Carl Van Marcus - The motorcyclist_s wife

Although Sandi knew that her husband's best friend was just trying to help her feel better, his lingering hands were making her feel most uncomfortable.

"N-no, Larry…" she sighed at last. "I… I think maybe it's b-better if I just try to s-sleep…"

Her voice was so low as to be nearly inaudible, and there was a tremulous quality to it which told the conniving manager that she was indeed feeling a reciprocal arousal. In fact, she sounded so timorous that he anticipated no problem in accomplishing his adulterous seduction. In spite of her innocent face and prim mannerisms, she'd be just as susceptible to the lure of a long, stiffened cock as the peroxide teenyboppers who hung around the Cycle Circus.

All broads are the same, he reflected as he inched his eager hands farther up toward the inviting mounds of Sandi Smith's high-set breasts. Horny bitches, the lot of them. Only difference is that it takes longer to get into some cunts than others. Never had one say no to me yet!

"Awh, don't be silly, Sandi," he insisted. "You'll never sleep a wink if you're all muscle-bound like this, and you know it. You'll just be having nightmares about Verne!"

The slender blonde gave a slight shiver at the prospect as visions of blood and flames and prison-like hospitals haunted by ghost-like, white-frocked doctors and echoing with screams of anguish ran through her alcohol-confused mind. So frightened that she momentarily forgot her embarrassment at having Larry this close to her wantonly revealed body, she clasped her arms around his close-leaning back in a childish gesture of fear. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone in the dark, silent house with such terrifying images floating through her dreams.

Yeah – she wants me bad, all right, the egotistical older man gloated. I bet she's been wanting me all this time when she acted so high and mighty. Weird chick – but sometimes they're the wildest fucks of all!

The provoking sensation of being clasped so intimately by a female who was as weak and defenseless as she was beautiful was almost too much for the hotly aroused male. As his penis leaped to full blood-hardened erection, he had to fight back the overwhelming urge to rip off his jeans and ram his aching thickness deep into the tight little cunt that he knew lay hidden beneath those gently curling strands of pale gold pussy hair. That's exactly what he would have done if he'd been with most of the girls he knew – and in his profession, he got to know a lot – because they wanted to be fucked, not persuaded. Half the time, in fact, they'd been the aggressors, and the whole idea of seduction became a bit absurd. As a rule, this suited Larry just fine, for he preferred his adulterous adventures to be brief, uninhibited, and problem-free.

But with Sandi Smith, he instinctively realized he had to play a different game, and an oddly pleasant one at that. He was sure she didn't regard lovemaking as a healthy physical activity or amusing pastime; if she had indeed taken a lover, she was doubtless very guilty about it. No, the naive nineteen year old still hadn't accepted the fact of her basic sensuality… and the real kick, as far as he was concerned, lay in proving to her that she was just another cunt with no control over her body's lewd desires.

"Don't get all upset, Sandi," he whispered to the quivering young bride. "I'm here to take care of you, and I'll fix you up so that you don't have any nightmares."

As he spoke, he continued his subtle massaging of her shaking flesh, pressing into her smooth, pliant skin with his fingertips and then stroking its silk-textured surface, moving higher and higher up along her rib cage. At last he reached her firm young breasts and grasped one in each of his eager hands, teasing their rose-pink tips with his palms.

A strong shudder surged through the innocent blonde wife at the unexpected titillation of her ultra-sensitive nipples. Her hands shot down from Larry's strong-muscled back to cover her naked breasts with the orange lace nightgown, which somehow had crept up around her neck without her noticing it. What on earth was her husband's manager doing to her? Surely he wasn't trying to… but no, that was completely impossible.

"Wh-what are you d-doing, Larry?" she stammered, her whole body tensing as if she were about to jump to her feet and run from the room. "D-don't do that, please!"

"Calm down," Larry said in the smooth voice he usually reserved for selling impossible schemes or unusable objects to recalcitrant clients. It was a tone of unquestionable honesty and sincerity which, along with his driving ambition, was largely responsible for his financial success. Never lost a deal or a woman yet! he often boasted to his friends.

"A massage is mental as well as physical, and if it's going to do any good at all you have to feel my energy vibrating on your bare skin. Now what I want you to do is think about Verne, pretend he's here with you now. That's what he'd want you to do! And you'll be sound asleep in no time at all!"

Sandi's shock-widened amber eyes stared back at him in confusion, and she continued her feeble effort to push away Larry's relentlessly kneading hands. Her mind was whirling so wildly that she just didn't know what to think, and all she could do was slowly shake her head at the handsome older man bending over her.

"Didn't anyone ever give you a massage before?" the sly manager inquired. "You're acting like I'm trying to do something wrong – do you really think I'd do anything to my best friend's wife that he didn't want me to do? And I know what he'd want is for me to relax you, honey. You're being silly – childish."

Was she? the naive blonde wondered. She had, after all, never been given a massage and had no idea of the usual procedure. And Larry had been so kind to her that it seemed insufferably rude to act as though he was trying to do something bad. Maybe she was being childish, still acting as though she was home with her puritanical parents. And what he'd said about thinking that Verne was here with her made sense; she'd actually been doing that already, for the two friends had very similar athletic builds and strong, capable hands.

"Here, have a little more of this scotch. It'll help you sleep, too," she heard Larry say, and as the glass was pressing right against her lips there seemed nothing to do but gulp it down. The clear brown liquid tasted nastier than ever, but it blurred her tangled thoughts to the point where it seemed unnecessary to do anything but close her eyes and try, as Larry had instructed, to pretend that her husband Verne was here beside her on the couch instead of in a hospital bed miles away.

Strong, gentle hands seemed to be caressing every curve and crevice of her nerve-tensed body, and she allowed herself to fall into a semi-trance where there was no remembrance of motorcycle accidents, lewd lace nightgowns, or vague suspicions and guilt about what her husband's friend was doing to her. Verne, her wonderful husband, had magically arrived home safe and sound to calm the flames of desire that had been plaguing her for the past two weeks while he was away on tour. He was making her whole body vibrate in the most pleasant way imaginable, and instead of the nervous, undirected energy that had burned inside her, a flowing honeyed current of pure relief was humming through her veins. All she had to do was keep her eyes shut tight and not let her mind think of anything but Verne's handsome face with its lopsided grin and his sun-bronzed, virile body… that was all she need do to feel happy again…

"Ummmmmmmmm… oooohhhhh…" she purred low in her throat, letting her hands fall limply to her sides as all vestiges of guilt vanished from her conscious mind. "Oh, Verne, Verne… ooooohhhh!"

Above the half-unconscious young wife, Larry Johnson was marveling at the ease with which his plan had succeeded. Even taking into consideration the whiskey and the shock of bad news, Sandi had allowed herself to be manipulated into this situation with the ease of a key slipping into a well-oiled lock. It was really incredible – if someone had told him last week that he'd be feeling up his star stunt-rider's prissy, conceited wife, he'd have laughed in their face.