Peter Jensen - The Virgin Couple

As Barry crossed the bare wooden floor, Lynn shut the door and followed him into the main living room. He could smell a faint, musky perfume, and the headiness of the odor made him slightly light-headed; images of candlelight and soft music and brandy in fine old crystal decanters flashed briefly through his mind. He shook, his head, grinning his wry grin; hell, next thing you knew he would be getting romantic notions and half a hard-on, which would do him no good at all since Kim was seventy miles away in San Francisco-and Lynn Goren was strictly out of bounds. Still, though, the lewd thoughts he had harbored about the voluptuous Mrs. Goren after making love to Kim last night returned momentarily; Christ yes, she would probably be one goddamned holy terror in bed, the way she walked, and smiled, and smelled was irrefutable testimony to that…

Lynn said, “Did you have any trouble finding the place, Barry?”

“No, no trouble at all.”

“We were sure you wouldn’t.”

“This really is nice of Jack and you, Mrs. Goren…“

“Lynn.”

“Well, all right… Lynn.”

“It’s our pleasure,” she said. She smiled warmly at him, and her eyes in the pale light were dancing with hot, sparking embers. “Would you like to take the guided tour now, Barry?’ “Yes,” he replied. “Fine.”

The cabin had four rooms in addition to the huge main living room. There were two small bedrooms, each equipped with a large double bed and a dresser; a tiny kitchen with a stove and refrigerator; and a circumscribed sun porch with floor-to-ceiling windows running the width of the dwelling, which looked out on an oblong, fenced-in rear yard with several pieces of lawn furniture and quite a few large shrubs and bushes. Beyond the fence were rolling sand dunes, extending for about fire hundred yards, and the dark, blue-black, white capped surface of the Pacific Ocean.

Lynn concluded the tour on the sun porch, saying, “You could work out here, Barry. Pull the bamboo blinds if the light gets too strong for you.” She indicated an oval redwood table at one end of the porch. “You could use that as your desk.”

Barry looked around. “Sounds great,” he said. “Are there any electrical outlets here? I’ve got an electric typewriter…“

“Behind the settee there.”

“Good. Perfect, in fact.”

“Well,” Lynn said, smiling at him, moistening her ups with the tip of her tongue. “Are you planning to do any work tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Barry mused. “I usually do my best writing in the morning. I could work a little tonight, but I’d probably be wiser to get a very early start in the morning.”

“Then you wouldn’t be averse to having a drink with me, would you?”

“Why… no, not at all. In fact, I think I could use a drink after the drive.”

“Would you mind doing the honors, sir?” she asked lightly.

Barry grinned. “Not at all.”

She reached out and took his hand. “Follow me.”

He allowed her to lead him back into the living room. The touch of her fingers on his hand had an odd, tingling effect on Barry; it was as if there were tiny, hidden electrodes beneath her skin, vibrating through to his flesh. He felt a certain dryness to his throat, and his eyes were on the undulating rhythm of her rounded buttocks through the tight orange shorts. Damn, but she was a hell of a sensual woman! he thought. If he wasn’t married, and she wasn’t married … well, there was no use thinking about ifs, getting himself all worked up over nothing.

There was a roll-out bar near the large stone and-mortar fireplace at one end of the living room. As she slid the compact unit out of the redwood wall, Lynn said, “I’m afraid we really don’t have much of a liquor supply here. We seldom use the cabin.”

Barry bent over to peer at the bottles. “Vermouth, sweet and dry; ruby port; and… what’s this?” He lifted a large bottle of clear liquid from the shelf.

“Ouzo,” Lynn said, smiling. She was standing very close to Barry now, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “My favorite! Do you like it, Barry?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had any.”

“It’s very good,” Lynn told him. “It’s a Greek liquor. Tastes a little like licorice.”

“Well…“ Barry said dubiously. “How do you mix it?”

“You don’t,” Lynn said. “It’s served over ice. I’ll get some from the refrigerator.”

She moved away, returning moments later with a tray of ice. Barry had put two glasses on the bar face, and she dropped two cubes into each one. He uncapped the bottle and poured some of the clear liquid over the ice; almost immediately, its consistency changed to an opaque, almost milky one. “Hey!” he said. “I thought only Pernod did that.”

“No, Ouzo does, too.” Lynn lifted her glass, waited until he followed suit, and, then said, “A toast. To your novel, and its ultimate success.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Barry sipped the drink, found that it did taste a little like licorice and that it wasn’t at all bad; in fact, it went down quite smoothly.

“Like?” Lynn asked.

“Hmmm!”

“Shall we sit down on the couch?”

“All right.”

They sat down. It seemed to Barry that Lynn sat rather close to him. She crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, tightening the material of her shorts into the sharply-defined slit of her crotch, making the folds of her pussy bulge out in baa-relief the brilliant orange of the material. She leaned forward slightly, holding her drink in one hand, so that a good deal of the creamy white mounds of her full, globular breasts were exposed to him-and just a hint of the ruby hardness of her nipples. He felt a slight flush start on the base of his neck, but he wasn’t able to take his eyes from her provocative lushness. His prick spasmed once, twice, beneath his trousers with beginning arousal. Quickly, feeling a little ashamed, he took a long deep pull at his glass, draining the Ouzo.

“I’ll make us another one,” Lynn said, taking a healthy sip of her own drink.

Before he could protest, she slid off the settee, took his glass, and went to the bar. She was chuckling quietly to herself as she refilled their glasses from the bottle of Ouzo. The liquor was one of the world’s finest and most subtle aphrodisiacs, though most people were unaware of the fact; she’d been drinking it for a number of years, and knew the effect it had on the masculine libido after three or four. It increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could control herself if she felt like it; not that she was going to feel like it, of course. Yes, Barry Sutton was hers now, no mistake. She felt initial droplets of fluid begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her cunt as she thought about what would be taking place within the next hour. Oh, she was going to throw a fuck that Mr. Barry Sutton would never forget. Never! She carried the filled glasses back to Barry and handed him one. She was aware of his eyes on her, and she glanced every now and then at the front of his pants.

She could see his cock pulsing there, jumping spasmodically from time to time, pushing his trouser material out briefly, and her cunt juices began to flow faster with increased anticipation. The second drink disappeared even more rapidly than the first, as she knew it would, and she quickly poured him another one. He didn’t protest at all but drank thirstily from it when she gave him the glass.

Barry felt a warm, relaxed lethargy begin to flow over him. The drinks were beginning to have an effect on him, he knew that, but the feeling was so pleasant that he really didn’t care. So what if he got a little drunk tonight?

As long as he didn’t get really bombed, so that he had such a hangover he couldn’t work in the morning, why what the hell? Why not celebrate? The use of this cabin, and the philan… thropy of the godsends that were the Gorens, merited celebrating; and, of course, it wasn’t every day that a man had the opportunity of getting mildly looped with a woman as beautiful, as provocative, as Lynn Goren.