Chapter 4

Mavis only hazily remembered Miriam and Connie dressing her, after they had used her body for their own sport. It was only mid-afternoon and she barely remembered stumbling home. Her vagina burned and ached from the plundering and reaming with the massive dildo and Connie's voracious mouth.

What was clear in her mind was the animated conversation between Connie and Miriam as they had adjusted her clothing. Connie had asked if "Mavis and Phil would join them." Mate-swapping!

And Miriam had said it still wasn't settled--she wasn't sure Phil would cooperate "but Mavis will play the game our way!" Well, she had already played part of their sex-game, hadn't she? But, how much further would she have to go? What did they have in mind? Mavis cringed mentally, her body shook as if chilled. Miriam had the lever to force her to do just about anything! She considered running away--but that would mean leaving Phil!

She hurried to the master bedroom and undressed quickly, then showered in a stinging cold spray. Somehow, she knew Phil wouldn't consent to swapping and swinging with the Quentins and Carrs. And what did Miriam and Connie have planned for the petite Terry Lewis? Was Terry promiscuous--a swinger--or not? Mavis couldn't even guess.

Even after showering, Mavis' mind felt saturated with Miriam's brandy; she was woozy and sleepy. She felt that Phil wouldn't call again, would be home on Monday. Bare, she slipped into the unmade bed, resolved to sleep through the rest of the day and the night. She would decide tomorrow how to counter Miriam's threat to expose her past and force her to engage in sex with hers and Connie's husbands. She sensed that Connie and Miriam didn't want Phil to fuck them nearly as much as they wanted Mavis to submit to sexual intercourse with their own husbands. Oh, God! Would they watch if they succeeded in their devious plans? The very thought of having Connie and Miriam watch as their husbands screwed her was humiliating!

Mavis awakened early, spirits blithe, and dressed quickly, donning a snug minidress of white silk that zippered down the back. Sleep had restored her mental serenity, thoughts of her lesbian antics the day before with Miriam and Connie fucked deep in the back of her mind.

Humming softly, Mavis fixed and ate a light breakfast. It was still some time before the bridge session with Miriam, Connie and Terry Lewis. She would change the sheets and make the bed, she thought, as she brushed her teeth.

Resolve strengthened in her mind as she rinsed her mouth. She wouldn't get involved in swapping. She wouldn't allow herself to be seduced by Willie Quentin or Henry Carr or Mickey Lewis or Dell Emerson. Then her conviction wavered as she thought of Miriam telling Phil that she had worked as a whore! She loved her husband and her body was only for his pleasure--but would he bounce her ass out of his house if he knew about her past?

She was just daintying herself up after sitting on the throne when the telephone rang. She hurried her ministrations with the folds of tissue and flushed the toilet. With panties still draped around her lower thighs, just above the knees, she bobbed to answer it. Surely it wasn't Connie and Mavis; too early. Phil?

"Hello?" Mavis breathed, trying to tug up her panties with one hand. She was able to hitch them up her legs in front, but the elastic band refused to budge over the lower crown of her rump.

"This is Mr. Quentin, Mavis," the faraway voice sounded impersonal, slightly severe.

"Golly!" Mavis exclaimed, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Ten-fifteen. "I can't work in the store today, I have an engagement to help Connie and Miriam teach Terry how to play bridge."

There was a brief silence and Mavis squirreled her ass around, trying to get her skivvies up over the smooth loaves. "I know that; Connie told me," Willie said. "I didn't call you about working, Mavis--Mrs. Moran. I want you to come down to my office as soon as you can. Something has come up--something disturbing."

"In a little bit," Mavis murmured, disturbed by Willie Quentin's stern tone.

She replaced the receiver and hitched her panties into place, snug over her butt and plush, hairy mound. He actually sounded disturbed and slightly angry, she thought, dressing quickly and hurrying downstairs and getting her purse from the hall closet. For a bit, she thought that the old Ford wasn't going to start, then it clattered to life and she drove hastily to the store, parking around back near the loading dock.

She entered through a back door and climbed the dimly lit wooden stairs in the storeroom to Willie Quentin's large comfortable office. There was a large skylight and a small window that looked down on the store. She had been here on several occasions. Willie had had a moderate-sized bathroom installed, as well as a small bedroom. Willie had explained that if an employee became ill, there was a place of comfort for him until a doctor or ambulance arrived. Also, he said sometimes it was convenient to rest for a couple of hours. Mavis knew that Willie often spent sixteen or seventeen hours at the store. A three-person elevator provided quick access from his office to the store.

She knocked on the door and was invited in instantly by an intercom speaker. A buzz told her that the lock on the door was disengaged and she turned the knob and pushed.

Willie Quentin was seated behind his desk, ledgers open before him. Mavis could see the long fluorescent tubes of the ceiling lighting in the store through the small window above and behind his head.

"Is something wrong, Willie?" Mavis asked, a tightness in her throat. She was aware of faint perspiration in her underarms.

"Wrong and disturbing!" Willie frowned, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on the books. "Sit down, Mavis."

She was aware of his eyes following her as she eased into a leather chair slightly to the right of his desk. His gaze was on her knees briefly as she pushed at the hem of her skirt. "Is it something I did, Willie?" She didn't really need this job--but it paid enough to provide all of hers and Phil's groceries and liquor.

