Alex Ayers - The soldier_s wife

"All right," she whispered, her voice shaking, her hands jittery. She placed her palms on the meaty back of his thigh and began rubbing. Her breasts swung against her arms as she bent over him, pressing her weight down to help her soften the muscles. The nipples felt hard and hot and a wetness formed in the crotch of her bottoms. She had an urge to wrap her arms around his thighs and bury her face into his flesh, to kiss and lick him as she had heard Sybil do the night before, to please him as fully as she might Allen.

Slowly, he spread his legs and she could see the head of his hardening penis sticking out the bottom of his boxer trunks. She gasped and held her breath, looking around the room, trying to take her mind off the acorn-shaped instrument that grew a deep purple color as he shifted his hips again and again.

There was nothing wrong with that, she thought, glancing down at the snaking head compulsively. It's a normal reaction in men. She tried to look away, but her fascination with the appendage drew her eyes back to its dry, glazed, slitted head.

"Gwen?"

"Yes?" Her hands stopped and she shook.

"Rub me?"

"Where?" The word came out of nowhere. Her hands clutched the inside of his thigh.

"Up. Where it hurts, Gwen. God, it hurts."

"I… I…"

"Please, Gwen. Please?" His voice was husky and commanding.

She closed her eyes and slid her hand up toward the head of his cock. The back of her hand touched it and she froze, sucking in a deep breath and holding it. He hunched down and raised his arm, cupping her breast in his palm and squeezing, his head still tucked against his shoulder.

Gwen felt like fainting, but her hand opened and her fingers laced around the staff of his penis gently at first and then harder as her breath came in rapid pants.

The cock-head grew in her palm and she pulled it down slowly, feeling the hard flesh grow turgid and the sticky drops of clear fluid drip wetly into her hand.

He rubbed her breast, his fingers pulling the top of the bikini down. His hand was hot as it touched her enflamed nipple and pulled at it.

"Bob," she mumbled, pushing the cock against the side of his thigh.

His fingers tweaked the nipple and rolled it between his fingers. She looked at his back and his head lying flat on the rug. Take me, she begged in her mind, take me quickly Bob. Take me as you did Sybil last night.

He jumped up suddenly and Gwen jerked her hand away. He stared at her a moment and then ran out into the patio and dived into the pool. Gwen sat on the floor, her hands empty, her jaw hanging down against her chest, her halter baring one of her breasts.

She felt ashamed, embarrassed, alone sitting there in another woman's house with the thought of what she had almost done weighting her mind.

"Gwen? Gwen?"

She heard Bob's voice calling to her and stood, her heart beating excitedly.

"Come in. Come in the pool."

Slowly, she stood and adjusted the halter before walking out on the patio. Her eyes were cast down as she saw Bob's arm thrashing at the water and his powerful strokes drawing him closer toward the deep end of the pool. He pulled himself up on the hot concrete side and smiled.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. You see, you're a very attractive woman and…"

"I'm going to leave," Gwen said, nervously pulling at her fingers.

"No, don't." Bob pulled himself out of the water and grabbed her arms firmly. "Look. There's nothing wrong. I just got excited. I like you Gwen. Sybil likes you. Forget what happened. Nothing happened anyway. Look, I don't want to take advantage of you. I know how it is for you, your husband's away, you're a passionate woman. Nature is that way. Look. Dive in. Wash off. Laugh. We're going to have a good time tonight."

"All right," she said, her lower lip sticking out, her eyes still downcast. He tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Friends?"

"Friends," she answered, shivering at the touch of his wet lips on hers.

"Come on then. Let's get a quick dip before Sybil comes back. We're going to have a great time tonight. A great time."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the water with him.

"Sybil, I couldn't."

"Yes, and you will. I bought it because it was made for you. Now put it on Gwen, and let's not hear another word about it."

Gwen held up the lounging outfit and felt the rich, heavy material slide under her fingers.

"It's beautiful. Beautiful!"

"Glad you like it. Now, put it on and paint on a fresh face. Our guests will be here in a few minutes."

"How can I thank you for what you've done for me," Gwen said, her eyes wide and wet with appreciation.

"I'll think of something terribly devilish," Sybil said, a smile on her full, red lips. "Don't you worry about it, dear."

She left the room and Gwen hurriedly slipped into the lounging outfit. It was a perfect fit. She kicked around the room, twirling with an imaginary partner to an imaginary tune and then seated herself before the vanity and began limping her eyes with make-up.

"The plot sickens," Bob said twirling the swizzle stick around the martini pitcher. "Win her heart and then her cunt." He laughed sarcastically and stabbed an olive with a toothpick.

"How was the afternoon? As expected?"

"Down to the last syllable. You really are a bitch, Sybil. I wanted that little cunt around my packer."

"You'll get it. But it has to be done right."

"You know what you're doing I guess," Bob said lifting the glass to his lips and tasting the freshness of the Beefeater's.

"Tonight you'll make hay," Sybil said, reaching between his legs and squeezing his limp penis. "Tonight."

Three martinis later Gwen was laughing and mingling with the guests as fluidly as though she were the hostess. Her hair was swirled atop her head and she flicked her eyelashes like Sybil, closing them slowly and squeezing them for a second before opening them and letting a mischievous smile creep across her face. It was a contagious sensation of mimicking Sybil, but Gwen had no control over her actions. She was infatuated with the woman, and tried to copy her every movement and gesture. It was like being in another person's body, acting as they acted and enjoying the freshness and allurement of the reactions she withdrew from her admirers.

"War. I hate it," she said, pursing her lips and sucking the olive off the toothpick. The couple she spoke with were both older. The man was graying at the sides and the woman wore too much makeup. The powder cracked when she smiled and the birdfeet wrinkles around her eyes couldn't be hidden from Gwen's scrutinizing view.

"That's understandable," Martin Sievers said, brushing a piece of dandruff from the shoulder of his jacket. "I suppose Betty would hate it too if I were over there."

"Oh, I don't know. There's quite a few eligible men around to keep me happy," she said, looking at her husband coyly over the rim of her glass.

"Don't count on it," Gwen said boldly, shifting a hip out and resting her hand on it. "I haven't been asked out since Allen left." She tossed her head back and laughed.

"Have you tried?" Betty Sievers arched an eyebrow and sniffed the aroma of the martini.

"That's not the point. If you try, then it doesn't matter. What you do is sit in front of the door all day and wait for someone to come in and sweep you off your feet."

"Like the Fuller Brush man?"

"Very good," Gwen said, laughing.

"Well, I hope Allen gets home safe," George said, running his hand through the slivers of gray streaking the sides of his hair. "That's a terrible war over there."

"He can take care of himself," Gwen said. "He keeps a stiff upper lip." She rolled the words carefully off her tongue. Her smile faded.