Jackson Robard - The cub-scout mother

The neighborhood noises had stopped altogether and a pervading stillness enclosed the house. She lay rigid, naked and still, a small lamp making a pool of light to guide Lester to bed. Her eyes were open and staring, waiting. Time had no meaning now. It could have been minutes or days that she lay like a statue awaiting expiation or execution. It did not seem to matter which.

Slowly the knob of the door turned and she looked up to see Lester tiptoe quietly in. He saw her staring and silent. She watched as he turned his back and began to undress, hanging his clothes neatly in the closet.

"Feel any better?"

"Yes… I'm fine now." She heard a shoe drop with a muffled thud onto the carpet. "Lester…? I'll be a good wife to you from now on… forgive me… for being… the way I was…" She couldn't keep the note of hysteria from her voice and she saw that he reacted to it, turning to look at her curiously. He sat on the other side of the bed, his back to her while he removed the other shoe and sock. The muscles in his naked back were strong and she watched them move smoothly, marveling at their effortless working.

"Maybe you ought to go see that doctor. You looked awful peaked today."

"No… I told you… I'll be… a good wife now… you'll see… just… please… let me try!!!" Her voice rose shrilly as she flung the covers back to reveal her nakedness. Lester turned his head and she could see his amazement and then confusion and then something else… a rising passion and deep seated contempt.

"I didn't put on a nightgown…" she offered inanely as she spread her legs in silent invitation. Her eyes were on his, locked in silent stalemate.

Lester looked at her, spread out like a damned sacrifice for him. Jesus Christ! What the hell had happened to her? She looked wild eyed and hysterical. God knows he didn't want to move back in here now. Shit! Wanda was available any time, any way he wanted her. He'd begun to like the arrangement. Had Bette Jean somehow found out? Was she making the big sacrifice to save her "happy home"? He felt the anger rise in him in a fiery streak but it was tempered with a stiffing in his loins despite himself. Jesus, but she was a delectable woman. He could see the sleek white thighs open to him, the sparsely haired triangle between them that ovaled around the warmly pink cuntal mouth. There was a faint gleam of moisture on the pussy lips as though they'd been licked with a tongue. He watched in amazement as her hands slid up her satiny sides and cupped the full blown snowy breasts in offering.

His cock jerked involuntarily, fired by his balls that had begun to churn and steam. God damned crazy woman! How long he'd dreamed of her offering herself to him willingly and now that she had, he felt guilty as hell. Bette Jean's fingers thumbed her own breasts until the nipples were fire red points of rigidly erect yearning. A tiny whimper came out her mouth… a plea she couldn't voice.

"All right, you frigid bitch, you want to make the big sacrifice, you want to fuck, by God you're going to get fucked till it comes out the back of your throat!"

His tender solicitousness of moments before seemed to have completely faded, and though Bette Jean did not understand what had caused the sudden anger in his face, she could not help but react to the abrupt change in his attitude. The cruel, masterful tone of her husband's voice sent tremors of excitement up and down her spine, and she felt a strange masochistic thrill of pleasure as she tried to imagine what he would do.

Lester held himself back for a short time, purposely torturing both of them in expectation. He'd fuck her all right. He would shove his long thick cock between the full white moons of her proud little white ass. He wanted nothing in the world more than to see her uncontrollably wriggling before the attack of his throbbing cock as it plunged deep into her inviolate little asshole, completing his conquest of the arrogant bitch. Though he had to admit he had felt an unexpected tenderness toward her earlier, her casual assumption that he wanted nothing more than to fuck her any time she wanted him had filled him with anger. Now, they would see who held the power in this situation, he thought. He would laugh out loud when she suddenly turned complete animal and lost all control over herself, ignoring everything but her over-powering need to be fucked in a way that would repulse and disgust her. The sadistic idea ran through his loins like wildfire.

Bette Jean was lying back on the bed, her mouth lolling open in a daze of anticipation when Lester lowered his dark head over her smooth ivory belly. His darting tongue flicked teasingly into her navel, then traced a path down the soft flat skin until his face was a few scant inches from the wispy tendrils of pubic hair that bordered the tender sensitive ridges of her pussy.

She could feel his moist warm breath beating down on the naked hair-lined flanges of her cunt as his fingers gently pressed apart the soft folds, exposing her hardening clitoris to the cool air and bringing it to thrusting erection. A slight moisture glistened on the outer lips as he pulled the soft pink cleft completely open. Suddenly, his long dripping wet tongue snaked forward, burying itself in the exposed slit with a wet, sucking sound.

Bette Jean was amazed at her own reaction to the maddening assault of his tongue and fingers. She felt as though she had changed into some kind of wild animal, driven by a powerful instinct to accept and need his lascivious ministrations. Yesterday, she might have been repulsed by the strange, lewd sensations that pounded through her body and mind, but now she wanted more, as much as she could possibly stand. Tangling her fingers in his black hair, she strained his face tighter to her crotch and swiveled her pelvis in pulsating rhythm with the warm, wet spear that probed into her wide-split cunt. She felt a primitive need pounding through her as her mind erupted with new, alien, wanton thoughts.

Her vaginal passage contracted, opening and closing tightly around the long smooth lance of flesh worming deep inside her. Her muscles strained, the cords of her thighs standing out tautly as she ground her back down into the mattress and heaved her pelvis up against the sudden curling and flicking of his tongue up inside her cunt. Fighting the iron-like grip she held on his head, the boiler maker began to work his thick, drooling lips over the whole area of her upturned pelvis, sucking and licking crazily from the swollen pea-like nodule of her clitoris to the tight puckered hole of her anus. Then, his pointed tongue slowly rounded the tightly constricted opening and probed gently at the light brown puckered flesh.

"Noooo, not there," she moaned breathlessly as awareness of his depraved assault filtered through her daze of wild, abandoned sexuality. This was not the normal, healthy eroticism she had finally accepted as something she needed and wanted, but an unnatural defilement of her body.

Lester rasped harshly. "On your knees with your ass high and shoved back here!"

Dear… dear God! What did he mean? Why…? She was going to be a good wife to him… she'd told him so. What was he trying to do…? She thought these things as she assumed the instructed position, ashamed now as she nakedly spread her knees and opened herself to him.

"You want to be a good wife to me… at least you said so. Is that true, baby?"

"Y-Yes."

"Well you're going to prove it, bitch!"

"Lester… darling, I want it to be whatever you want!" Bette Jean said, holding her position, but looking back toward him. "I don't care about… anything else…"

"Right now, baby, you don't know what you care about! Tomorrow, you'll wake up with a different head! And I don't want any fucking frigid hypochondriac for a wife, either… I want a woman! You ready for that?"