Con Demerest - Her anal perversion

Alice thought she would die of shame. She almost wished she could, because she didn't know if she could stand to live with herself after this. The shaken woman started her car and began driving home. As she wheeled her car, she found her shame-ridden mind wandering back to her husband. She knew it was the frustration of being sexually deprived that had caused her to behave in such a desultory way with the boy.

It had been five months since her husband died, and nearly a half year before that since he'd made love to her because of his illness. No wonder she had become sex crazed, but why did she work out some satisfaction in such a disgusting manner?

In her own shy way, Alice had enjoyed having marital relations with her husband. Now that she was getting over her grief, she realized just how much she really did miss the regular sexing of married life. Her physical needs lived on, but she had no man to satisfy them, no socially acceptable sexual outlet. Her proper period of mourning was not yet over, so Alice steadfastly refused to seriously consider dating again. Little wonder that Alice's troubled mind had begun to channel the strong desires of her healthy body toward sex.

Now, because of her past uncontrolled act with the boy, she felt she couldn't manage well at all. She had certainly tried to do her best. After paying her husband's medical and burial expenses, Alice had had barely enough money left to buy the small boarding house with which she hoped to support herself and her two fatherless children. Hal was taking the loss like a little man, but Kitty, who was only twelve, sorely missed her father. It wrenched at Alice's heart to overhear her little girl crying herself to sleep, and Kitty was still doing it once or twice a week.

"Oh, my poor children, to have a whore for a mother," she wailed. "And my poor dead husband! To think I did for a stranger what I would never do for him!"

During the early years of their marriage, her dear departed husband had frequently asked her to take his sex organ in her mouth. Alice had stubbornly refused to give in to the perverse act. Not once had she brought her face close to his loins, and never had she even considered kissing his big, hard prick for him.

But it was different with the boy, somehow, because of the boy's innocence and his smaller penis, and with the desire she'd kept bottled up inside her for so long bursting into flames and licking up into her yearning vagina, searing her viscera and driving her out of her mind with lust.

Alice had been crying hard, and now as she drove her car off the thoroughfare into the narrow street leading to her boarding house, her vision was still somewhat blurred by tears.

The shadowy figure staggered off the curb and lurched toward her just as Alice swung the Ford into the center of the street and aimed it toward her driveway. She hit the brakes, but too late. There was a sickening thump against the right front fender. The man screamed horribly as he did a backward somersault in midair. Then he hit the pavement and rolled over and over, coming to rest in the gutter.

Terrified, Alice leaped from the car and rushed over to him. He was lying there holding his back, groaning piteously. His face was a mask of excruciating pain, his features so contorted that Alice didn't recognize him at first glance.

"My back! God, Missus Darling, my ba-aacckkk! Doc Gordan! Call Doc Gordan!"

"Oh, my God, you're Mister Denton!" Alice cried, finally recognizing the drunk who'd been boarding with her for a month. She could not abide drunkards, even harmless ones like Mr. Denton, so she'd informed the small wiry man he would have to leave. This was the last night of his prepaid room and board, and now this. She'd run over the poor man, maybe broken his back. She felt awful over it, and had to struggle with herself to keep from panicking. "I'm sorry, Mister Denton! Oh, I'm so sorry! Can you walk? Maybe if I help you we can make it to the house."

"Don't move me! My back! Aaargh! Doc Gordan! I want Doc Gordan!"

"Yes! Yes, all right, I'll call him!" Alice promised, and she ran into the house, icy fingers of fear gripping at her palpitating heart.

Gordan, a large portly man of about fifty, arrived within five minutes from the time Alice called him. Together they rolled the pain-racked body of poor little Mr. Denton on a stretcher, and Alice helped lift the moaning victim of her carelessness into the back of the doctor's station wagon. She stood in the street, sick at heart and wringing her hands, watching until the taillights of the doctor's vehicle disappeared from view.

It was ten o'clock the following morning when the insurance investigator arrived. "Missus Darling?" he asked when Alice opened the door. The grief-stricken woman nodded. He introduced himself and showed her his identification, and Alice took him into the parlor. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Mister Stanley?"

"No, thank you," he replied. He was all business but gentlemanly, for he waited until Alice had settled nervously on the edge of an overstuffed chair before he took a seat on the couch facing her. Despite her guilt over the beach-boy and her remorse over poor Mr. Denton, Alice could not help noticing that the redhead seated before her was a rather handsome man. He looked freshly scrubbed and boyishly wholesome, what with his freckled skin and unruly coppery-red hair. The insurance investigator appeared to be in his late thirties, and even in Alice's troubled state of mind, he appealed to her in a way that no man other than her husband ever had. She knew she looked a mess – her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and red-rimmed from crying – and she regretted this, especially when her inquisitive gaze took note of the band of lighter skin on his ring-less ring finger.

"The police took your statement of the accident?" Alice nodded. "Last night. It was all my fault. I told them so."

His thick red eyebrows drew together in a frown. "I wish you hadn't done that. It makes it much more difficult for us to settle."

"But I ran over the poor man with my car," Alice objected. "I knocked him right up into the air. I could actually see him flipping over in midair! It was horrible, the way he screamed, I thought I'd killed him."

"But you didn't kill him."

"No. His back was badly injured, though."

"So his lawyer claims."

"It was. I could see that. He couldn't move his legs. Have you been to the hospital to see him? Did I break his back? Oh, dear Lord, I hope he isn't going to be paralyzed for life!"

"Mister Denton isn't in the hospital. He's in a room at Doctor Gordan's private office. No, I haven't seen him yet. The doctor wouldn't permit it. He claims that Mister Denton's back is broken, and that he has him in a cast and under sedation."

Alice closed her eyes with a grimace. She'd feared the worst, and now she was hearing it. A choking sob racked her body, but she shed no new tears, she had already cried herself dry.

"When your car struck Denton, Missus Darling, you say the impact hurled him into the air?"

"That's right. I could see him in the air, turning, as if he were doing a backward somersault. And he was screaming! It was dreadful, Mister Stanley. I'll never forget it for as long as I live. I feel like throwing up every time I think about it."

"Yes," he said. "Of course." And then he paused, studying on her words. "It strikes me as odd, doesn't it you?"

"Odd? What do you mean?"

"How fast were you going?"

"Oh, I don't know. Ten or fifteen miles an hour, maybe. I had started my turn into the driveway."

Stanley made a note of this. "At that rate of speed, a pedestrian should be flung to the ground, not hurled into the air, as you say. And your fender isn't even dented."

A blank stare was Alice's only reply, for she knew nothing of such matters.