Jean Sifton: The door-to-door salesman

In the back of her mind, a voice admonished her, but she brushed it aside. This is wrong… you shouldn't do this… it's not right…

"Oh God, I can't help it!" she moaned through passion-clenched teeth. And she couldn't. She was driven by an unknown force to hold the pulsating massager against the desire-aroused flesh of her writhing pussy, driven to grasp whatever pleasure she could from her love-starved body. It can't be bad, she told herself. Something this good, this exhilarating just can't be bad…

Her hips were flailing and thrashing around, her nightgown bunched up around her waist as she ground her heat-enflamed cunt up against the wildly jerking gadget.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand it any longer, and with agonized strength, she jammed the thick head of the vibrator against the pulsating petal-shaped opening to her madly churning body. She grit her teeth as she steeled herself against the unnatural contact, and then heedlessly pressed forward again, forcing the rounded knob against her wetly writhing hole, insinuating it past the futilely resisting outer edges, sliding it into the heated sheath of her hotly burning cunt.

She lay there gasping as she held the thick machine in place, and then, without hesitating, she guided it deeper inside her, spreading her legs wider and arching her pelvis upward to afford greater access to the throbbing massager. Her entire loins felt alive and tingling and the instrument seemed to caress the moist tender inner tissues, which were already beginning to secrete excitedly, clasping the pseudo-phallus with greedy hunger. Of their own accord, her hips began to gyrate in time to the rhythmic pulsing of the vibrator, and as the heaving inner walls of her pussy began to lubricate with her moist feminine juices, she was able to rotate the device inside her clasping vagina, adding to the tremendous swirls of pleasure already building up deep inside her. She had never known anything like it; it was much, much better than any time with Doug. It was in fact almost as if her husband no longer existed; all that mattered to her was this incredible pleasure-giving instrument which was making love to her with an unbearable intensity. Her head began to whirl and her passion-drenched cuntal walls began an eager clutching at the half-buried machine, as if it was desperately trying to suck the gadget inside its heated depths.

Betty was bucking and thrashing against the bed, completely out of control now, aware that for the first time she was approaching a tremendous orgasm. And then, she couldn't hold back any longer…

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" she shrieked wildly as wave after wave of overwhelmingly hot pleasure washed over her. She was climaxing, and it was better than she ever imagined. Desperately, she continued to ram the white imitation penis up between her crazily kicking legs, her voice incoherent with hoarse mewls. Her deep pelvic thrusts shook the whole bed, but Betty was oblivious to everything but the unbelievable sensations cavorting through her body, culminating in the overpowering pleasure that was burning up between her legs.

At last, the tremors subsided, and the uncontrollable flexing in her belly grew less and less, until finally, she lay still, her breathing shallow, her face flushed and moist with perspiration. The room still seemed to be swirling around her as she placed the vibrator back on the bedside table.

Conflicting feelings tumbled about in her dazed brain. Her body felt satiated and glowing, a new, satisfying feeling, but doubts began to form in her brain. What would Doug say if he found out what she had done? That she had made herself climax in that lewd way?

A sudden, agonizing image of how she must have appeared flashed across her mind to taunt her – legs obscenely spread, nightgown unashamedly wrinkled up around her waist, her hand eagerly thrusting the plastic vibrating instrument into her vagina…

"Oh no!" she sobbed suddenly, her face crimsoning with shame. How could I have done such a disgusting, perverted thing?

She stared anew at the gleaming device, still wet and glistening from her inner juices, and a feeling of revulsion rose up inside her. Unable to stand the sight of it any longer, she hurriedly threw it into the box and rushing over to the bureau, flung it into the bottom drawer, under a layer of clothes she seldom used. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror behind the door and gasped at her disheveled hair, her flushed, lustful face, the erect buds of her nipples through her nightie.

Oh God, what's happening to me? she sobbed as she dashed into the bathroom, unable to stand any longer the sight of her sensually satisfied body.

Doug knew he was driving recklessly, but still he didn't slow down. He was beginning to be sorry that he had ever met Selma, and the one drink they had had together was a disaster. He knew that most of the fault was his. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to unwind. Nothing but platitudes came into his head, and things weren't helped by the fact that Selma herself was relaxed and carefree. Instead of helping to loosen him up, it only made him more uptight. It was because he was guilty, he knew. He couldn't help wondering what Betty would think if she knew he had taken a gorgeous young blonde out for a drink after work. Worse still, what would she say if she knew that the lovely teenager was really interested in him? Because, the fact was, in spite of his being tongue-tied, Selma didn't bother to hide the fact that she found him attractive. He'd have to be a fool not to notice, and the knowledge filled him with mixed feelings.

Even though she was quiet and motionless now in the passenger seat beside him, Doug was acutely aware of her presence. The thought that a beautiful young girl like Selma was interested in him, or even found him attractive, gave him a secret thrill of pleasure, but he also found himself filled with foreboding. Just why, he couldn't say. He knew that he found her attractive – in fact, she was one of the loveliest girls he'd ever seen – and in the end, he had to admit to himself that he was afraid. Afraid of what might happen, afraid of his own feelings and desires, and afraid of what Betty would think if she ever found out.

Not that there's any likelihood of anything happening, he thought bitterly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the striking profile of the young blonde teenager. She can't wait to get home; otherwise she'd have accepted another drink…

Doug was completely sunk in his depressed thoughts, and he didn't notice the sudden choking sounds that were coming from the engine. The first thing he realized was that the car was slowly grinding to a halt.

"What the hell…" he swore as it came to a complete standstill.

"Maybe you're out of gas?" Selma suggested helpfully.

But Doug knew he wasn't and a quick glance at the gas gauge confirmed that it was half full. Desperately, he tried the starter again, but the sputtering sound was ominous.

"What a place to break down!" he muttered as he looked out on the dark, lonely road. "We must be miles away from anywhere!"

"I think… I think the nearest gas station is about two miles away," Selma said in a small voice. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," Doug assured her. "If it didn't happen here, it'd happen somewhere else!"

"If you hadn't decided to drive me home…" Selma said again, her voice catching.

"Don't worry about that, Selma. Is there a phone near here?"

Selma shook her head. "No, the nearest one is at the gas station!"

"Well, it looks as if I'll have to walk there and get a guy to come back with me!" Doug said, feeling irritated.

This is what happens when a guy tries to date a girl on the sly, he told himself angrily. Out loud, he called to Selma. "You should be all right here. Just get in the back seat and lock the doors. I won't be long!"