Persephone in Winter

                         Persephone in Winter

                            by Night Writer

 

 

                               Chapter 4

 

 

"If only others could see you as I do."

 

He paced slowly as he spoke, eyes feasting on white flesh against the

crimson sheets under her.  The bed, a heavy four-poster with a canopy

frame, was positioned at the very center of the room.  At first sight

it was an imposing structure, a fusion of dark carved woods and

burnished metal in an old-world Mediterranean style.  As he circled it,

he studied her from every angle. Her thin wrists were stretched above

her head, bound by two feet of cord secured to a grille of metal bars

at the headboard.  A tangle of brown hair framed her face, one eye

hidden behind sweat-soaked strands that clung to her forehead and cheek. 

Her open lips waited, red and full, poised, ready at the next

instant to beg him to finish her.

 

'Such wanton elegance,' he mused.  'Delicate shoulders carved from

the purest alabaster...white breasts firm enough to mimic stone, yet

soft enough to allow cherry-red nipples to quiver with each

breath...the flat belly, showing a hint of muscle beneath it, as though

carved by a master sculptor to compliment the sleek lines of her long

waist...legs, white as glistening ivory, chiseled and slim, a thin

layer of satin drawn tightly over stone cut and polished by hands of

passion and grace.'

 

He could almost understand how a husband might prefer sharing such a

treasure to losing her.

 

Small lamps mounted on the inside of each corner of the canopy bathed

her body in blue-white light.  The rest of the room was dark, and the

bright light blinded her to his progress and exact position.  Only

during the few moments when he passed the foot of the bed could she be

sure he remained in the room with her, his crisp, white shirt and

golden cock emerging from the shadows just long enough to rewet her

appetite for him.

 

Minutes later, he appeared beside her at the edge of the bed.  He was

naked, and the sudden sight of him sent a shudder of expectation

through her.  He held a small silver vial, just slightly taller than a

thimble.  Within it rested a thin needle topped with a single black

pearl that seemed to hover above the lip of the container in the

brilliant light.  As he withdrew it, a drop of clear liquid fell from

the sharp tip back into the waiting pool at the bottom of the miniature

reservoir.

 

She shifted away from him as he brought the needle closer.

 

"Are you afraid?"

 

Her eyes told him before she could speak.  "Yes," she whispered.

 

"I could untie you, set you free.  Your husband is waiting."

 

She shook her head without hesitation, as if to chase away any chance

of retreat.  "No!" - another whisper, but one more forceful.

 

The tip of the needle arrived at her breast, stopping at the edge of

the bright pink areola.  With a quick stabbing motion, he tapped the

point repeatedly over the sensitive skin.  She gasped, then began to

moan quietly as the needle danced over the engorged button of flesh.

The pressure was never enough to draw blood, but sufficient to deliver

minute quantities of the drug just below the surface of the tender

nipple.  He returned the needle to the shining vial, wetting the tip

again and again, until both nipples lay wet and glistening in the harsh

light.

 

He stopped, watching the circles surrounding her nipples darken to an

angry red.  She gasped as the tickle of the needle turned to burning

twinges, finally subsiding to a constant, mild irritation that made her

squirm and pull against her bonds.

 

And then he was gone.  The darkness surrounding the bed simply

swallowed him.  She called out to him, begging him to return, to

extinguish the fire that had started at her breasts and now crawled

methodically through her, seizing her cunt with raging urgency.  Her

cries echoed through the room, unanswered.  She cried out louder, slim

legs now shifting to one side, then the other in a futile attempt at

relief or freedom.  The cord around her wrists tightened and held.

Helpless and alone under the intense light, she felt as though she

might suffocate in it's heat, a heat that suddenly seemed to melt her

womb, sending it flowing between her legs like a river of molten lead.

 

Suddenly, he was there, kneeling on the bed, naked, between her

restless thighs.  He watched her with piercing eyes, his golden chest

shining, his erection thicker and harder than she had ever remembered

it.  Multicolored spikes of light surrounded him, flickering and

wavering as they stretched from his bronzed skin into the shadows of

the darkened room.  His voice seemed distant and out of sync with the

words that formed on his lips.

 

"My, my.  Where has she gone? Mommy and Daddy's good little girl - a

husband's faithful and loving wife - the proud day-virgin and reluctant

concubine.  What would they say if they could see your hungry little

cunt yawning for my cock?  What words could you possibly use to make

them understand?"

