Carlotta Graham: A wild yearning

And then to endure a similar sexual episode with him in the morning had been almost unbearable! Only the utmost effort on her part had kept her from bursting out into tears of frustration. Like a jet propelled athlete trying to set some sort of speed record, he'd raced his lengthy, lust-swollen young cock in and out of the overheated liquid sanctuary between her hotly steaming young legs, quickly settling his own needs, then hopping from the bed while she lay there still squirming and panting in unfulfilled desire.

"Gosh, baby, I'm sorry – but I really got to hustle to work!" he apologized, wiping off his deflating cock with a soiled T-shirt as he hurried to the bathroom. Then at the doorway he'd turned and promised: "Look, baby, I'm going to make it up to you tonight – after your folks have gone to sleep! Okay?"

"Oh – whatever you say, darling…" she replied weakly, rubbing her thighs together and hoping that he wouldn't see how wildly, dreadfully turned on she was. She feebly managed a smile for him before he turned and stepped into his bath. Then the bathroom door had swung mercifully shut on her tears.

In reality she had no such hopes that he would satisfy her that night. That was an old promise of his that he usually forgot; she had no confidence in it whatever. Ever since her honeymoon night it had been like this, just a fast in-and-out for him, and smoldering resentment and frustration for her until her frustrated young pussy had a chance to cool back to normal, whatever that was.

But she wasn't sure how long she was going to be able to stand it. She knew that her nerves were in a bad way, and she smoked more than ever and had taken to nipping short drinks of whiskey straight during the day. She needed a vacation somehow, from the terrible tension in her aching young loins.

Jan sighed and looked around the kitchen before her eyes became glazed over again, reliving the events of the morning once more.

With Steve in the bath, the temptation had been almost overwhelming to finish the job with her fingers. She had played with herself up between her legs for awhile, groaned mindlessly, and then finally managed to control her unrequited passion.

She hadn't masturbated since she was thirteen, and she dreaded the temptation to start now. Reverend Johnson had been very strict about that when she confided in him. Girls that played with themselves got pimples on their faces and could never go to heaven, because they were sinners. Sex was only decent when carried on in the normal fashion between man and wife.

No, she didn't want to fall into that pit of degradation. That wasn't for her at all. Somehow she was going to have to find a way to work things out between them.

Jan sighed and put out her cigarette, which she had inadvertently smoked down to a nub. It didn't do at all to dwell on their problem overmuch. One shouldn't take sex all that seriously, of course. It wasn't nice.

Still, she couldn't ignore the smoldering ardor still glowing so warmly in her soft white belly and simmering urgently in her young loins. But was that so important? Not always. After all, they did love each other, didn't they? Steve's real estate job was very promising, and they were literally coining money. What young bride could ask for more than the beautiful home they were buying in swank Barrington Hills? Even their nice new car was paid for, and the furniture would soon be theirs. What more could any girl ask for?

It was these thoughts spinning idly through her pretty blonde head that she almost ignored the banging on the screen door.

Until a voice cried out sharply: "Jan – oh, Jan!"

Jan looked up dreamily. There was a scratching at the kitchen screen door as well. Why – it was Marge Levitt! With Rex!

She got up carefully, smoothing her skirt and putting the ashtray up on the kitchen table.

"What – what is it, Marge?" she asked, unlocking the door.

"Don't you remember, dear?" Marge asked hurriedly, opening the door. Rex scooted in quickly through the open door, the handsome German shepherd's longish tongue lolling out all wet and pinkish looking. He moved quickly around Jan's pretty long, tanned legs, the soft fur of his coat brushing evanescently against her sleek hairless young flesh.

"Remember? Why…?"

"You said you'd look after Rex while we were on vacation," said Marge almost tearfully, and suddenly, abruptly, she flung her arms about Jan and hugged her tight. "Oh, dear – you will be good to him, won't you? Feed him regular and take him for walks? Please, Jan! Say you'll be good to him!"

Jan pushed her away and looked into the teary face of the older woman. Why, Marge was actually crying over leaving Rex behind! "But – Marge, if you feel like this why don't you take him on your vacation with you?"

"Ben says no," she sniffled into her hanky. Jan took her tearful face into her shoulder and ran her fingers into Marge's long black hair. The two women's breasts met beneath their shifts. "Two whole weeks without him!" Marge bawled.

"There, there, Marge, don't cry. It's not so long," Jan said gently as she knew how, patting Marge's back like a handler gentling an upset horse. The whole thing was strangely peculiar. It was not normal for a woman to get so upset over leaving a dog behind for two weeks. Jan looked down at where Rex had slid down onto the kitchen floor, his handsome big head resting on his forepaws. The dog's eyes seemed to be studying her very intently – but why on ever for?

Or was she merely imagining it? She was so upset herself of late that her mind might conceive anything.

Marge did dry her tears. "Yes, it is long," she said, glancing at Rex, then at Jan and back again. "Longer than you think I wouldn't be able to bear it, Jan, if I didn't know that someone as nice as you – and as innocent and trustable – was looking after my little darling."

She had never heard a grown woman use such endearing terms before. But what did innocent and trustable have to do with it? She was beginning to wonder if Marge was losing her mind.

"There, there," Jan led her back to the door. "I'm sure that once you get yourself together you'll see the wisdom of taking everything in your stride, Marge."

Marge stepped outside the screen door and blew a kiss at Rex through it. The dog promptly got up on its haunches, panting. It's long pink tongue was genuinely slavering through his pointy canine teeth. "Bye darling," Marge said to him. "Aunty Jan will look after you now, lover. Be a good doggy for Mama. Okay?"

Rex seemed to nod, adding considerably to Jan's mystification and confusion, and then Marge ran, with a sob, back to her own house.

Jam looked down at her beautifully physiqued guest, who had now settled down on his forepaws again. Goodness, she thought, this is impossible, Mother and Dad coming, and this dog, too. I'm going to lose my mind, I swear it.

Rex looked up at her as if he understood, inclined his ears, then lay jowl down on his forepaws. Jan sighed and fluffed out her long blonde hair, self-consciously sticking out the full young breasts on her chest. There was something about her neighbor's German shepherd that definitely bothered her. She was convinced that Rex had the most unusual eyes – although it was difficult for her to put her finger on just exactly what it was that troubled her about them.

It was as if there was an almost human perception about them, a kind of understanding that was more than one expected from a dog…

She shrugged this off. Another funny thought to take her mind off her work, that was all. She really had to get to the housework.

The handsome German shepherd stretched his long sinewy body beneath his shining coat on the cool of the Winslow's kitchen floor, watching his new mistress, who had long blonde hair instead of the long black hair of Marge Levitt. It interested him to watch the sleek young housewife moving about her household duties with an air of feminine efficiency. He had often watched his older mistress with the same intenseness, and he wondered why she had gone and left him with this pretty, young, yellow-haired girl. He missed her terribly, but then he didn't presume. One always did as one's mistress directed.