Chapter 2

October 26th, 2011

I had often heard it said that the older we get, the milder the effects of a hangover. I wasn't sure what that ripe old age was supposed to be, but I obviously had not yet attained it. I awoke early to a horrific headache, and I just sort of existed for the next few hours. Elaine didn't help matters, as she simultaneously hovered over me like a mother hen and accused me of attempting to sabotage my improving health. By noon, however, I was beginning to feel somewhat normal, and so we went back to the bar in San Gabriel to eat lunch and collect my car. A large bowl of chili and half a dozen glasses of water seemed to do the trick at last, and I returned home an only slightly worse-for-wear copy of my former self.

While Elaine busied herself with making dinner that evening, I again skimmed the book she'd "purchased" two nights before. I'd been thinking all day about the comments Reggie had made, and while I could come up with several arguments refuting this concept that she was a "natural-born sex slave," I had to admit that my opinions were based on faith rather than scientific observations. Now, I had to face the real question: if I did as he suggested and "tested" her regarding his assertions, would it have a detrimental impact on or relationship? What were the possible benefits and were they worth the risks to find these answers? In the end, his assertion that doing this was for HER benefit, rather than my own, was the deciding factor ... whether I truly believed that to be the case or not.

We watched the news on TV while we ate our breaded chicken and pasta off of trays in the living room, though my mind was in such turmoil that I can't tell you what was going on that particular day. When we were done, I cleared the dishes and returned to sit beside her. Elaine has a habit of snuggling up to me on the couch in the evening, and she did so now, grasping my arm and ducking under it, so that she could press her face against my chest, tucking her long legs under her. In this position, my arm draped naturally over her shoulder, and my hand just as naturally found her breast. Her voice had the quality of a purring cat. "Mmm. Are you in the mood?"

I cleared my throat. "What would you do if I asked you?"

She canted her head up and looked into my eyes, curiosity curving her lips into a smile. "What an odd question."

"Answer me, Pet."

The smile didn't disappear, but she studied me with growing interest. "You know you never have to ask me that."

"I want you to take off your blouse. Do it now, please."

The smile spread into a full-fledged grin. She patted my right hand, which had been idly squeezing her right breast, and I reluctantly removed it so she could extricate herself from my embrace. She stood, looked down at me, then she moved toward the front window. "No," I told her firmly. "Do it here. Do it now."

"Rod, the drapes are open."

"Leave them," I chided. "Do it, Pet."

And finally, the smile left her pretty face. She blinked. "Someone might see me." She stared at me for several long seconds before realizing that I wasn't going to comment further. It had turned chilly that afternoon, and she had put on a pullover turtleneck blouse. After nibbling the corner of her lower lip for a few moments, she reached down with both hands, grasped the bottom hem of the garment, and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. She looked at me, her eyes a nervous question, then glanced hesitantly at the front window again.

Now, I don't expect you, the reader, to remember the autumn of 2011, but daylight savings time ended in November of that year. The sun was still shining at six thirty. Our new house had a relatively long driveway, and it was perhaps a hundred feet to the sidewalk beside our street. I could see the wheels turning in her head ... weighing the clear day, the distance to the street, the fact that it was brighter outside than in, the shade cast by several Knobcone Pines in our front yard, the single light that was on in the room. There were no pedestrians in sight ... at least at the moment.

"Take off your pants, Elaine."

She kept glancing between me and that undraped window. Her fingers fidgeted with the button on the front of her jeans, then she resolutely unfastened them, peeled them down over her generous hips, stepped over the pooled garment and stood uncertainly, her hands by her sides, her fingers twitching slightly. Her breath was coming in long, deep inhalations, her chest rising tantalizingly with each lungful of air, her bra staining around her ample breasts, the nipples prominent against the thin fabric. I made a simple motion with the fingers of one hand, indicating that I expected her to keep going. Now, she turned to face the window, her lips slightly parted and her body trembling a little, and she watched for anyone who might be looking as she quickly stripped out of the bikini panties and shucked off the bra. Nervously, she sat next to me on the couch, sitting bolt upright, staring at that offending window. I watched while her hands crept upward several times as she started to unconsciously cover herself with them, but each time, she caught herself and forced them back to her sides again. She sensed that it was my intent to humiliate her sexually by requesting this odd demonstration, and she was obviously doing her best to comply.

