Donna Allen: Naughty nympho wife

She was alone at this party. Candice hated being alone at a party. She told herself it was Martin's fault. Martin was her husband and he was to be here with her. Instead he was out of town on one of his business trips. She was a married woman and she ought to be with her husband at a party like this.

She felt lonely. She knew some people here but most of them were single and more carefree than she was. Nearly all the people at the party seemed to be having a good time except her. You're depressed, she thought. Was she depressed? Not in general, no. But maybe she was depressed about her life. She was twenty-eight and she wasn't that satisfied with things. She thought a woman of twenty-eight ought to feel better about her life than she did.

What did she have to feel blue about? It certainly wasn't her looks. She could tell by the way men looked at her what they thought about her. And Martin, too. She had what men liked. The right curves, the height, nice legs, a firm little ass that showed up well in a tight dress. Martin said she had the face of an angel and the body of a whore. Or at least he'd said it a thousand years ago when they got married. These days he hardly looked at her body, let alone talk about it. He was too wrapped up in his career in that rotten job he had that took him all over the country. Someone ought to put up a billboard telling women never to marry a national sales manager. Don't marry anyone who does a lot of traveling. What happens, is you wind up at parties without your husband.

She had a good job of her own. She managed a busy art gallery in the center of town and she liked the work. Many of the artists were crazy and some of the buyers were snobs, but all things considered she liked the business and she liked her job.

The other women at the party all seemed to be enjoying themselves. They seemed relaxed, laughing quietly at someone's jokes, sipping their drinks. Candice thought the women looked chic. She was sorry she hadn't worn something more daring. Maybe what she needed was to be less conventional. Was she that conventional? You're getting drunk, she thought. She was on her third vodka highball and she was starting to feel them.

It occurred to her that maybe it was better to be single. She guessed most of the girls and women at this party were single. They looked it, anyway. And the men, too. She thought most of them looked like single people on the make. One girl across the ram sat on the floor with a great deal of thigh showing. Bare white thighs above the tops of her black net stockings, one of the straps of her garterbelt clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look. Candice never wore stockings like that. She didn't even own a garterbelt. She had black net pantyhose, but she hadn't worn them tonight. She had on her ordinary beige pantyhose and now she wished she'd worn the black net. She could show them what a knockout pair of legs looked like. She had a pair of black pumps with four inch stiletto heels that she hardly ever wore because she thought they made her look too much like a tramp.

But women were wearing shoes like that now. Martin certainly liked them. The last time she'd worn those shoes they'd gone out to dinner and then at home he'd made her walk around with nothing on but the shoes and a string of pearls. She'd felt so self-conscious doing that. But then they laughed together about it and afterward Martin fucked her silly on the living room rug.

I ought to have worn the shoes tonight, she thought. Just to have the men here look at her that way. Just to make her feel better.

"Well, well," a man's voice said, "if it isn't the queen of the empire, Candice Leonard. My heart-throb, my one and only love."

Candice sighed. "I heard you'd be here. If you don't keep your voice down, I'm disowning you."

His name was Al Gorman. He was a painter and the gallery where she worked made a great deal of money selling his paintings. He had thick dark hair and dark eyes and for the past year he'd been making passes at Candice every time he came to the gallery. She always fended him off. In the gallery it was easy. Here at this party she thought maybe it wouldn't be so easy. She hated scenes and she did not want a scene at this party with Al Gorman.

"Can I sit down?"

She nodded. There was room beside her. She couldn't tell him not to sit down.

"Candice, you hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"Then come to bed with me. We'll find a bed somewhere and try to break it."

"Oh Al. You know I'm married."

"Where's your husband?"

"He's not here. He's out of town this week."

"Then now's our chance. I'm going to bring bliss into your eyes."

And that's how it went. She had to joke with him about it. He was always so insistent. He was saying the same things to her now that he said in the gallery. But somehow this was different. She felt him sitting so close to her. She could smell him, a mix of aftershave and tobacco. He was certainly masculine, certainly attractive with those dark eyes and brawny arms.

He flirted with her. He teased her about Martin leaving her alone. She said she wasn't a child and she could be left alone without being gobbled up by the wolves.

"I'd sure like to gobble you," Al said, dropping his voice and gazing into her eyes. "I'll make a feast out of you."

She blushed. She looked around to see if any of the others were noticing them, but everyone had their own thing going. At first she tried to turn Al off, but then she eased up on him and just went along with it. She did know him. She did like him. When he put his arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her ear, she let him do it. It was nice to have her ego stroked. She enjoyed it. Martin hardly paid any attention to her any more and now it was nice to have a man's attention again. Yes, it was certainly nice.

Then someone turned down the lights in the room. Not completely off, but down enough so that suddenly the people who had paired off had more privacy. They had soft rock on the stereo, mellow music that made Candice feel both sad and elated at the same time. She needed someone. When Al kissed her, she resisted at first. But then she yielded and gently kissed him back. Don't think of Martin, she thought. She liked the taste of Al's mouth. They had never kissed before and she discovered she liked it.

The kiss ended. She relaxed in his arms and they listened to the music. Then he kissed her again and this time there was more of an urgency in it. She accepted his tongue. She moaned against his mouth when he put his hand on her tits.

His hand felt so good. He was a lover. She could tell by the way he fondled her tits that he was a man who knew how to fuck a woman. She had a sudden bout of guilt. She felt sorry for Martin. This was the first time since her marriage that she'd done anything like this. Necking at a party with another man. It seemed so crazy.

Her mouth remained glued to Al's while he stroked her tits. She opened some of the buttons of his shirt and she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. He had more hair on his chest than Martin. She liked hairy men. On the chest and down on the belly and then around the cock and balls. Al had such thick hair on his chest and she guessed he'd have a lot of it down there where she liked it. You're flaking out, she thought. No, she wasn't flaking out, she was just so damn hot she was trembling.

He continued kissing her. His fingers worked at the buttons of her blouse, and then his hand was inside to fondle her tits through her lightweight bra. He scooped one of her tits out to get at her nipple. She was turned on. She quivered with excitement. Her tits were always so sensitive and she loved the way his fingers rolled and pulled at her nipple.