Bert Ormsby - Swapping with laura

Laura Saunders gazed out the large picture window of her new home in Park Palisades, California, watching the sizable breakers sweeping in off the sea to thrust themselves in a flash of frothy white spray against the gigantic rock formations that ran the entire length of the coast as far as the eye could see. In this section of California, with its starkly emergent coastline, the young wife had the constant feeling that the sea meant to destroy the land. Lord knew it tried hard enough. Every other day there was a report of some additional section of Highway 101 sliding into the ocean and being devoured in the water's bottomless depths.

Did this mean necessarily that everyone then promptly moved further inland in fear. No, of course not, she thought. People around here simply waited for their own house to go – occasionally with them in it. You just weren't anybody in California if your home wasn't occasionally washed into the sea or destroyed in a roaring forest fire. But they always came back, to build again, didn't they? Like lemmings moving resolutely toward destruction, in the exact same area. It was so beautiful here, though, with the sloping hills before windy, wave-broken, steep-cliffed terraces. So beautiful.

Laura sighed. She pushed her fingers into her long blonde hair and threw her head back and to one side as if to smooth out the waves of shimmering gold which ran all the way down her back to the sensual up-curve of her nicely rounded buttocks. In the Quaker home where Laura had been brought up, it was considered a rather serious moral offense for a girl to cut her hair. And consequently hers was as long as a young school girl's.

She smoothed her hands voluptuously over the flare of her well-rounded hips and thought about her new life in this community. Ever since she and her husband had come to Park Palisades there had been one distraction after another, what with Ralph setting up his new practice as one of the town's few physicians, and now being called out suddenly time after time. One's life really wasn't one's own, was it, although Ralph was certainly making good money and had had no difficulty acquiring this fine house for them right on the coast and not far from the forested glades of Big Sur. This stretch of highway from Monterey to San Luis Obispo must certainly be one of the most eye-pleasing areas in the world.

But somehow that wasn't quite enough.

Laura watched the white gulls circle among the rocks of the emerging coastline, and wondered why she felt so uneasy in such a beautiful setting. The stone seemed to be flowing – the sea, motionless. Where they met they locked in a pause more dynamic than motion. Beyond the white froth the surface of the ocean was an endless sheet of rippling glass. The rocks beyond its measured destructive force were like laws of nature – dark, jagged and forbidding. It was wonderful to be able to view nature like this, safe and warm within one's own cocoon – and yet what was missing?

When she watched the sea like this the often felt as if its adventure was being communicated to her in some ethereal way. She could feel it directly in her loins, up inside her full, highest breasts. Laura had been too well brought up to think of this as sensuality, but she did admit to herself that there was a feeling of excitement running in her blood when she watched the waves breaking like this. She couldn't explain it. It seemed merely as if these two vital life forces colliding together – stone and water – produced some sort of vibration inside her hypersensitive young flesh.

Laura turned away from the window. It wasn't good to submit oneself to too much of that, she thought. There were feelings building within her young body which could only be described as licentious, and she blushed as she considered the implications of her thoughts.

If she had smoked, she would have lit a cigarette. But her strict puritan father stayed her hand there, too. Illicit sex, cursing, cigarettes, coffee, liquor – they were all the work of the devil, he'd said it so often that Laura really felt she believed it. The fact that so many people succumbed to these vices only served to prove the hold that the Fallen One had on the people of the world.

"He walks among us," her father used to say, in any number of his many sermons, intoning sonorously through his bushy dark beard flecked with grey. "He walks among us and he takes our pulse, listens to our heartbeats. He is the Evil One who has fallen."

Laura had been as impressed as her eight brothers and sisters, she supposed, and in all of her twenty-one years she had never smoked a cigarette nor taken a drink of liquor. Her father's warnings had held up well.

And then she had met and married Ralph Saunders, a young man devoted to healing the sick and to making a lot of money, not necessarily in that same order.

Nonetheless Laura had married him, after a whirlwind courtship which had included more than a few attempts on his part to work his masculine will on virginal young flesh. Fortunately her earlier training had sustained her, and she had been able to fight him off just in time, before she became too winded to have any strength. She could remember very dearly the final night of their courtship, when Ralph had been especially demanding and determined to take advantage of her trusting innocence.

She blushed even now to think of it, and only wished that her thoughts wouldn't keep resuming somehow to such lascivious topics. But how could she forget that night – the night when a man had first managed to insinuate himself into the warmth of her sensuously aroused young pussy? Even though it had been only Ralph's finger which had entered her and nothing else.

Laura's nostrils dilated and she looked across the great length of their plushly carpeted living room to the large mirror on the opposite wall. She was wearing a pink chiffon robe which only negligently concealed her sumptuous young curves. Her breasts were full and widely spaced, like ripe white pears. Their uptilt was firm and gravity defying, their tops a gentle ski slope of glossy smooth flesh running into small outswelling areolas topped by strawberry-hued nipples which tended to stiffen embarrassingly easy.

For the rest of her, there were long thighs of soft alabaster flesh tapering into long slender begs, tiny ankles and perfectly fashioned feet. Above the rounded curve of her hour glass hips her waist seemed to disappear, only to flare out aged into a torso that ended in softly squared shoulders. Her face was a perfect oval with cupid's bow lips that had a sultry pout to them, and her complexion was flawless, her cheeks naturally rosy. When Laura fluttered her long dark eyelashes, any man could be forgiven for forgetting himself. Everything taken together, when her long blonde hair was falling softly around her pretty face and shoulders, the only word to describe Laura was breathtaking. She had the body of a wanton burdened by the mind of a puritan.

Her long and slender nail-polished fingers were pulling at the belt of her gown now, and then it was falling open to reveal the smooth expanse of milk-white skin passing from her throat, down between the swelling hillocks of her breasts to the tiny kiss-nook indentation of her navel, and finally ending in the sparse blonde pubic curls nestling over her subtly concealed vaginal slit.

Laura breathed deeply. She knew that by any measure she was a beautiful woman. But why, then, had the sexual side of her marriage failed so? What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she respond, even with the man who was her husband?

Or was Ralph asking for too much? Those lewd things he was always suggesting… it was enough to make any properly brought up girl cringe. But his suggestions were always phrased in such a joking manner… maybe he didn't really mean them?