Chapter 1

Alice Murphy turned on the bed, her long, satiny blonde hair cascading over the pillow, forming a soft cushion for her head that lay heavily back against it. A thin sheet covered her body from the warm Florida summer breeze that blew gently in from the open window.

She had the body of a lush Venus, its provocative curves traced in detail through the gossamer, clinging sheet. It barely hid the high-set, round, widely spaced breast whose rose-tipped nipples clearly showed through the thin fabric. The sheet tapered down over a slender, girlish waist to round, luscious hips, a flat, smooth stomach and long, full-swelling thighs; breathtaking curved calves tapered down to thin, well-formed ankles. It was a body that would attract admiring attention from the most discriminating of men--and envy from women.

The honey-blonde hair on the pillow framed a heart-shaped face that would cause any male to turn his head when she passed. Her hazel eyes were set slightly apart, and she had a dainty, almost Doris Day nose, a full, ripe mouth, and a round, dimpled chin, and a soft, slightly tanned ivory complexion. But at the moment, her lovely face was drawn in lines of worry and dejection, and calm sleep escaped her, making her toss fretfully, moaning occasionally in a soft, sighing voice.

Alice was worried because of her daughter, Sandy. It was Friday night--date night for all the girls in Sandy's high school- -and her sixteen year old child was, like the others, out. That's all it ever seemed she was, Alice mused. Where have you been? Out. What did you do? Nothing... Alice wasn't afraid that Sandy was promiscuous or anything terrible like that; Sandy had been a virgin at the last checkup according to Doctor Webster, and she was a good girl by nature. But Alice was well aware of the traps and snares young people could fall into in this permissive age, and she had the natural fears which mothers, especially widowed mothers raising their children alone, have about the recklessness of innocent youth. And Sandy was dating Tommy Edgars, a boy older and obviously more experienced, and definitely not one to protect a girl, not if he could have his way with her. Tommy had been the basis of many a fight between her and Sandy, for Alice thought the boy was too good looking for his twenty years of age, almost overwhelmingly masculine, like a young Adonis, and there was something about him not trustworthy, though Alice couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was. Sandy, on the other hand, defended the few times he'd taken her out, saying her mother had been watching too many gangster movies on television lately. Alice could only hope and pray that her daughter's infatuation with the handsome youth would die a quick death, and she would get a puppy-love crush on some younger boy closer to her own age and class.

Not that Sandy was a child any longer. Alice had often seen Sandy naked in the shower and dressing in her bedroom next door, as well as in her skin-tight bikini and nearly transparent nylon underthings, and even a casual glance made it obvious that the girl was mature physically. And Alice had looked, in spite of an inner sense of embarrassment at such brazen examination, because she was proud of having produced such a fine offspring, and because it was her only physical, tangible proof of her and her late husband's love for each other. She was drawn with love and tenderness, and yet... there were times when she'd watched Sandy's snub-nosed, freckle-faced innocence and wondered if perhaps she was emerging into maturity a little too fast.

Just that evening, Alice had passed Sandy's open door, and seen her standing in front of the dresser, selecting a clean pair of panties from one of the drawers. Sandy was naked, still radiantly rosy from her shower and buffing with a towel, and Alice had been able to see all of her firm young body in perfect detail. She had paused, smiling wistfully, thinking that she had looked much the same when she was her daughter's tender age. Sandy's slightly darker blonde hair was long and straight, and fanned down over her shoulders and narrow back, framing a face which was much like her mother's, though slightly rounder and with her father's protruding lower lip, which gave her an almost perpetual little-girl pout. Alice could see her conical young breast beating with the rhythm of her heart, solid and upright, not as large but not as developed as her own; her flat belly and cute navel and the gentle sloping to her thighs, where a triangle of softly curling pubic hair covered her vagina; then down, to shapely tapering legs and small ankles. Then Alice had been able to see the thin cuntal valley between her daughter's slightly spread thighs, had watched with a small tingling sensation she wasn't able to understand as she followed with her eyes the still- unbroken vaginal slit with its coral smoothness and the little, limp clitoris nestled coyly in the warm, moist folds of her virginal young flesh.