 

"Please, Simon...I'm begging you..."

 

"Your answer is the price for my company tonight - and ultimately, the

price for coaxing my cock inside you."

 

"Simon...I don't care...none of it matters...none of it..."

 

Her slim hips rose off the bed as she spoke, pumping uncontrollably in

a futile attempt to somehow capture the swollen purple head that jutted

and bobbed, still impossibly far away.

 

"Ahh, finally, the truth.  None of it matters - it's empty baggage, a

burden you needn't bear.  Here, to be free of it is a simple choice -

your choice - no one else's.

 

He moved closer, finally edging the head of his cock just inside her.

He waited until her cunt tightened around it, then went deeper, filling

her slowly with inch after inch of rigid flesh.  Each time with him was

as if she was taken by a new lover; the unyielding girth of his sex

stretching her, then the solid presence filling her belly, possessing

her more completely than any man ever had, or quite possibly ever

would.  It took an entire minute for him to bury himself in her.  She

wound her legs around his waist, her torso drawn tight between bound

wrists and the small of his arched back.  He sank the last inch into

her and stopped, pinning her to the bed.  Her eyes fluttered and

closed.  Her lips formed a small, satisfied smile.  She had taken all

of him - from the hard, blunt tip nestled snugly against her cervix, to

the thick, flaring root that ground against her as his hips pressed

into her in small, firm circles under his body's weight.

 

She whimpered when he pulled out suddenly, surprised by the emptiness

in her belly.  She opened her eyes again, squinting in the bright

light.  He knelt between her legs, his lean stomach and broad chest

gleaming with sweat.  The aura that surrounded him burned with shifting

color, now pulsing violently with vibrant reds and glowing violets.

His penis seemed immense as it jutted in the air over her, growing

longer and thicker as though reflected in a funhouse mirror.  The room

was spinning.  She closed her eyes.  The bed seemed to fall away,

leaving her floating above it, weightless and calm.

 

He was turning her, rolling her onto her belly.  His hands were cool,

his grasp firm against her naked thighs.  She drew her knees under her,

offering her ass to him.  What she needed came quickly - his strong

hands spreading her, then the hot, blunt presence against the entrance,

pressing forward slowly, boring into her, deep enough to awaken flesh

untouched by any other.  The sensation of the cord about her wrists,

the cool sheet against her face, the sting of the fullness invading

her, all melted into the single essence of what she had become.  No

longer wife, nor woman, nor even flesh - only need and desire,

 

desperate to be possessed, to be taken by hands that would reduce her

to nothing, a zero, dissolving her demons in a sudden rush of Simon's

scalding sperm as it bathed her bowels.

 

The skillful caress of his fingers between her legs sent her into a

welcome abyss, falling and floating at the same time through explosions

of warmth and color, her own cries echoing in the distance as though

they were the urgent calls of some primitive wild animal.  Then the

darkness arrived, a luscious cradle that closed in around her, sucking

away her flesh with a delicious, persistent embrace that slowly

consumed her until only the lush fullness deep in her belly remained.

Finally it too faded, the encroaching blackness stealing even the

nothingness she had become, until it swallowed everything that

remained.

 

 

                                  ***

 

 

The car had become a prison for him.  An hour passed, then two, and

finally a third.  He should do something - go in after her, confront

the man that took her inside, insist she return with him to their own

home, to their own bed.  Why had he allowed this in the first place?

What kind of man gives his wife to a stranger, and then waits for him

to finish with her?  Her face haunted him, so child-like when they met,

and even now, years later, it still cheated the passage of time.  She

remained an innocent Lolita with the body of a mature, ripe woman.  He

knew men desired her.  He saw them look, listened to their suggestive

banter at parties, cloaked in the feeblest attempts at platonic intent.

But she had never given them the slightest satisfaction of a knowing

reply.  She would simply take his hand, or pull his arm closer around

her slim waist, as if to let him know she was his and his alone.

 

The temptation to go to her was overwhelming, so much so that twice he

left the car.  The first time he was able to do little more than circle

the car, then stand by the open door, his eyes searching the tall

windows for any trace of movement.  The second time he could go no

farther than halfway to the marble steps before retreating, all the

while remembering her soft pleading just before she went inside.  Now

he sat staring at his hands on the wheel, weary from questions he

couldn't answer, needing her next to him more than he ever had.

