Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

I just want you to stay home with me – I don't care about new clothes, Sandi wanted to say. Instead, biting her lip to hold back her frustration as he dumped the packages on the kitchen table, she replied, "Thank you, Verne."

This time the handsome young husband could not fail to catch the lack of enthusiasm in his wife's voice, and he felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest.

"Well, you sure don't sound too pleased," he retorted. "Let me tell you one thing, baby – I picked up these things myself 'cause I want to be damn sure you're not parading around in something like you've got on right now. If you don't like me making remarks about it, how come you're wearing it? For some other man, maybe?"

"Oh, Verne!" Sandi cried out, exasperated by his unreasonable jealousy. For the entire year in which they'd been married, she'd never once given him a single reason to distrust her, but he was nevertheless obsessed by the idea that she might be unfaithful to him. Suddenly the unhappy nineteen year old felt very tired of being treated like a stupid schoolgirl with no control over herself.

"Why do you have to say mean things like that?" she demanded. "I'm wearing this 'cause it's so darn hot, and you know it! The way you're going on is just as dumb as your not letting me come along to the motorcycle shows anymore, or not letting me go riding on the back of your bike."

Verne bristled, his ordinarily even temper rising. "I can't stand the way the guys at the track give you the eye, Sandi. You're my woman now, and I don't ever want you to forget it!"

"Oh, they don't mean anything… they're just looking at me. What's so bad about that? They don't try to talk to me or anything 'cause they know I'm your wife. Really, Verne, please let me come along with you again. Let me come to Kansas with you next week! I get so worried sitting back home alone thinking that you might have an accident or something and I won't be there to take care of you."

"Never had an accident yet," the young husband boasted. "And you know you like those guys looking at you. Well, I'm not putting up with it! You're damn well not coming out to Kansas, or anywhere else! Larry told me about the way you were leading that blond guy on at that show in Baleton, remember?"

"All I did was smile at him once, just to be friendly. He didn't seem to have any friends and he looked lonely, just like I was. You… you act like I was thinking dirty things or something!"

Hot tears sprang up in her amber-tinted eyes as she defended herself, and her voice began to tremble with an indignation heightened by the twinge of guilt she'd felt at the mention of the handsome blond youth. Of course she'd never even dreamed of doing anything wrong – hadn't so much as spoken to him – yet she could still remember the delicious little forbidden thrill that had surged through her when she'd sensed the stranger's eyes staring up to where she sat perched on the back of Verne's powerful black cycle. Her widespread thighs and barely covered buttocks had been openly revealed to the youth whenever the wind lifted her short skirt, and wicked though it was she'd enjoyed his obvious admiration.

Feeling sorry that his angry words had brought his young wife to the point of tears, Verne Smith moved over toward her and circled his arms around her slim waist.

"Awh, honey, take it easy. I just don't want some bastard stealing my girl away from me, that's all." He paused to run his work-calloused hands over the firm mounds of her breasts. "Yeah, this beautiful body's all mine!"

Sandi couldn't help shivering as her husband's strong hands tweaked at the nerve-filled tips of her round girlish breasts, her entire body glowing at his possessive touch. It was wrong, she knew, but no matter what harsh things he said to her, she still felt excited the moment he drew close to her. Shameful though it was, she could never hold back the exquisite surge of desire that sped through her, and she often worried that she was abnormal for not finding sex as painful and unpleasant as her mother had warned her it would be.

"Nicest pair of tits in the state, and they're all mine," Verne was mumbling as he squeezed her tiny nipples to taut erectness straight through the sheer fabric of Sandi's light summer beach dress. "And this golden pussy… and your tight little cunt… all mine!"

The quivering young wife knew what her husband had in mind from the tone of his voice and the quickening pace of his breathing, recognizing the symptoms from those times when she'd unwittingly allowed him to see her undressing, and he'd come to bed filled with strange, sometimes even unnatural, passion. Although she knew that she ought to pull away from him before it was too late, she only whimpered weakly and let him press up against her own trembling loins for just another tantalizing moment.

"Shit, Sandi," Verne groaned, rubbing his swelling penis up against her trembling thighs as he reached around to bunch her flimsy sundress up to her waist. "You look so sweet today that I gotta screw you! Besides, you need to be reminded that you're my girl and no one else's!"

What could be the matter with Verne? Here it was the middle of the day, with the kitchen door standing wide open so that any of the always curious neighbors who happened to be passing could plainly see inside, and he was fondling her breasts and lifting up her mini-dress to stroke at the "vee" of honey-blonde pussy hair in between her naked thighs! What could have made him so unnaturally excited?

The young wife shivered as Verne's bulging penis pressured hotly against her upper leg, knowing that unless she stopped this indecency at once that his hardened male flesh would soon be spearing with long, smooth strokes up into her unprotected vagina – right here against the kitchen table! And she wanted him to do it – there was no use denying that. Up between her thighs a voluptuous moisture was forming, and the aroused young blonde knew very well that it wasn't being brought on by the noonday heat.

"P-please, Verne," she managed to stammer in a low, embarrassed voice. "N-not now… not here in the k-kitchen! It's indecent! Anyone might see us!"

"Who gives a damn?" her husband's lust-hoarsened voice hissed in her ear. "I just saw Larry giving it to Clare, and now I want you. I want you too bad to wait!"

His hands once again reached out to massage Sandi's sensitively trembling breasts beneath her skimpy dress, while he pressed his pulsating penis more insistently than ever against her hair-covered pussy mound.

"I don't care what Larry and Clare do in the middle of the day!" the nineteen year old retorted angrily, pursing her pink lips up into a disapproving little pout and pushing her husband's body away. "It's none of my business – or yours either! And even if they were acting like animals, that certainly doesn't make it right!"

Verne grabbed out for his full-bodied wife, who was tugging her short skirt down as far as possible over her flaring thighs, and tried to kiss her. "Come on, honey," he urged. "How come you always got to act so Goddamn prim and proper?"

Even though she secretly yearned to feel her husband's throbbing male hardness pushing up into her indecently quivering loins, Sandi wouldn't have dreamed of letting him realize she was so wanton. Once again, she pushed him firmly away from her.

"D-don't swear at me, please, Verne," she said, only the slightest quavering in her southern-accented voice betraying her inner turmoil. "There's a time and place for everything…"

"But baby…"

"And I don't want to talk about it any more!" The shapely young wife turned determinedly back to her unpacking, ignoring Verne's glare of helpless anger as she struggled to control her forbidden emotions. It was only a minute or so before he slammed out the back door, but she'd already almost succeeded in convincing herself that she was proud of her willpower.