Isn't there, she'd thought to herself as she had stood by the door, a time when a child is supposed to be a child? To be innocent and foolish, free of the curse of maturity? Has Sandy grown up too fast, especially now, without a father to help guide and counsel her with proper authority? And then she had laughed at herself. The world was simply spinning faster these days, that's all. If a sixteen-year-old girl is eating better now, and getting better education and sports than before, then who was she to hold back her development? Stop worrying...

But Alice couldn't find the energy to even smile now, as she lay in bed waiting for her daughter's return, much less laugh again. She was worrying...

And the young mother was dejected as well. She was a good woman in her own mind, a respectable widow with a child to raise, who had successfully placed sex in the back of her mind since she'd been notified that her husband had died in Vietnam. Stoically, she had faced the eight months from that fateful day when she'd received the black-bordered telegram with only the memories of Robert's wonderful lovemaking, and his delightful ways of causing her the utmost joy, vowing she might remarry as she had remained a virgin until her wedding night with Robert. Again, she tossed fretfully on the bed, kicking the sheet unconsciously until it was most of the way off of her body, the summer warmth not as hot as her own inner fires. She kept asking herself if she should go on like this, denying herself the love of a decent man--if she could continue denying herself this way. When a woman is widowed early in her married life, how much does she owe her child? Can romance live in life at thirty-seven and after?

Though it was dark outside, she was able to see dimly by the ghostly light of a street lamp in front of her modest house. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to take deep breaths in an effort to will her body quiet and relaxed so she could sleep, and the slight breeze played over her now-exposed flesh. She could see her own full contours stretching down in front of her. She was still beautiful, she had to admit. The rounded peaks of her firm breasts stood up defiantly and she could look through the canyon between them down to the soft golden pubic triangle at the junction of her thighs that proved that she was a natural blonde. She was proud of it--and yet, she thought, it was the reason for all of her insomnia now. She lay back down, still conscious of her nakedness, and she placed her palms under her full breasts and lifted them still higher until they stood out in full bloom. She held their nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, tweaking them gently into erection. It was exciting to remember that Robert had done the same with his strong, warmly loving fingers many times in the past, and the very recollection of her husband's love aroused her. Her hands moved down from her breasts to the smoothness of her stomach, through the soft golden patch of her gently throbbing vaginal mound, and across her well-rounded thighs.

She felt like a kitten, rubbing herself and squirming her body this way, and color flushed in her cheeks, shuddering from the movements of her softly massaging hands. No... no... I mustn't, she warned herself, and with some difficulty, she forced herself to stop the warm strokings. She groaned and turned over on her stomach, pressing the sensitivity of her clitoris tightly into the mattress, attempting to relieve the fire that was beginning to rage there.

But her mind continued to dwell on her husband, recreating his naked body vividly, and she could almost relive the times when he had buried his hardness up in her belly, and their hotly writhing coupling on this very same bed.

Robert Murphy's penis was in view now... Big, and thickly swollen with his lust for her body, hard as iron and jutting from his muscular, Air Force trained body in open, abandoned display of his excitement. Alice quivered, telling herself to stop thinking such lewd, sickly erotic scenes, yet as she lay heavily on her vividly pulsating stomach, holding her breath, she continued to feel a strange series of involuntary sensations churning deep in her belly and loins as the prurient images filtered like a stag movie through her head. Her breasts ached and her tiny nipples grew redder and hardened like little diamond chips as she imagined her husband coming forward, crawling on the bed... her own nakedly trembling thighs spread in welcome acceptance to his enormous cock which seemed to lead his body toward her...

