All quotes in this story are taken verbatim from "The Good Wife's Guide" an article purported to be from the May 13, 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly.
Rachel lay back, her breathing shallow, a thin veneer of sweat covering her from head to toe. Her body quaked with the aftereffects of yet another wave of pleasure. She'd lost count of how many times she'd come. She always lost track when Aubrey got at her. Already, the younger girl was expertly positioning her tongue, running it up and down Rachel's clit, her finger teasing the rear entrance to her flesh. Truth be told, Rachel never would have thought of that particular hole as an entrance if it weren't for Aubrey.
She felt another wave of pleasure coming on when the cuckoo clock in the living room announced the hour.
"Stop," Rachel called out weakly. Bracing herself against the pleasure, she said it more emphatically, "Aubrey, stop!"
Aubrey looked up, blonde hair cascading messily down her face and shoulders, spilling across Rachel's thighs, "You don't really want me to stop, do you, Mrs. Gutman?"
"God no, you wicked child," said Rachel affectionately, "but Joshua will be home in an hour and I need to get things ready."
"By my count," said Aubrey, "that leaves us another fifty minutes." She hadn't taken her finger out of Rachel yet. Now, she twisted it, letting her knuckle run roughly along the inside of Rachel's sphincter. Rachel bucked and moaned. She spoke as if Rachel were not at her mercy, "It doesn't take more than ten minutes for me to throw on enough clothes to go out the back door--or a window if necessary. When I was dating Ehud, his father came home one afternoon with a headache. I had to jump out the window and run all the way back to my parents' house in nothing but my skirt and my sweater."
Rachel knew that Aubrey loved to shock her. She didn't know why. It was such an easy sport. She would think that her dark, Sephardic complexion would give her some protection from blushing, but she swore that she turned beet red almost the first time Aubrey opened her mouth and stayed that color until a good half hour after the girl left.
"Aubrey," she ordered, "Stop. I mean it."
"What are you going to do," asked Aubrey, stretching languorously and she withdrew her finger at last, "tell my mother?"
"I should," said Rachel, rising from the bed before Aubrey could get up to any other mischief, "I worry about you. You don't follow the rules. One day, you're going to get into trouble you can't wiggle out of."
Aubrey shrugged as she rose, "And you follow too many rules, Mrs. Gutman. We've had this discussion before. Let's not fight. I hate to fight right before I leave. It makes me worry all week that you're mad at me. After last week, I went back to my dormitory and cried."
"I'm sure you could have walked out to the quad and found any number of young men to comfort you," said Rachel, reattaching her pearl earrings. After they were on, she was still without a stitch of clothing. Still, she felt much less naked.
"Goyim," said Aubrey contemptuously, "the same sort who wanted to 'comfort' me all through high school. No, thank you."
Rachel stood with her hands on her hips, "Aubrey, we've had this discussion before. You can't be contemptuous of goyim. You're a shiksa. In fact, you're the most shiksa shiksa I've ever seen. So tall and strong and Aryan..."
"Please," said Aubrey, flinches as if Rachel had threatened to hit her, "don't use that word. I hate that word."
Rachel tried to cover it up by continuing, "Blonde hair, blue eyes, that pert little nose. God, I love that nose," she took Aubrey's face in her hands and kissed the appendage in question, "But, we can't keep doing this. You need to find yourself a good husband, have some children, settle down. You can't go chasing after old Jewish wives for the rest of your life."
"You're not old," said Aubrey, "We were in school together less than two years ago. Besides, I'm not about to get married while I'm still in college. Once I graduate, I'm going to Europe. I'm going to study painting, so I can be as good as you."
"If you go all the way to Europe and only come back as good as me," said Rachel, "I would ask for a refund. Now, stop distracting me. You always leave me hurrying to get ready for Mr. Gutman. If there had been time last week, I would have turned you over my knee for that trick you pulled."
Aubrey's eyes widened, "It was an honest mistake. But, far be it from me to let that get in the way of a good spanking."
