Aston Marlowe - Lisa_s stepmother

The big German shepherd sat back on his haunches with ears erect and eyes aglow, watching the shapely blonde girl move busily about the kitchen. Her visible, soft white flesh, even that hidden beneath her skimpy bikini, like the tossing of her shoulder-length golden hair, pleased him with its quivering apples to her every graceful motion. Her aromatic feminine scent filled his keen nostrils, stirring his interest more than the smell of the foods she prepared, and occasionally lie would wander close to her, brushing against the silken warmth of her long naked legs.

Shirley Douglas hardly noticed the lovable dog's ingenuous display of affection, except when she nearly stumbled over him and reprimanded her animal house-guest to lie down in the corner. His flattened ears and tail-between-legs reaction as he obeyed also went unseen by the curvaceous, twenty-five year old bride of six months – her flustered young mind was that preoccupied with unhappiness.

How long could she go on this way? God, she could hardly call it a marriage, nor had it been anything faintly resembling one from their wedding night on… unless security and material wealth could replace conjugal bed relations. Long since, Shirley had distressfully concluded that they could not, though they had been prime reasons in her marrying a man twice her age. Not that Frank Douglas had been any stranger to her. She had served as his private secretary for over two years, but aside from business, their close association had never gone beyond the platonic stage, even when she accompanied him on week-long business trips of the small electronics firm he owned and operated with an efficient hand.

He had always treated her with the utmost respect – a gentleman of the first order, as her dead mom would have said – and perhaps that was why Shirley's feeling toward him slipped into the category of extreme admiration without ever touching at love. A widower of five years himself, Frank Douglas had astounded her that evening at dinner when he had very quietly proposed that they marry. He knew she could never love him, that is, not in the same manner she would undoubtedly feel toward a younger, more desirable man, he had calmly admitted, but he vowed security and abundant kindness, plus the very limit of his ardent capabilities, should she want them. Sex was of relative unimportance to him, he'd shyly assured her, promising that he would always leave that department up to her. In short, he very much needed and wanted her, no longer as a secretary, but as his wife!

Remembering it all vividly, the dazzling, blue-eyed young blonde recalled how thrilled and honored she had felt, and how stupid she must have looked in her wordless astonishment as she sat there in dazed silence listening to his quiet and almost humble proposal. Lisa, his daughter, was seventeen, he had gone on, graduating from high school in June. She would either be going off to college or, if she had her way, marrying young Paul Fulton. In any event, shortly she'd be flying from the nest to leave him rattling alone around that big house. Above all, he abhorred the thought of that aloneness, but not anyone could eliminate it. Some might lessen it… but she, as his wife, could make it an impossibility!

Shirley had been too dumbfounded, overawed by his offer to answer him that night, and gently smiling he'd said that he understood and was willing to wait for a few days for her to consider. Of course, what he could not have known, for she had never discussed her personal life with him, was that the only man she had ever loved would be his age had Viet Nam not claimed him!

Shirley had lived the life of an army brat. Her father had been an army career officer and most of her life was spent on U.S. posts throughout the world. By the time she'd reached eighteen, she had attended so many different schools she couldn't remember them all, hated the military existence with a passion, and especially the young shave-tail Lieutenants a girl had to date if she wanted any social life. Invariably, they had been conceited and arrogant, all with one main objective in mind: to strip a girl's panties away as soon as possible and plunge their lust-hardened penises up between her defenseless legs. She'd been no prude, but neither had she seen the necessity of dropping to the level of a camp follower, and that was when she had met Major George Waldon. He'd been handsome, straight and slender as a bayonet, looking ten years younger than his forty-five, and finally, a genius at making love. Whatever she'd learned or knew sexually, George had taught her… that beautiful man she had immediately fallen hopelessly in love with… taught her carefully and with the ultimate of skill, keening her young passions on the whetted edge of never-ending desire. Their plans together had been lifelong… and then he had suddenly been torn away from her, never to come back!

Was it any great wonder that she should draw a parallel between Frank Douglas, a man of similar age, and the lover who had brought her so much happiness? That same night and with few second thoughts, Shirley had excitedly made her decision. Security and kindness Frank had offered. There'd been no doubt in her mind of their assurance, but more important, she had measured by memory the experienced ability of an older man who knew how to truly love a girl! The following morning in his office she had given him her "yes" answer… and he'd not even tried to kiss her!

It'd been a private quickie wedding in Las Vegas without so much as Lisa's knowing, a weekend in which Shirley had eagerly looked forward to the intimate dynamics of sensual love once more, but… they'd never happened! All else had been heavenly, up to that moment when he'd possessively cradled himself between her hungering thighs after kissing her all over in almost reverent exaltation… and suddenly she'd realized that his huge penis was almost limp! Shocked disbelief could hardly explain the frustrated feelings she had known at that moment. Earlier, it'd been like some remarkable phenomenon the equal of which she'd never seen in its long, sinewy thickness, as hard and erotically menacing as a God's promise… then… nothing!

He'd embarrassedly wept, moving away from her and turning his back. Shirley had tried to console him, forcing her own needful arousal into the background with soothing whispers of understanding. He'd been so long without physical love, she'd breathed into his ear; there was nothing for him to fret over or be ashamed of… in the morning it would be different… but it hadn't been, nor were the dozen attempts that followed, no matter how she tried to inspire him. Once, in near-desperation, she'd begun to move down over his big, age-softening body with oral intentions, but he had caught hold of her and stopped it there, suddenly bolting from the bed and their room to leave her not only in frustration, but shamefully so. He'd despised her sincere aggressiveness as perverted and wanton, she felt certain, and although there were a few more futile tries made on his part, Shirley had forcibly controlled her desire, resigning herself to the fact that their marriage had been a terrible, terrible mistake.

Lately, he had taken to sleeping in another room, or drinking himself into oblivion after dinner, and that generally in his study. How he managed to carry on with his company demands amazed her, he was drinking so heavily, but he did… and now Vincent Rivers, with his dog, Nomad, had arrived on the scene as business house-guests… a business Shirley didn't like the least little bit.

The beautiful animal, she had immediately taken to; who wouldn't? He was a handsome, lovable dog. There was actually an acute sense of over-intelligence about him which gave her an odd sensation, almost as if she were in the presence of a human being when he was with her. But his master…?