Elizabeth Watson: An unholy desire

Until finally, there'd been nothing but the rolling of his passed out frame off of her, the wild burning hunger aflame in her loins and belly nearly driving her to tears! She wasn't about to try and haul him up onto the pillow; in fact, he could have died right there and she would have celebrated! The bastard! The stupid old selfish bastard! Oooohhhh… and she'd been so ready and so hot!

With a loud "hmmmppphhh" she sat up, taken Carl's hand to place his thick fingers the way she wanted them, and then wormed two of them up into her hotly seething cunt. She locked her naked thighs to hold his fingers in place while she obscenely squirmed and writhed her naked loins onto their semi-limpness, at the same time fingering her tiny, sensitively erect clitoris. In the interim of building climax, she'd lustfully fondled his long flaccid cock and played with his emptied balls, but all of it together as she remembered it now, had hardly been a night of love… anything but the erotic scene she'd so desperately hoped for!

"You think you could be at the lab in about an hour or two?" her stodgy husband wanted to know as he pushed his chair away from the breakfast table, his napkin neatly folded at the place setting. He was a most meticulous man.

The Medical Center was nestled in a grove of Eucalyptus trees on the west side of the hill, separating the hospital from the Research Center and classrooms that were scattered over the hills. Everything on "Pill Hill", as the doctors, professors, and research students called it affectionately, was painted white and now, in the late morning sun, the hill had a magical feeling to it. Buzzing with activity, students rushed to and from classes, eyes glued to the sidewalk in worry… spring time was a time of completion – graduation, diplomas and careers all pending.

And so, too, Ann Dexter shared in this elation of growth, although to a minor degree in her involvement with her husband's research project. Not that she didn't have any plans of her own! For if the young blonde's fantasies had any foundation, today would be the final test!

The gears of the Dexter's second car – a blue Volkswagen they bought two years ago when new cars were purely a thing of the future – ground and meshed as Ann maneuvered the car up the forty-five degree hill to the underground parking lot, slowing only to drop two quarters into the slot and waited for the mechanical machine to spit out a piece of paper as her receipt.

With anxious, shaking hands, she smeared on a fresh layer of reddish-brown lipstick and an extra smudge of black mascara to make her eyelashes look like spider legs. Ann couldn't remember when she'd been more uptight, unless it was at her wedding when one of her old boyfriends who'd warned her that a marriage to a man twice her age would never work, slipped her a piece of paper with his phone number on it, and right in front of Ann's mother, too! From that moment on, she'd looked on Carl with cooler, less ardently loving eyes. It was an omen she'd ignored.

From the underground parking lot, it was only a short walk to the elevator that zoomed her to the mezzanine level of the student union and from there, a half block to the Research Center building overlooking the sun-warmed city. Spring is in the air, chirped the birds hidden in the low hanging branches of the shrubbery following the sidewalk in parallel lines. Ann's heeled sandals slapped at the pavement as she half ran to the building, glancing down at her watch to see the hour hand glide past the seven. Carl hated for her to be late, especially since they'd given her a more substantial chunk of their grant in return for more responsibility…

"Well, hello there," chimed George Everett the second Ann strolled through the door, looking as calm and unhassled as possible considering her plan of attack.

Her blood pressure quickened when with a handsome smile, the thirtyish, tall and broad shouldered doctor appeared, offering his hand in helping her out of her coat. When was the last time Carl had shown such chivalry? Little twinges of lurid excitement immediately stirred in the depths of her belly at the way he carried himself; but there was something else in her belly – an apprehensive knot forming there too. God… she could never go through with it, even if Carl wasn't in the same office. Imagining having an affair is one thing, but going through with it is another entirely! When it actually came down to the nitty gritty… what would she do?

She turned in time to see him hang her trench coat on a hanger that clattered on the back of the door. Instantly, she wondered where Carl was. Was her courage lessening?

"I hear we have a report to get out soon. Is that true?" she asked, falteringly, feeling the need to close the obvious gap in conversation that seemed unavoidable whenever Carl was in the office.

"You heard right, Ann. Lots of work to be done. Hope you got a good night's sleep!" George suavely beamed.

"More than I'd expected, yes," answered Ann, hoping the desperation in her voice wasn't as obvious to him as it was to her trembling body.

Jesus, she thought self-recriminatingly, what am I trying to do? Just because he asked me out for a drink the other night, I've been having these fantasies of starting an affair with him. He's married, I'm married… it's ridiculous, now just cut it out, Ann Dexter, before you get yourself in trouble!

"For starters we have to finish those interviews – they'll be very influential in getting us a grant next year to complete this damned study. Oh, and when that's proof-read and copy-tight, we have to take it to the photocopier. Think you can get that all done by this afternoon?" he laughed at the ludicrousness of his own demands.

"Whew!" whistled Ann, more relaxed now that the subject of conversation had turned to work, the only common denominator. She wiggled into a comfortable position in her desk chair near the window, and began sorting through a stack of edited copies of interviews. Out of the pile, only a few would be selected – the ones most applicable to the study of course; the rest would be filed for further reference.

She turned her head at a scraping sound to see George pull up a chair and with a flirtatious grin, announce, "Carl suggested you and I work together on these interviews. He's back there drawing up comparison charts. You think you can stand working with me all day?"

Ann's nostrils flared. Was it her imagination or was he really coming on to her? Jesus, she wished she knew; it certainly would make her decision a bit easier. Somehow it's always more innocent and exciting being chased than chasing. It would also make it simpler to explain to Carl, if it ever came down to that.

"I… I think I could tolerate that," was Ann's nervous reply as she carefully folded the typewriter cover and drew open the bottom drawer of her gray metal desk that housed everything that could not fit on her crowded desk.

"Are you sure?" George softly questioned, gazing up at her with deep, dark eyes, the trace of a smile flickering about his attractive mouth, as with super-sensitive hands, he opened a manila folder.

"I'm sure we'll know before the day is out." There, she'd said it, now she'd let him take it from there. "Now don't take me personally," she quickly added, reluctant to discard her original bailing temptation.

"First let's start with these two interviews, m'dam." He crossed his knees and pulled his swivel chair closer to her so that she could almost taste the sweet smell of his fresh breath.

The alluring young wife tossed her long blonde hair in a characteristic gesture, then swept it back over her shoulders. The act, she was well aware, had made her bra-less, ripely full breasts nipple in provocative freedom. She was hardly conscious of her husband, Carl, entering the room, and she could barely contain the smile she felt tugging at her wetly parted lips at her handsome colleague's visible uneasiness. It registered that he must have enjoyed many sensual panoramas at her feminine expense before.