Rachel felt the blush rise again. It never really receded while Aubrey was here. But, she couldn't let the statement go unchallenged, "All of a sudden, I said to myself, 'I must really be getting the hang of this. She's never wrapped her legs around me this tightly before. I only hope I can hear the cuckoo clock when it goes off.' Then, I look up and I've got less than a half hour to get ready. Sometimes, I swear you want my husband to catch us."
"What does it take you an hour to do?" asked Rachel, "The place is spotless. You made the pork chops before we started--very trayf, by the way. If you..."
"What does it take so long to do?" asked Rachel, "You should know. You gave me the article." She pointed at the frame on the wall.
"As a joke," said Aubrey, "It was supposed to be a joke. I can't believe you've joined the cult of the happy homemaker."
"That's easy for you to say," said Rachel somewhat wearily, "You already fit in. You date Jewish boys and seduce married women and no one notices because you look like you belong here. For Joshua and me, we have to work twice as hard. Everyone knows we don't fit in. That," she pointed at the framed article again, "is the Protocol of the Elders of Peoria. That's the sacred path for fitting in here. If we didn't, people might think we were communists. We could end up like the poor Rosenbergs."
"I can't help the way I look," said Aubrey, "So, what do you do off of this list?"
"Everything," said Rachel, stepping into the bathroom, "if I can. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to take care of the second point."
"Prepare yourself. Take fifteen minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people." --TGWG
"Is that why you wear those ridiculous ribbons," asked Aubrey, "because of this?"
"Yes," called Rachel from the shower, shouting to be heard over the water, "don't you like them?"
"Not really," said Aubrey. Somehow, she had slipped silently into the bathroom. She stepped into the shower behind Rachel, taking the French-milled soap from Rachel's hands--the one she'd given the older woman as a gift after their first encounter--and rubbing it all over Rachel's body, "You have such beautiful, curly hair. Ribbons are made for flat hair like mine."
"Joshua likes them," said Rachel, "he told me so. I know he loves taking them off."
"I remember," said Aubrey. Then, she stiffened, "Oh, Rachel. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
Rachel turned to face Aubrey, quieting her with a kiss, "Silly girl. How many times do I have to tell you? If you weren't dating Joshua, I would never have met him. I have my whole life to thank you for. I don't begrudge you your past with my dear, sweet wonderful husband."
"Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces, comb their hair, and, if necessary, change their clothes." --TGWG
Aubrey looked like she was going to cry, "Oh, Rachel," she whispered, "you're the best friend I've ever had. Promise we'll always be friends."
Rachel smiled at Aubrey, taking the soap away from her and lathering her up. Unlike Rachel, she worked efficiently and quickly, knowing time was of the essence, "You're such a child some times. Of course we'll always be friends."
Aubrey asked, "Rachel, is it okay for friends to talk about things among themselves, things it would not be acceptable to talk about in public?"
"You of all people should not have to ask," said Rachel, "You could make a sailor blush with that potty mouth of yours."
Aubrey took a deep breath. For a few seconds, it seemed like she wouldn't speak. Then, she said, "Would it be so awful, if Josh caught us together? I mean, we've all..."
Rachel slid past Aubrey, "Rinse yourself off," she said. Aubrey stood under the nozzle, rubbing the soap off of herself. When she was done, Rachel turned off the shower, "Come dry me off. I need to get dressed."
Aubrey looked miserable, "Rachel, I'm sorry. I..."
"I think it would be awful if he caught us together," said Rachel, "if that's what you were trying to do last week, you should have asked me. Fetch my hairbrush from the dresser, would you?"
Aubrey brought her the hairbrush. Once she had it, Rachel wielded it smoothly, stepped around behind Aubrey and smacked her hard on the bottom with it. It made a resounding smack. Aubrey glared at her as she proceeded to brush her hair. Then, she started laughing.
"I warned you," said Rachel, "I should do that far more often." Aubrey rubbed the red spot on her behind. Rachel went on, "Josh is still a little afraid of you. He thinks you're crazy and unpredictable and I am inclined to agree with him. The most awkward silence in our marriage came when I told him you were my new classroom assistant. If he had any idea of what we did while he was at work, he would probably die from embarrassment."
"I'm sorry..." Aubrey started again.
"Besides," said Rachel, "such things are never done."
.... There is more of this story ...