Allan Chase - The straying wife

Her finger fucked in and out of her anus, and she hissed in her breath and it seemed like another person who whispered, "Oooooohhhh, that's so gooooood!"

It thrilled her so much it made her think of lewd things she wanted to do with Hank. With anybody! The thought fused and exploded in her mind and she was wild with cum and wantonness, her face contorted as she nakedly crouched in front of the mirror. Sweat broke out from the effort as she sawed madly in and out of her pulpy, moistly soft cunt that was so hot and wormed her finger deeper into her tightly puckering anus. Mad obscene thoughts and ideas ran through her mind. Supposing she were a whore for just one night?

Her hips pumping, her belly moving in abandoned undulations and her loins rhythmically fucking out toward the mirror in a smooth, ball-bearing, obscene way, Kim could see her finger disappear into her wetly glistening pink cuntal flesh. Her thumb massaged the little brown nib of her clitoris, and she began panting and crouching lower, splaying out her legs even more, allowing herself greater freedom to stick her other finger up her rectum.

A lewd relaxation came over her; with a wanton will she never knew she possessed, she relaxed her tensely tightened cuntal and anal muscles as her hips pumped back and forth. She shoved her outstretched finger all the way up her anus and moaned and wiggled with delight from the feeling it gave her. She took her finger out of her cunt only to shove three fingers into the warmly milking flesh. More thaw anything, she wanted to be fucked, to be raped.

Fucked! Raped!

The words were obscene in her mind and only excited her all the more. She saw her wild face in the mirror, her nakedly crouched body with her huge, pure-white breasts savagely jiggling and quivering with her efforts as she finger fucked both cunt and rectum.

It started as a ripple, then grew into surface undulations that seemed to follow one on another and build until she felt a huge, thick, wave of sweet hot electricity was flowing through her body. She tensed, gasped for breath. Her back arched, her warmly quivering breasts jutted out and brushed against the mirror. Her groin began to convulse in fine spasms which she found impossible to control as her cum shot through her. Her legs shook and she sunk to her knees in front of the mirror, panting, her eyes showing all white.

She seemed held, transfixed, pinned in time and place as her cum wracked her body in the wildest, most beautiful way. Gradually, it subsided and she was left sitting on the floor, panting for breath.

Guiltily, she looked at herself in the mirror, at her naked young body which was still quivering and trembling occasionally with the residue of her orgasm. Shame came over her and she couldn't look at herself. Scampering to her feet, she quickly showered, turning the water on as hot as she could stand it and scrubbing until her creamy translucent skin was a bright pink and most of the welts and scratches camouflaged.

Kim was ashamed of herself. She vowed she would never do anything like that again. She wouldn't even think like that ever again. The young wife excused herself by saying such a thing could happen to her only because of all they had to drink, Hank's actions, and his going away. It was am emotional time for both of them, and she excused his behavior as well as her own.

Dressing in another demure nightie, she unlocked the door and saw her husband was still sound asleep. It was difficult getting him under the covers, and she was concerned about his head and the coming morning when he had to make a plane. She got in bed next to his snoring body and snapped the lights out.

It took a long time for her to get to sleep and, while waiting for sleep to come, she forced herself not to think about sex… or the possible joys of working in a whorehouse…

The morning Hank had left was an emotional charged one for them both, but Kim in particular. Hank was bleary-eyed and hung over, holding his bead. "Ouch. Hey, what did I do, fall down or bump into something?"

He was blessed with not remembering much of what had happened the night before. "I remember being in the Matador and saying goodbye to some friends. When did we go after that?"

"Home."

"Wow. I feel like a sack of broken bottles, and my tongue tastes like it's been licking ash trays all night."

He staggered to a hot shower, while Kim made him a bromo and squeezed fresh orange juice and black coffee. He didn't seem to remember anything. She remembered everything! Everything that happened and everything she had felt. He came into the kitchen with his robe on and drank hot coffee with trembling hands. "Sorry, honey. Hell of a way to start out…!" His voice stopped as he stared at her neck. Self-consciously, she put her hand to her long elegant neck, trying to hide the angry bruise.

Hank's face clouded over and he put the cup down. "Now I remember. It's coming back now." He looked at his wife, at her clean patrician good looks and her wild gypsy hair that crowned her face, trying to read what she felt there.

It was never discussed. Neither had the nerve to bring it up; not now, not when they were parting for six months. Time took care of any discussion. Time has a way of going fast in the morning when you have to catch a plane. Suddenly, they were rushing, throwing his bags into the car and racing for the Monterey Airport, with Kim driving and Hank beside her holding his throbbing head.

Their good-bye was quick, for there was no time, and they stood in the terminal and Kim cried. It was more than a six month parting and she had strong feelings of dread. Something terrible was going to happen. "Take care!"

"I will! Write!"

"I will, every day."

"I'll call you from Rio before we go up river."

"Will you? Promise?"

"Promise."

Then they were hurrying out of the terminal, and she followed him to the gate where he grasped her in a tight hard embrace. They kissed good-bye and she felt an anguish surge through her body. And another feeling mingling with it, a feeling she felt last night. She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. They shouted good-byes to one another, and she watched him make his big-shouldered way to the plane, swiping at his head, hung over, looking back to wave once more.

She ran up on the observation deck and watched him disappear into the plane. She stood by the rail, looking at the little windows along the plane's fuselage and trying to pick him out. She couldn't but smiled bravely and waved anyway. She kept waving as the plane taxied around and down the runway where it paused, seeming to crouch on its nose-wheel and wing wheels, gathering strength for the roaring, running, joyous leap into the air. The great jet engines screamed into a high whine and the plane started slow, but suddenly it came in a rush and was airborne in an ear-splitting roar, rocketing smoothly up into the crystal clear air. Kim stood on the observation platform, pressed against the rail, waving until the jet was nothing more than a black dot growing smaller in the big sky.

She stopped waving, her arm tired, and slumped against the rail. It was all wrong, all bad the way they had parted, and she had this terrible, almost overpowering feeling of dread. She pulled herself together, dabbed at her eyes and determined to gut it through, work it out, make it good, and, above all, be beyond reproach. She would set an example. She would show the world and his parents and Hank, too. There would be no more of those dirty bathroom scenes. She would save herself completely for him until he returned.

She went home and began a life that was lonely and full of bad thoughts. She felt bad about herself and the way they had parted. She went about living, cleaning house, watched television at night, and walking the beach.