With a sharp gasp, she brought her hands up to her breasts, but then took them away and clutched my upper arm. "Rod!" she hissed in a sharp whisper, as if she might be heard. I looked out the window and observed an elderly couple walking a small dog of indeterminate linage. Without a word, I patted her hands away. She hesitated only a moment before dropping them to her sides again, but she stared incessantly at the couple, who continued on without once looking in our direction.

I moved my hand to her lap. "I want to touch you. Let me."

She gulped, shivered a little, and then spread her legs for me. I moved my fingers to her slit, stroked it several times, then moved my palm to her inner thigh. "Wider," I told her, and she spread herself several more inches immediately, her eyes, her nipples and her open pussy all facing directly at that large picture window. I started at her lower thigh and stroked slowly upward with my palm on her leg, parting her lips with the base of my little finger when I reached the gap of her sex. She gasped sharply, and her entire body gave a single jerk, then shivered. "You're sloppy-wet," I accused.

"I ... I can't help it," she said in a whispered, little-girl voice.

"You're actually a little bit of a slut, aren't you Elaine?"

Her eyes remained locked on the big window. "I can't help it."

I stroked again with the same response from her agitated body. "Pet, I'm going to ask you a question. You'll answer me, won't you?"

"I ... I ... Yes, Rod." She shook again, and a small moan escaped her throat.

"When we make love ... after I've made you cum ... when I'm pumping into you with my cock ... what do you think about?" I stroked her again.

"Ooohh! Oh, Rod! I ... I ... I don't think about anyth..." She caught herself. Her eyes finally moved away from the window, and she looked imploringly up into mine. Her hands came up to clutch my arm, but they only stayed for a moment before she forced them back to her sides again, leaving herself entirely open to me, entirely visible to whoever might look in. "I ... um ... Do you remember the fifth time we made love?"

Reggie had predicted that I'd be shocked by her response, but I hadn't imagined that I'd be totally flummoxed. Suddenly, I was the one on the defensive. "Uh ... I..."

"Of course you don't," she said, her voice lower and perhaps a little disappointed. "There's no reason why you should." She shivered violently as I absentmindedly stroked her again, the base of my hand scraping slowly against her clit.

"I remember the FIRST time we made love," I implored.

"Silly! Everybody remembers their first time. Ooohh!" Another shiver.

"I couldn't BELIEVE you waited until I was all the way inside you before you told me you were a virgin!" She took a ragged breath but didn't comment. I continued haltingly. "Um ... and then on our next date ... our... (I wracked my brain) ... our fifth date..."

"Fourth," she corrected in a whisper.

" ... you told me that your roommate was out of town, and that you wanted me to come in. And I told you that I wanted to make love to you again. And you just said 'Okay.'"

"I was so inexperienced about love," she whispered.

"And afterwards, I told you that I wanted to take you skiing up at Big Bear that weekend. And of course, you just said 'Okay.' And on Friday, I drove you up to Pop's cabin..."

"In a blinding snow storm. I didn't think we were going to make it."

"We almost didn't. And it snowed all weekend, and we couldn't even get out on Monday. We were stuck five days!"

"With a dozen eggs, a canned ham, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter," she accused.

"And a case of beer ... along with Pop's fully stocked wine cabinet. It could have been a lot worse. We never did make it to the ski slopes, but we made love so often in front of that little fireplace that I'm sure even YOU can't remember how many times!"

"Eleven." She shuddered as I kept up the stroking with my hand on her inner thigh and pussy. "Ooohhh!"