 

Then she was running toward him, her body glowing in the light that

still bathed the house.  The simple white nightshirt rose over her

thighs as she ran. Bare legs and feet flashed, gracefully carrying her

forward, like an angel gliding through the night.  She snuggled next to

him in the car, an arm around his neck, a hand placed peacefully on

his chest.  She nuzzled his neck, her damp hair cool and fragrant

against his skin.

 

"Mmmmm - take me home?"

 

She was asleep within minutes.  He carried her from the car to their

bed. She moved close to him, pressing her body against his, a contented

smile now fixed to her innocent face.  After letting some time pass, he

placed a hand on her breast, moving a finger over her hardening nipple.

She sighed, uttered something soft and unintelligible in her sleep,

then turned from him and sighed again one last time.  He lay beside her

as the hours passed, never sleeping, her gentle breathing filling him

with both fear and desire until dawn.

 

 

 

 

 

                          Persephone in Winter

                            by Night Writer

 

 

                                Chapter 5

 

 

He woke slowly, first to the constant hiss and sizzle, then to the

familiar smell of bacon, teasing him from his sleep with a hint of a

perfect breakfast made just as she knew he would want it.  Sleep had

finally come to him sometime early in the morning, but the lack of it

hung about him as he lifted his legs over the side of the bed and stood

to face the day. She had drawn the blinds so he could sleep late, and

waited until mid-morning to start his breakfast.  He would shower

first, buying some time to think about what he might say to her, and

what she may or may not want to share about the night before.

 

To his surprise, she greeted him with her dazzling smile and a kiss as

she brought him his food.  He chose to eat, saving any words till

later, waiting for her to offer up excuses or an apology.  None came,

so he picked at his breakfast in silence as she hummed quietly to

herself while busily cleaning the kitchen.

 

Later that afternoon as he dozed in front of the television, she

snuggled next to him, her small hand stroking his inner thigh.  He

opened his eyes to find her staring at him with a mischievous grin.

 

"Take me to bed and fuck me?"

 

They were words he had never heard her use, but words that caused his

cock to stir in spite of the questions she had still not answered.

"So, it's over - you won't go to him again?"

 

She slid her hand under his belt, gently closing her fingers around his

erection.

 

"I want *you*. I want your cock inside me.  I want you to fuck me till

I scream."

 

Who was this woman?  As uncertain as he was, he found it impossible not

to play along, impossible not to kiss her deeply when she moved onto

his lap, impossible not to fuck her like a wild animal in their bed,

and finally, impossible not to wonder what went through her mind as she

found her second orgasm under him, thrashing and screaming just as she

had promised.

 

Afterwards she lay pressed against him, slowly running her fingers over

his chest and nipples.  She looked so satisfied, no, contented was more

accurate.  He had no choice but to try to make some sense of it.

 

"Why do you do it?" he asked, as he stared at the ceiling.

 

"You mean go to him, don't you?"

 

"You make it sound like a friendly visit when you put it that way.  Go

to him?  Why don't you just say it?  You have sex with him - you go to

let him fuck you."

 

"Do you want me to say that, to tell you in those words?"

 

"I want you to tell me why!  Why can't you tell me what you need

instead of going to another man?  What does he do for you that I can't?

Just tell me what you want - I'll do it - anything, anything at all!"

 

She sighed, then trailed her fingertips over his belly, finding his

spent erection and working it gently between her fingers.

 

"Are you sure you want to know?  I could say things that would hurt you

terribly, and you'd regret asking."

 

"I regret asking in the first place.  But what am I supposed to do?

Sit quietly by while you have sex with this man, and never question

why?  If you still love me, if you want a future together, what could

you say that would hurt me?"

 

Her eyes peered into his, searching for a sign that he meant what he

said, for just a brief hint of inner strength, or possibly arousal.

How might he react if she led him along such a tenuous path?  The risk

was enormous - how could she tell her husband such things?  And why did

the anticipation of his response make her so wet, her belly so

desperate to be filled?

 

"I could say I go because he's handsome, and incredibly sexy.  I

could say he's very wealthy and spares no expense to please me.  I may

even tell you how he satisfies me in bed, that he's a wonderful lover,

that he drives me to the brink of my senses when he makes me cum."

 

She paused, still playing with his cock under the damp sheet, finally

finding it growing hard again in her hand.  She smiled at him, now

knowing he accepted at least some small part of her obsession, that

he loved her enough to find some pleasure in giving her such an

unlikely gift.  And then he turned away from her, shuddered, and drew a

sudden, halting breath. Moving close to him, Elyse stroked his hair

lightly as he lay staring silently into the darkness.  She wanted his

reaction, and now she had it.