"What have I done--or do you think I've done?" Mavis demanded, fright worming into her mind.

"It appears, Mavis," Willie began slowly, "that there is a shortage in store funds. It appears, Mavis, you have been--shall I say tapping the till? I hate to say it, sweetie, but that's what it looks like!"

"That's impossible," Mavis gasped, tense as a rubber band. "Whoever says I stole from the store is a damned liar!" she spat out. That was one thing of which she had never been accused in her life.

"Maybe, maybe not, Mavis," Willie shook his head, unkempt red hair bobbing, blue eyes icy as he peered at her. "You do realize how embarrassing and uncomfortable this makes me, don't you, hon? The wife of one of my best friends implicated in minor embezzlement. If you and Phil were short of cash, why didn't you mention it to me and Connie? Our friends needn't steal!"

"I didn't!" Mavis groaned, feeling faint and on the verge of crying. "I wouldn't steal! We're not short of funds! This-- this whole thing is just simply impossible!" There was a nagging feeling of futility mingled with the needling thought she was being framed.

"And to make it doubly, damnably worse, when I have to report the shortage... your own husband--my friend--might be assigned to investigate the theft. And find out his own wife was the thief!"

"I AM NOT!" Mavis screamed at him, the tears coming now, running down her cheeks, falling from her chin onto her breasts that seemed smothered in the tight, white silk dress.

"We sure as hell don't want Ben Glover investigating this," Willie moaned, snapping the pencil in half with one hand and hurling it into a wastebasket.

The name, hazily, was familiar. Ben Glover had helped Phil on the jewelry store theft. And he had been an infrequent guest at the Carr home, had played poker with Willie and Phil and Henry. He had a mean, treacherous and lecherous attitude. She didn't like him!

Mavis' thoughts seemed to cascade over each other. She wasn't guilty, but she could go to the bank and get enough to make good Willie's shortage. Surely Phil would understand if she spent a couple of hundred dollars on "silly girl whims". "I didn't take it," she sniffled, finding a handkerchief and trying to dry her eyes. "But I'll get the money and you can replace it? Phil needn't know about this and I'm sure he won't complain about a hundred dollars or so."

"Oh, Mavis!" Willie blurted, "if it were only that much, I'd gladly take it right out of my own wallet! But I can't cover two thousand bucks! And let you off with a stern, fatherly talking to!"

TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS!

Mavis nearly fainted. She was conscious of Willie opening his desk and setting a bottle and two glasses on the top. Through frightened and tear-streaked eyes she watched him pour the glasses about half full. "Tell you what, honey, if you can get a thousand dollars, Connie and I will chip in the other thousand."

A THOUSAND DOLLARS,

She sipped at the raw whiskey, barely conscious of the bite and harsh sting. God! Would Phil forgive her for tapping their savings account to pay off something she didn't owe! And it was generous of Willie to offer to go halfway on the loss! She glanced at his unsmiling face as he perched on the edge of his huge desk.

"I think I can get that much," she said bitterly, more frightened than ever. "But, please, not a word to Phil. I'll explain it some way--the thousand dollars withdrawn from our savings."

Her tear-glazed eyes were drawn to Willie's slowly swinging foot. It was almost hypnotic. The focus cleared slightly and her gaze traveled idly up his leg--and stopped. It seemed the tented bulge in his pants was abnormally large and her mind idly contemplated how big he was. With that kind of prominence, his balls had to be large and his penis immense!

Mavis' mind was jarred to reality when Willie spoke, almost harshly. "We better put back the money as soon as possible, then. Christ! There is always the dreadful possibility that if this thing gets out of my hands, Mavis, you could go to prison!"

She gasped from the horrible implication and possibility of being locked up like a common criminal for something she hadn't done. "But, I didn't do it in the first place!"

"How soon can you get your thousand dollars, Mavis?" Willie asked, replenishing their drinks. "Everything points to you!"

"This is Saturday--not until Monday."

She studied his somber expression. "I think I can cover and hold out until then," he murmured thoughtfully. "As you know, the Saturday receipts of the nine stores in the area are always brought here for a double check, then taken by armored van for night deposit. Even if, by chance, store officials should detect the shortage, it won't be too difficult to explain an inadvertent error--after all, it would be simple when one person--me--is dealing with something around a quarter of a million dollars."

Mavis felt a flood of gratitude toward Willie. After all, he was going to use a thousand dollars of his money to help shield her. "I can't get my thousand until Monday, either, come to think of it. And I'll have to tell Connie."

"Well, don't tell Phil!" Mavis pleaded.

Mavis stopped breathing as Willie's piercing blue eyes held hers for a long moment, then he looked away. "It's a big favor I'm doing you, Mavis--a thousand-dollar favor!"

"I know, Willie," she muttered. And she felt that her agreement was tantamount to admitting she was guilty of embezzling from the store. "I don't know how I can repay you for absorbing half of the theft--that I didn't commit!" she added one more effort of self-defense.

"Perhaps not, Mavis," Willie shook his head, tone weary, "but it occurs to me that there is one little thing you can do for me that will take part of the sting out of my giving up a thousand bucks of my money. Phil need never know... Connie will never know... no one will know--except just us."