Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

"Says who?" demanded Clare. "For your parents, maybe, but not necessarily for you. I think anything that makes two people happy can't possibly be wrong."

Suddenly, unable to resist the temptation any longer, the twenty-five year old brunette reached down and kissed Sandi's enticing, rose-tipped breasts. The girl let out a low gasp, but her nipples nevertheless tautened automatically into hard little buttons.

"I… I think I better get my nightgown on," Sandi whispered, pulling away from Clare as she suddenly grew aware of the indecency of her position.

Familiar shivers of excitement rippled from her breasts to all the nerve-endings of her naked body, and although she didn't want to think anything bad about the woman who'd been so kind to her, she began to feel decidedly uneasy and to wish that Clare would get off the bed. As for all this talk about her body being beautiful and nothing being wrong if it made you happy – well, she'd heard the same thing from Tony, the photographer; the words made sense, but just look at the vile things he'd done to her!

"But you like me to kiss your breast," Clare coaxed. "See how hard it's getting! Is it wrong, Sandi? Do you really believe it's wrong?"

A hot blush spread over the blonde's cheeks, but before she could gather herself together to insist that the brunette stop teasing at her breasts, she felt gentle hands turning her from her side onto her back, then skimming like feathers over her flat belly and flaring thighs. Clare's smooth lips lingered on her tingling nipples, her warm breath soothing the tender flesh of her manhandled breasts in such a comforting way that it was terribly difficult to make herself protest.

"N-no," she finally managed to choke out. "D-don't, please. Wh-why are you doing that?"

"What's the matter? Are your breasts sore? Did those cruel men hurt them so badly? And did they hurt your soft little pussy, too?"

Suddenly a violent tremor surged through Sandi Smith's naked body as she felt the brunette's warm lips gliding down the length of her torso and across her belly to settle down in the forbidden "vee" of her vagina. It was impossible! It just couldn't be happening!

"No, Clare!" she protested, more firmly than before, trying to draw her still weak thighs tightly together. "I… I don't want you to do that. Please!"

"Listen, Sandi," the dark-haired seductress spoke into Sandi's golden cloud of pussy hair. "I'm trying to help you. Those crude men – including my bastard of a husband – hurt you because they didn't really care about you. Most men are like that – selfish. But the things they did were beautiful, not ugly. Now I'm going to show you how good sex can be when it's gentle instead of violent."

The sexually-liberated wife paused, considering what she was saying and trying to explain to her innocent friend as honestly as possible the things which she truly believed. "Lord knows I like a good stiff cock, and I like to feel overpowered. So do you – you told me so! But maybe you just weren't ready to accept that yet."

Clare's warm moist tongue was snaking down through her pussy hair to the super-sensitive flesh of her still-swollen vaginal lips, sending such wonderfully exciting sensations coursing through Sandi's unwilling body that she knew she had to stop this at once. All her energy was concentrated on erasing the lewd desire from her traitorous body, and she scarcely heard a word Clare was saying.

"No, no," Sandi moaned again. "Don't! Don't touch me like that! I… I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend, honey. But I think you need to learn a lot of things about sex, and I think I'm the best one to teach you. I mean, I've been through the same things… I'm a woman, too… I understand how you feel…"

But Sandi refused to listen. "No, Clare. Please just leave! Please! And promise you won't say anything to Larry about… about what I told you. Please promise!"

"But Sandi, I…" Clare began, then froze as the bedroom door was flung open with a crash and heavy male footsteps clomped toward the bed. Whirling around, the brunette found herself staring straight at her very intoxicated husband.

"Don't tell Larry what?" he slurred. "Lemme tell you two cheating bitches something – you don't need to tell me no secrets, 'cause I know all about you both. And lemme tell you something else – I'm not gonna let you get away with none of this lesbian shit, Clare. I'm the one who's gonna fuck the hell out of that blonde cunt!"

After Sandi Smith had rebuffed him on the phone, Larry had downed several more drinks, switching from martinis to straight scotch. For awhile he'd flirted with a couple of cute teenagers who were passing through Brunrocke on their way from Connecticut to San Francisco on expensive British-made ten-speed bicycles – rich little bitches on a phony hippie trip – toying with the idea of fucking one or perhaps both of them. But though the high school girls couldn't have been more than sixteen, they had none of Sandi's appealing air of innocence and vulnerability. Their well-padded, Levi-encased ass-cheeks didn't undulate with the unconscious provocative wriggle which he so admired in his best friend's wife, and his own wife Clare, for that matter. Anyway, the girls seemed far more interested in two local long-hairs who Larry overheard murmuring something about taking a drive out of town to see how their crop of grass was doing.

"What's the matter with kids today anyway?" the twenty-seven year old muttered sourly to himself as he prepared to stomp out of the bar. "No fucking good, that's for damn sure!"

His long cock was bulging against his jeans as he gulped down the last of his scotch, and he was just getting up to drive back to Lakeview Gardens and once again release his raging hunger for Sandi on his wife when he suddenly overheard a most interesting conversation going on at the next table. Settling back down in his seat, he pricked up his ears, a lewd smile gradually sliding over his rugged face as he absorbed the obscene details of the two men's conversation.

Larry, born and raised in Brunrocke, recognized both youths. The blond one had been a few years behind him in high school, and he vaguely recalled some scandal or other involving him and some chick who'd been caught making it in the balcony of the swimming pool during swim team practice. As for the dark-haired man, Larry knew he was some kind of foreign motherfucker who'd opened a photographer's studio several months ago.

So that's where the stupid bitch got a job, he gloated to himself. And that's why she sounded so weird on the phone, too!

Pushing back his chair so quickly that it crashed to the floor, the lust-crazed Motorcycle Circus manager elbowed his way out of the crowded bar, jumped into his big Buick, and sped toward Lakeview Estates. By the time he'd reached the Smith's darkened house, he'd sobered up enough to think to park his car down the block and to sneak in through the open kitchen door on silent feet. Thus the two erotically aroused women never heard him until he made his triumphant entrance.

Both naked women gaped at him with fear-widened eyes as he ripped off his jeans and shirt and swaggered over toward the big double bed, flicking on the bright overhead light on his way.

"Wanna see what I'm fucking here!" he laughed in a coarse way.

Sandi, forgetting her earlier effort to avoid her girlfriend's unnatural embrace, now clutched her arms around Clare. She was shaking like a leaf as a few stinging tears trickled down her flushed cheeks, and her green eyes were widened and glazed with fear.

"Don't worry, honey – he always goes crazy like this when he's had too much to drink," Clare whispered. "Just do what he says, or he'll get really mad. He's not going to hurt you – he just wants to get into your cunt."