 

"None of those things are why I go.  I may never be able to

convince you, but it's true," she told him, almost in a whisper.

 

"True?  You've done a pretty good job of convincing me otherwise."

 

She pressed closer, throwing a bare leg over him, then turned him

toward her again and eased on top of him, her small firm breasts pushed

high up on his heaving chest.

 

"I can't tell you why I go.  I don't know myself.  It's not you.  It's

not him.  It's me.  Something in me - something terrifying and exciting

at the same time.  I love my life with you.  But - I don't know -

something happens there, something that renews a part of me that I

never knew was empty.  And after, I love you even more, so deeply, so

fully, as though I have so much more to give you than I've ever been

able to share before.  I love being with you; just your touch makes me

warm and safe.  I crave your body constantly.  I fantasize about your

cock inside me, and how wonderful it feels.  No other man could make me

feel the way I do when I cum with you inside me.  It's true.  Whether

you believe me or not, I live for you and you alone."

 

She was so beautiful, so convincing.  He struggled wildly with

jealousy, love, and his best attempt at understanding.  But if she

couldn't understand her obsession, how could he, even at his best?

 

In the weeks that followed, he found it impossible to doubt her.  She

found it impossible not to relish her new freedom, and every minute of

every day showed her love to him in everything she did.  Each touch

proved her sincerity.

 

Their lovemaking became a series of adventures, each spontaneous and

more daring than the last.  She stripped for him at night after dinner

as slow earthy jazz oozed from the stereo and the dimmed blue light she

bought only that afternoon silhouetted her body as she twisted hungrily

before him.  She spoke to him graphically, breathlessly, as they

returned from a Saturday visit to the museum, telling him how the lines

and mass of a certain sculpture made her think of how wonderful his own

body looked to her, how it made her hot and wet, so much so she

couldn't wait to have him - so she took him there in the car as he

drove, eagerly swallowing his semen as though it was hot tea and honey.

She arrived at his office late one Friday afternoon flaunting a new

coat, one of luxuriously thick silver and white fur.  She felt the

stares of his colleagues, from bare calf to the upper curves of her

breasts left enticingly exposed.  Their attention warmed her a little,

but she went to her husband without a smile or glance at the others.

In the seclusion of his office, she opened the coat and let it slide off

her shoulders, finally naked before him with a hunger in her eyes that

by now, he knew all too well. They made love on the carpet in front of

his desk, door unlocked, all the while sensing the danger of being seen

by an intruder, overwhelmed by their passion for each other.

 

After a month, Steven had forgiven everything.  'A small price,' he told

himself.  Memory of the mansion and the dark man in it went to the

place where memories go that are not forgotten, but only return with

the most deliberate provocation.  Now, not even the moans

of her loudest orgasm set them free.

 

 

 

 

 

                          Persephone in Winter

                            by Night Writer

 

 

                                Chapter 6

 

 

It arrived a month later, delivered by a tuxedoed messenger who smiled

briefly, then returned to the limo waiting at the curb.  The package

was large and black, its length and width secured tightly by a gleaming

silver cable of ribbon.  A single red rose was tied at the center with

a shining knot nestled between clusters of menacing thorns.  Steven

stood behind the closed door for a full minute, not able to take a

step, staring at his own reflection in the glossy surface.

 

"What is it? What's wrong?"

 

Elyse had come up behind him in her bare feet, and her voice startled

him. He turned, holding the package carefully out in front of him as

though it might be radioactive.

 

"Oh. That."

 

He lifted his eyes from the box. Elyse stood there in her robe, her

expression at first calm, then apologetic. She seemed to be waiting

for him to speak.

 

"Please don't go."

 

His voice sounded so small, as though he barely had the air to make the

words come.  He wanted her to move closer, to take the box and hurl it

into the trash and assure him she could never go to him again.  Instead

she looked down at the box as though sizing its dimensions. Steven

shivered as he imagined she was guessing its contents.

 

"You don't have to go. He can't force you."

 

She began to go to him, then stopped after several steps, lowering her

head as she spoke.  Her robe was undone, and parted a few extra inches

in the front as she walked.  His eyes wandered down over the trail of

exposed flesh, the inner curves of her breasts, her flat belly, to the

naked slit between her legs, now freshly shaved and parted slightly to

reveal a deep red, pulsing core.

