcia Allen lived. Nervously licking her lips, and extremely self-conscious of her nakedness under the flimsy bathrobe, Patty hurried up the cement walk and rang the doorbell. At first nobody answered, and she rang again.

“Marcia!" she called out. “Please let me in!" A light suddenly went on in the back of the house, and then Patty heard the sounds of approaching footsteps and then the door cracked open slightly, and the sleepy head of Marcia peeked out.

“Who is it?" she said groggily.

“Patty,” she replied breathlessly. “Patty Jennings.”

The door closed momentarily as Marcia removed the chain and then she opened it wide. “Come in, Patty,” she said frowning, “What brings you here at this time of night?"

“Oh God it was awful,” Patty moaned, running in the house, “I… I” she choked on the words of her rape, and then sank to the couch beside the door, sobbing bitterly and hysterically. “Oh Marcia, help me!"

Marcia was completely taken aback by Patty’s strange actions. She had never seen the young wife of her husband’s friend so distraught before; she was nonplused as to what to do. She stood for a moment, looking down on the obviously barely covered form, and pulled her own thin gown tighter around her.

Marcia Allen was suddenly aware of Patty’s female body.

She had to admit there was a certain amount of jealousy about her reaction, for Patty was full breasted and ripe hipped, while Marcia felt her own body was too thin. She had admired Patty from the first time they had met, conscious of how the men stared at her flaming hair and rich skin and bright, almost innocent eyes. She recalled how she had stood in front of the full length mirror in the bedroom after Patty and Larry had gone home that night, staring at her own nude reflection in the glass, almost weeping at her small, tight breasts and thin hips. Roger had been in the living room finishing the last of the scotch, and never knew that she was so upset.

He would have laughed at her if he had known. How many times had he told her that stupid phrase: “The closer to the bone, the sweeter the meat!"

The same erotic impulse creeped up the insides of Marcia’s thighs as she stood, trembling over Patty. Yes, that first night, alone in the bedroom, she had molded and squeezed her breasts, trying to magically exercise them into the exquisite balloons she knew lay encased in Patty’s bra. Then her hands had slid down the flat plain of her stomach and rubbed her loins, her palms stroking her resilient skin, feeling her prominent hip bones and pelvis, and then she dipped further, and her legs had parted, wet for release… and then her fingers tantalized the red lips of her vagina.

“Oh Marcia, it was awful, just awful,” Patty wailed. “He was like an animal, an enraged beast, with only one thing on his mind. Ooooohhhhh…!“ She continued to cry and Marcia pulled herself back to the present with a jerk. She tried to comprehend what Patty was trying to tell her, what the problem was which had brought her to this house in the dead of the night.

“I never thought Larry’s father could be so cruel, so depraved! Oh if Gladys only knew what he had done!“ Suddenly Patty whipped the lower half of her robe aside, and Marcia gasped.

“Look, Marcia, look at the marks he left!”

Marcia did stare, her whole being reacting with sudden lust at the spread sight of Patty’s naked cunt. Without modesty but without arousal, either, Patty displayed the black and blue scarred inner thighs, and the rough and ragged pubic mound. Marcia groaned, which Patty mistakenly took as a sigh of sympathy, and she sat down beside the woman, putting a hand around Patty’s shoulder to comfort her. It was also so that she could be closer to that delectable young body which shone up at her.

The autumnal hued pubic hair still glistened from Tom’s savage fucking. A droplet of dried cum remained near the top of the cuntal opening, a mute testimony to the scene which Patty was hysterical over. The vagina was blood engorged, with still swollen lips which stuck through the pubic hair like a mountain range through the fog. It seemed to reach out to Marcia, and she couldn’t remove her eyes from its magnificence. It was soft and lush, and with long lips and a tight, coral-hued slit, all well divided and symmetrical and rounded. The whiteness of Patty’s groin set off the carmine redness of her warm, graceful seductiveness, and Marcia could imagine flame to burst from her hole. Even the clitoris, large and still hard from the rape, shown through and reminded Marcia of the Indian phrase for such a vulva: abou tertour, the crested one. It was all she could do to stop herself from reaching out with tender fingers and touching it.

“That’s… that’s awful,” she managed to reply. “I can’t think of anything more horrible. Oh, Patty, oh you poor dear!”

She pressed the distraught Patty to her, and the young girl nestled in her shoulder, still crying with shame and humiliation. The robe slid still further from Patty’s thighs, exposing her belly and sides and Marcia quivered with perverted desire.

“What are you planning to do?” Marcia asked.

“I don’t know. I’m so confused and wretched! Mr. Jennings threatened to blame it all on me, to tell Larry and Gladys I had seduced him, had egged him on, if I so much as breathe a word of what happened. Oh, I can’t lose Larry! I can’t take the chance he’ll believe his father and not his wife!” She broke away from Marcia’s grasp and looked up at her, tear stained eyes pleading for help. “What can I do? Oh, Marcia, what can I do?”

“Shhh, Patty, you’re all upset. Things will look better in the morning. Trust me. I mean, it was a repulsive thing which happened to you, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“How… how can you be so calm!”

“Well, face facts. You’re a big girl now, Patty. You weren’t physically damaged, were you? I mean, you weren’t a virgin that’s been torn apart and you’re not pregnant, are you?”

"I… I hope not.” Patty convulsed at the thought. “What if I am? Can you imagine what would happen if Larry ever found out that he was a brother to my child and not its father? It would crush him!”

“When was your menstrual period?"

“What? Oh, I see what you mean. Last week.