I was stumped. "So it was the third time while we were up there. I did something, and it made such an impression that you fantasize about it when we make love now?" She didn't respond. "Have I done it again since then?"

"No." She whispered so softly that I barely heard.

"What the hell?!" I exclaimed, suddenly angry. "If you wanted something, why didn't you just come out and ASK me for it?"

"I only want to love you, Rod. From the first moment I met you, I just wanted the opportunity to love you. That's all I've REALLY wanted, EVER. Nothing else matters to me."

"Tell me," I ordered, almost savagely. "Tell me now. What did I do to you?" I continued to stroke her the same way, rubbing up into her sopping vagina with the side of my hand, scraping against her sensitive, swollen clitoris with long, slow, savage caresses.

"You ... you put your hands on my sides," she panted. "And you touched me and rubbed me and stroked me ... up my sides ... up my sides ... under my arms..."

I altered my manipulation of her sex now, reversing my hand when I finished my upward movement and scrapping it back downward, so that her clit was always feeling me, always getting the full amount of friction, over and over again, up and down. Her hips began gyrating unconsciously, her sex arching upward toward my hand. In one smooth, slow motion, she brought both of her hands up away from her sides and up, up, until her arms were stretched straight up over her head, her wrists touching each other. She began gasping for breath between each comment, and the level of her voice was rising ... in volume as well as pitch.

" ... Under my arms ... on my arms ... up my arms ... past my elbows ... to my wrists ... on my wrists ... holding my wrists. Oh, Rod ... you ... made me ... feel so ... helpless ... so ... helpless..." Her arms were locked above her head now, her wristed clasped together by unseen hands. She strained up at my invading hand, her back and chest arched upward like a bow under stress, her nipples thick and swollen and hard. I couldn't resist the temptation any longer and I switched hands, rubbing the tips of all four fingers of my left hand against her enlarged clit, rubbing harshly up and down rapidly. This allowed me to roll slightly toward her and lower my mouth to her left breast, where I sucked hard with my lips while taking the inflamed nipple between my teeth and flicking it savagely with my tongue.

"Helpless ... holding ... my ... WRISTS ... WRISTS ... UH! ... UH! ... WRISTS! ... Oh GOD, Rod! ... OH! ... WRISTS!"

I'd never known her to cum like this. She was almost never loud during sex, and the most I could ever get out her vocally were semi-suppressed moans, gasps and grunts. Now, her body writhed uncontrollably, and every part of it seemed to be rocked by straining movement. Well, every part save her hands, which remained locked over her head. She brought her knees up slightly, spreading herself wide for the benefit of my grinding fingers. Her chest pressed longingly up against my mouth, and when I naturally encircled her waist with my right arm, I found that her entire body was being supported by the bottom of her rump on the forward edge of the couch and the top of her head on its back. Her body shook savagely for many long seconds, then convulsed a few times and fell limp in my arms. Her head lolled against my shoulder, and the only thing moving was her mouth, forming soundless words. I pressed my ear to her face. In a barely audible whisper, she was muttering " ... wrists ... helpless ... helpless..."

I held her and stroked her with gentle fingertips, her hair, her back, her waist, her butt, as she nestled into my shoulder and relaxed. After two or three long minutes, she stirred and looked up into my eyes. "I'm sorry I was so loud. I don't know what came over me." But her body suddenly stiffened and she cast a quick glance at the window again. "Oh, God, Rod. Do you think anybody saw me?"

I ignored the question. "Get up," I ordered matter-of-factly. She studied my eyes for another moment, then complied, standing upright, facing the window, her hands back at her sides again. She swallowed and took a shuddering breath. I watched her for half a minute and rose, then I walked to the only lighted lamp and switched it off. Dusk had fallen outside. I wasn't sure if Elaine had figured out yet that given the differences in lighting inside and out, it had been virtually impossible to see into this room, and that degree of anonymity would continue now that I'd switched off the light. "Stay there," I told her, and walked casually into the master bathroom, where I took one of her nylon stockings off the shower rod and brought it back into the living room.