 

"You don't understand.  He only sees me when I ask.  I thought you knew

that.  It's me.  I have to go."

 

"You don't have to go, damn it!  I love you, but even I have limits!

Just how much more do you expect me to take?"

 

Her expression changed to one of disappointment.  Her eyes were filled

with more sadness than he had ever seen.

 

"I know you have limits.  I suppose I knew you would reach them

eventually, that in the end you would leave.  I need this, and I need

you.  I knew that I couldn't have both for long - or at least I feared

it."

 

"I never said I was leaving - I don't know if I could," Steven said.

 

"Then please stay with me, please indulge me, for at least a while

longer. You won't be sorry. I promise."

 

Her last words were delivered with sultry assurance.  She smiled, and

her eyes brightened.  Unable to think, he extended the box, offering it

to her.  She moved to his side and slid the robe off her shoulders,

holding it open, offering her body to him.

 

"Put it on the bed, then shower with me.  I want to be close to you

before we go, both of us naked and warm and wet..."

 

She offered herself to him under the pulsing jets of water, eyes

closed, mouth open and panting as Steven ran the soap over her body.

When his hand trailed between her legs, she reached up and kissed him,

their bodies pressed together, skin made slick and sensitive by the

thin film of soapy water between them.  When she felt his erection grow

against her, she went to her knees and played with him, running soapy

fingers of one hand along the hardening shaft, cupping and pulling

gently at his balls with the other.  Elyse knew the signs of her

husband's orgasm, and just as he began to thrust his hips, she stopped,

rising to whisper in his ear.

 

"I love your hard cock in my hands, but I can't make you cum tonight.

He won't allow it.  But I can stay here with you, help you enjoy it, if

you do it yourself.  Please - I'd love to see you make yourself cum.

Please my love, for me?"

 

Her tongue was in his ear, then licking his neck, traveling down to

suck at his nipples - and she was moaning, groaning, like an animal in

heat.  Steven's head was swimming with lust and confusion.  He'd said he

would do whatever she wanted - to hell with the man in the mansion - he

needed her here and now.

 

He came after just a few strokes, thrusting and moaning as Elyse

nibbled at his belly.  She looked down just as his semen erupted from

the end of his cock, his hand stroking furiously as his hips pumped

back and forth.  She fought her own impending orgasm, gained control,

then suddenly lost it again as the warmth rushed over her. She

stiffened, still on her knees, thighs pressed tightly together, trying

to shake the involuntary spasms that traveled in waves from belly to

neck.  It was the first time she had disobeyed Simon - he forbade her to

cum the day of their meeting.  She hadn't touched herself - another

first for her.  Why had this happened?  Why had she asked her husband to

masturbate just hours before giving her to another man?  And why had

she cum when he gave in so easily to her suggestion?  She went cold as

Simon's words echoed in her head.

 

     "There is a certain exhilaration in exercising one's

      power over another, even if it's someone close to

      your heart...as horrifying as you might find it on

      the surface, the pain you deliver with a newfound

      weapon can be both empowering and arousing."

 

 

 

 

 

                          Persephone in Winter

                            by Night Writer

 

 

                                Chapter 7

 

 

His attempts to find the mansion were frustrated at every

turn.  The neighborhood's streets formed a maze of circles and cul-de-

sacs hidden from one another by dense but impeccably groomed

landscaping.  Each time he made a wrong turn and she showed him the

way, he wondered how often she had found it on her own.  In the dark,

each private entrance looked alike, until they came face to face with

the twisted bars of his imposing iron gate and the familiar glass eye

of the camera, peering down at them like a mechanical cyclops atop the

towering stone pilaster.

 

As they waited, he turned to her, only to find her staring once again

through the ominous gate into the night on the other side.  She wore

her hair up in a more formal style, revealing tantalizing glimpses of

supple neck and glittering diamonds decorating each ear.  She was a

vision, but not one of his own making.

 

He remembered her gasp when she opened package, and how its contents

overflowed its edges, as though it had suddenly taken its own deep

breath, increasing its volume to double the box's capacity.  The

material was black as night, and reflected the light as though it was

partly metallic.  When she lifted it from the box and held it up in

front of her, it unfolded slowly, its weight surprisingly light in her

small hands.  She dressed herself in private, and he was more than

satisfied to let her do it.  It was his turn to gasp when she appeared

from their bedroom, wrapped in the elegant gift from her enigmatic

lover.

