Mary Moore - Whore wife

"I don't remember," said Linda saucily. "See you next week, dear." And she hung up.

She was determined to keep her marriage intact, if possible, until the divorce. And she would bitchily keep out of her life anyone who interfered. Tim had been very cool towards her. She knew he was still confused. He had no idea if she'd gotten those large bills for sex or not. And she was trying to play it cool.

They had not made love. But they had managed to talk civilly to each other.

Linda was going through the want-ads later when one caught her eye: "Students – apply – second half summer session to Cedar House Music School – 746-9111."

This was her opportunity. She'd seen variations of that ad numerous times before, and had always promised herself she would attend once. She dialed the number and was told to come in and register.

She went down immediately. The cost was $50 for eight sessions. She paid it with the second of the three large bills. Then she was instructed to purchase an alto recorder and come back that afternoon for her first lesson. She was very excited.

When she returned to the music school, she found her teacher waiting on the second floor. The lady managing the front desk had directed her in a high, squeaky voice.

"Hello," she said nervously to the white-shirted, longhaired man whose back was to her. He seemed to be going over some fingering. He turned.

"Well, hello," he said, rose and extended his hand.

"Uh," Linda said, "I'm your new student. Beginning, I just got this," and she waved the packaged recorder in her hand.

"Good," said the man. "Open it up. You… let me see here. I've got a ticket on you somewhere, yes, Linda Carney, correct?"

"Yes, sir," said Linda, pulling the twine free of the package.

"I'm John Millhouse."

"Yes, I know," Linda smiled. Fine looking man, too, she nearly added aloud. How old? Married?

Her glance skipped down to his left hand. No ring. Well, that didn't mean anything nowadays. Maybe it was in his pocket.

"Sit here," directed Mr. Millhouse. He readied a chair for Linda in front of the music stand. "You need this instruction book here," he went on. "You can use mine today."

"Oh, they didn't tell me downstairs." Linda seated herself, next to her instructor, in front of the music stand. She felt the heat radiate from his body. She wondered, if he were warm. The room was warm. Then she wondered if some people just didn't radiate more heat and sexual energy than others. If so, she was coming into the radius of his energy, and it was beginning to affect her.

She found she could hardly concentrate on what he was teaching her: "Blow and say 'tuh'," Mr. Millhouse was saying.

"Tuh, tuh," said Linda, blowing into the recorder mouthpiece and squeaking. Then she sounded a clear note.

"That's it," he said. "Now place your left thumb on this bottom hole, that's right, like that, and your forefinger, that's this one," he touched her slightly and she jumped, "on this hole above it. There. Now say 'tuh' again."

"Tuh, tuh," breathed Linda, emerging with a new note. She beamed.

"Yes, good, that's a B. Here. It looks like this on the staff. There. Do you read music?"

"A little. Very little, I'm afraid, actually. I sang in elementary school." Linda was nervously chattering away. She really wanted to touch Mr. Millhouse's thighs. They were, again, those nice thick, muscular well-developed thighs that she liked so much, that made her melt on sight. She wondered how she was going to handle this. Rather, them. She looked around. He was getting up to close the door. There was a little window in the door, through which people could see who was instructing whom. And in what, was Linda's added thought. Not a bad idea.

He sat down again. "The kids will be coming in shortly for orchestra practice. It gets very noisy."

"I see." Linda smiled quickly. He touched her shoulder slightly to draw her attention back to the music book on the stand. All she could think of was how badly she wanted to seduce him. And when she put the recorder in between her knees, as he had instructed her, she felt she was being given instructions on masturbating with a polo stick. They could make beautiful music together.

The instruction went on for twenty-five more minutes. Linda learned four notes and could now play parts of Three Blind Mice.

"Practice for half an hour every day," Mr. Millhouse instructed her, glancing down her cleavage just before she rose.

It was an in, thought Linda, and she would make the most of it.

"Do you have another student coming now?" she asked politely, staring at his mouth and dropping her eyes dangerously to his crotch. He most certainly had a lump there.

Mr. Millhouse looked at her sharply. Then his gaze mellowed. "No, not for another half hour," he said. "What did you have in mind?" He smiled. He was like a racehorse – off and running.

He had sideburns, longer than, would be considered tolerable in an office. His voice was soft. He had a brush for a moustache. Linda had never kissed a moustache before.

She took a deep breath and recalled her assertiveness training course from the previous evening. Say what you feel. Say it directly. And say it tactfully.

"I find you very attractive," Linda began. "Why, thank you." Mr. Millhouse seemed taken aback but recovered rather quickly. He reached out and touched her arm. Linda's skin tingled. She grabbed his hand, but he was the one who drew her closer. They were standing directly in front of each other now. He looked over his shoulder at the pane of window glass in the door, then drew her around a corner of the room behind the piano where they could not be seen.

He kissed her warmly, with his soft, thick lips. Linda seemed to melt like putty. When her spirit awoke, she found him still standing there, in her arms.

"You needn't pay me this way," he advised.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea, would it, Mr. Millhouse?" laughed Linda. "I mean, just joking." She didn't want him to think she was a screwball or anything.

"I know you're joking," he said. "Call me John, by the way. You're very lovely," he added. "You're the prettiest student I've ever had."

"Why, thank you," she said, pleased. Then she leaned to kiss him again. She pressed her lips hard against his. She pressed his body with her own. Her large, firm breasts rubbed against his chest. She tongued his mouth and he tongued her back. "Oh, that feels good," she said softly, withdrawing her mouth, and staring at his longingly. "Tell me, are you married?" she asked him as objectively as possible. Her assertiveness was amazing even her.

"I don't think so," came the answer.

"Now, what does that mean?" she laughed. "You're joking."

"I'm not married. Yet."

"Engaged?"

"That's a toughie. Hard to say." He drew her close again. "Don't go. We can do it right here, if you need to. Or want to."

She whispered. "I'd like that, John. I'd like that very much."

"I can even lock the door." He went over and flipped the latch. Then he pulled a clean blue bandanna handkerchief out of his pocket. "Here," he whispered, "lie on this."

She was already yanking her skirt up over her panty hose tops. John sank down to the floor beside her, placing his hand on her upper thighs. She sighed.

"Your hands feel so good, John. Are you sure no one will know we're here?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. This room doesn't get used for another half hour."

Linda sighed. She picked up a strand of her long blond hair and tickled his face with it. Then she nuzzled his moustache with her nose, and gave him a kiss. But in a moment they were down to business.

Linda rolled back full length on the floor. She let her legs and thighs be pried wide apart by John's hand. His touch was so gentle on her. He found the tops of her panty hose and peeled them party-way down, just to expose the firm, fleshy part of her thighs.