Grant Roberts: The wayward wifes

“There. You see? A chance in a thousand that you are pregnant from Tom. It’ll take some time to heal the mental scar, but maybe it would be wiser to wait and see what develops with your father-in-law rather than go rush into something foolish.”

“But where can I go, Marcia? I won’t go back… ever!“

Marcia suddenly realized that an opportunity for her own gratification was at hand. What is the matter with me? her mind cried out. My God, here I am, setting this poor, raped friend of mine up for another depraved act… why can’t I stop myself? Don’t I like men enough. Why must I prey on women… on her… as well?

Marcia knew the answer to her own questions. It was an answer she had often had to live with. She liked sex; all kinds, all ways, all the time. Roger was gone, there wasn’t a man around to stick his cock inside her, so she was going to have to try to interest Patty in the next best thing. A woman’s touch. She groaned inwardly at the sensuous thought, then smiled at Patty and said calmly: “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Can I? Can I really?”

“Certainly! I’m all alone, and this house is built for two. That is, if you don’t mind sharing the… bed with me.”

Patty never caught the hesitation of Marcia’s reply. She was too overjoyed at the prospect of a way out from the horrid situation she had fled from to notice the intense and struggling facial features of Marcia and the way her fingers stroked the robe gently. “No, I don’t mind. I promise I’ll be quiet and I’ll help out with the housework and pitch in for the food… Marcia, I’d be so grateful!”

Marcia thought to herself of the pleasant ways which Patty could show her gratefulness. “Yes, I’m sure everything will work out just fine!”

The two girls talked over some hot coffee for another hour, Patty telling all the gory details of the rapacious actions she had been part of, and Marcia offering commiseration whenever possible. Marcia was on Patty’s side all the way, standing up beside her to ward off the evilness of the male animal, or at least that was the impression she was trying to give. At last it was time to retire, and after putting out towels for Patty and showing her where she could put her things later, they were together, alone, in the bedroom.

“I sleep in the raw,” Marcia said as she discarded her gown. “I put this on to answer the door, but I find the blankets are warm enough. I’m stifled otherwise.”

Patty gulped as she viewed Marcia’s slender form. “I… I do the same normally.” She hesitated, her hands on the belt of her robe, then with a small shrug as though saying “It’s all between us girls,” she opened the robe and slipped it from her shoulders. The two girls smiled at each other, their nudeness a natural thing of beauty to each other.

Patty was struck by the slim, and to her, enviable, body before her. Marcia had the apple shaped breasts and wasplike waist she had so often desired for herself, and her hips had the kind of scalloped thighs and slender loins of a woman built for sports. Patty glanced down at her own fullness, wondering if she would be happier if she were more like Marcia, if sex would be more stimulating if there were less flesh between the nerve endings. She stared at the softness of the pubic hair between Marcia’s legs, and the lewd picture came into her mind of a penis slipping wetly into the narrower aperture.

Marcia, as if reading Patty’s brain, sat on the edge of the bed and raised one leg to the spread, resting her thin, long-toed foot upon the coverlet and seemingly inspected her toenails. There was no self-consciousness about the fact that she was facing Patty with her cuntal mouth splayed wide. The cool night air played across her thin lipped vagina, making it tingle with urgency. She could almost feel her lubricating juices beginning to seep from the insides of her pussy. She knew that Patty was gazing at her crotch, and by some basic, animalistic instinct, she also knew that Patty had the same urges, untapped as they may be, to explore the same sex. With all the cunning of a female predator, she smiled to herself and bided her time… waiting… waiting…

Patty crawled under the covers on the other side of the bed, shaken at the sudden strange intoxication which had swept over her. She couldn’t understand the peculiar tingling which had happened to her when she had viewed the vaginal opening of her friend, the odd thrill at watching Marcia’s small breasts perk up when she had removed the gown over her head, and the way her dark, negroid colored nipples had contrasted with the paleness of her skin. It was… almost as if she was sexually aroused by this woman!

Impossible! What a horrid thought! What a sick, sick thing to imagine! First her whoredom with her husband’s father… and now lesbianism… Oh God what was happening to her, to the moral code which had been so much a part of her life? Had she plummeted to the bottom of moral turpitude by being apart from Larry? Was the loss of her hymen a signal to debauch herself in carnal abuse?

She turned away from the now stretching woman who yawned beside her, and tried to will herself asleep. Sleep eluded her.

Instead, her mind went back to an incident of many years previous, back when she was but still a child, innocent and first awakening to the mysteries of puberty. She was ten, her mother still alive, and the family was visiting some relations who lived on a lake in Oregon. There, in the little dressing room which was used for changing into swimming suits, she had walked in on her Aunt Rosalie, who had been standing nude, drying herself.

Everybody else had been up at the house, and it had been just Aunt Rosalie and her, just like now it was just Marcia and herself. Aunt Rosalie was a big woman with a figure almost as ripe as the one Patty had now, and she had stood proud and spread legged, rubbing the woolly towel over her thighs and pubic area, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing up and down until Patty had come in and interrupted.

It was all as though it was happening again, Patty thought to herself as she slipped into the drowsy dream-world of half sleep. The scene was vivid before her mind’s eye…

What are you doing, Auntie?" she had asked; and Auntie had merely said she was drying herself, that’s all. And would she like to have Auntie dry her, too?

Patty had giggled and wriggled out of her own wet suit and stood, her slightly plump girlish body dripping and goosebumpy, and Auntie had closed the towel around her and rubbed. She had rubbed Patty’s hair and face and arms and legs and then her tummy, stopping for a moment to tickle the sweet little navel and causing Patty to laugh. Then upwards to the forming breasts, and the tingling fingering through the material as Auntie rolled the small teats between her thumb and forefinger.

“What are you doing?” Patty had asked, suddenly aware of a strange new sensation; an electrifying, almost stinging charge which started at her breasts and radiated throughout her body. She looked down at her Auntie’s manipulations, fascinated to find that for the first time, her breasts seemed to grow larger, that her little nipples were protruding and were firm like light switches being turned on and off as they were stroked up and down. “I’m… I’m getting bigger!” she had said in awe.

Aunt Rosalie had hit upon the one fear Patty had… the rather pointless fear that her breasts weren’t going to develop. Auntie had chuckled and rubbed harder. “Why, this is how you make them bigger, sweets,” she had purred. “You exercise them. A lot, just like your Aunt Rosalie does. And look at mine!” She had stopped with the towel and held out one breast for Patty to examine, and Patty, with the curiosity of a child, had reached up and touched the mammoth gland. Rosalie had moaned softly and at first Patty had been afraid she had hurt her, but Rosalie had pressed the hand to her breast tightly with her own, dropping the towel, and said; “More, more, sweets. See how my tit grows?”