 

The material fit her midsection as tightly as a corset, softening to

cup her breasts in two delicate pouches that barely covered the tops

her nipples.  Four gold catches secured the middle about her like a

second skin.  From hips to floor, the dress expanded in a series of

large horizontal scalloped pleats that trailed slightly behind her as

she walked.  It opened down the front in a inverted V, gathered just

below her belly, widening two feet or more by the time it reached the

floor.  When she walked, the cascades of pleats opened wider to reveal

her legs, from black heels to the very tops of her bare thighs.  The

contrast of one slender ivory leg after another, slim thighs flexing,

thrust through the opening as she took step after step framed by the

dark flowing fabric, was startling, even to her husband of so many

years.

 

'My God - she could have any man.'

 

And then, just at that moment, she had smiled at him, as though she

could read his every thought.

 

Now they sat in silence as the gate opened once again and the car

slipped through it, winding forward into the night.  She sat taller in

her seat as they approached the house, her shoulders squared, breasts

thrust forward, heaving against the dress with each slow, deep breath.

She leaned forward slightly as though she was drawn to their

destination by the same powerful force that equally repelled her

husband.

 

When the engine died she looked at him with love and pity.

 

"The things you must be thinking about me...and yet you bring me here,

again.  You must love me more than I ever imagined."

 

She leaned toward him, circling him with her bare, slender arms, and

kissed him deeply.  Pressing closer, she dropped a hand to his lap,

exploring between his legs as the kiss became more frenzied.  And then,

just as she felt his erection begin to grow, she stopped and pulled

away, looking lovingly into his eyes once again as she straightened a

few strands of hair that had come undone.

 

"You'll wait for me?"

 

He tried to answer.  Trust and jealousy, love and anger, pride and

humiliation, all sliced his insides to pieces, then tore the ragged

wounds in all directions.  He trembled from her lust for him, and from

the frustration of watching that same lust willingly surrendered to a

man waiting to use it for his own amusement.  He just stared back at

her, an elegant vision, alive with fresh, tempting beauty and innocent,

smoldering heat.  How could he say yes, agreeing to let this man use

her eager body a second time while he waited for him to satisfy her?

How could he say no, and risk losing her to this maddening obsession?

In the end, he couldn't say anything at all.

 

She smiled confidently at him one last time.  Her bare legs seemed to

glow in the light that spilled into the car from the house behind them.

The dress had opened wider when she moved away from him, and now

revealed the pale skin of her lower belly and the pouting lips nestled

between the tops of her thighs. He couldn't take his eyes from it, and

she let him look, knowing he saw her ripening cunt, juicy and wet,

ready for what waited for her across the white pavement beyond the

marble steps.

 

Watching her approach the house brought back bitter memories.  A

different dress, a different night, but the way she moved toward her

destination, almost strutting with anxious determination, was painfully

familiar.

 

He appeared at the door just as she arrived and stepped outside to meet

her.  A stray lock of hair hung free at the side of her face, still

undone from her husband's touch.  He tucked it back in place, then

turned her, moving against her from behind.  She tried her best to

contain a brief moan when his lips found her neck, but she failed,

suddenly afraid that the soft sounds she made might escape into the

night air to reach the open car window.  A lean, bronzed forearm and

palm circled her waist, drawing her closer to him, while another hand

freed her breasts from the front of the dress.  Her nipples hardened at

once and throbbed under his fingertips.  She leaned back against him,

eyes closed, lips trembling as she tried to contain a second moan.  He

feasted on her bare neck and shoulder, and she cried out again, louder,

a guttural noise that rose from deep inside her.  This time she was

certain it had reached her husband, but was already beyond caring.

Simon was pleased that she so quickly shed her inhibitions before her

waiting husband, and let her know with a whisper as his teeth grazed

her ear.

 

"Slut."

 

The word sent a ripple through her belly, and she pushed harder against

him, until she could feel the hardened length of his cock against the

small of her back.  From the car, her husband watched as she melted

against the man, her nipples swelling so easily as her cupped her

breasts, her hips grinding into him as her bare legs parted and swayed

through the open front of the dress.  With her third moan, he raised

the car window and looked away.  He had never heard the sound come from

her before, nor had he ever seen her surrender to lust so immediately.

When he finally summoned the courage to look toward the house again,

they had vanished, leaving him alone with his imagination and pain.