A tender agony of delicious fire swirled through her vagina and womb, in spite of her inner revulsion at the lewdness and clarity of the pictures she was forming in her aroused mind. Her hands, against her will, burrowed down between her body and the bed and groped at the excitedly pulsing curls of her pubic hair. Her legs scissored open, her toes dangling down over either side of the wide bed. She could feel her own moist pussy slit beneath her pubic hair palpitating hotly now against the tips of her fingers which were drawing the narrow, hair-fringed furrow open, exposing the lips of her aching cunt to the warm air. With a groan from her widely open mouth, she slowly, teasingly, sunk one of her middle fingers deep into the thin, vertically moistened opening. She held her breath, relieved for the moment, but it was only a short moment. The fire burned more intensely, demanding more to feed its lewd hunger. She slowly, carefully worked in another finger, drawing her knees under her and then raising up in a kneeling position, with her buttocks high in the night air. The squeak of the bedsprings became more violent as she hand-fucked her fingers hungrily up into the moistness of her vagina and then withdrew them... only to slide them once again in and out in a desperate imitation of her husband Robert's penis as he had once fucked her.

The images in her mind of their nakedly locked bodies drove her on, and she rocked back on her knees against her fingers, three of them now, screwing them deeper into herself. She could see her husband's huge, thickly glistening shaft ramming its way into her clasping cunt, sinking through the soft pubic curls like a greased telephone pole. Her hands became that pole, and her gasps began to match those of hers when she had been grinding her buttocks up beneath his racing body, surging her own sweating white thighs upwards into his loins in her own desperate search for orgasm. She wanted everything she had once had; she wanted to be split again by his rampaging cock; she wanted to be fucked. Oh, God, how she wished Robert was once again with her, pumping his own cum-filled penis into the hot, searing cuntal passage up between her legs. Oh God! Her fingers weren't enough as her thoughts centered on the massive rod which had fucked her as manfully, as beautifully in days gone past, and she had to have more--but there were only her fingers. In desperation, she reached up behind and down her moon-shaped buttocks with her other hand and searched the smooth wet crevice, then wormed a finger deep into the tiny puckered opening of her anus.

"Oooooh God!" she gasped aloud as a sharp pain lanced through her bucking flesh, then stilled for a moment, only to take up the rhythm of the bedsprings again, her upper body braced against the top of her head digging into the mattress. Her full white tits hung down, their nipples brushing sensuously against the bottom sheet as they swayed heavily and excitedly beneath her slavishly kneeling body. Electric tingles of pleasure shot through her nerves as she pictured herself, legs spread wide, twisting and writhing nakedly under the handsome, muscular body of her husband. Her face colored crimson as she felt her climax approaching-- rushing at her with a great roar--and she hung for a moment, teetering on the edge of release, her whole body vibrating.

And then the white hot juices of her vaginal secretions gushed warmly around her rummaging fingers, covering her hand, and running down her smoothly tensed inner thighs and legs to soak the mattress below. She could feel it rivuleting in tiny prickly streams down, and she stayed that way, her whole body quivering helplessly on her hands and knees, for some time, her buttocks still swaying in the air. She couldn't bring herself to withdraw her fingers from her still desperately clenching vagina until the last dying throbs of her explosively delicious orgasm had stilled in her flesh. At last she slithered her fingers wetly from her satiated cunt, and she rolled limply over to her side, the ever-present feeling of guilt crawling over her as it always did after her futile bouts with her conscience. She had to learn to control herself, to stop her self-manipulations... If she had caught Sandy masturbating like this, there'd have been a terrible scene... Was she so starved for sex that she couldn't subdue her carnal desires? Was there something wrong with her?

Thank God, she was alone and nobody knew... She was ashamed of her actions enough as it was. Her spent body curled into a tight, womb-like ball, and lethargy from her release flowed over her, letting sleep glide smoothly through her tortured and confused mind...

Then she heard the front door close, the sound of feet walking across the parquette floor between the entrance hall and the kitchen.

There was a slight pause... And then she heard the unmistakable sound of Sandy. Her daughter was giggling! She heard her distinctly--a tittering, girlish squeal coming through the walls. Sandy was home, and she had brought that boyfriend of hers with her! What was that Tommy Edgars doing to her to make her giggle like that?

Another peel of laughter rippled through the otherwise silent house. Alice sat up in bed stiffly, clutching the sheet to her breasts almost defensively. Whatever he was doing to her daughter out in the kitchen, she was enjoying it--perhaps too much? A tiny shock of concern passed through the lovely mother, making her spine shiver with apprehension. Could Sandy be allowing advances to be made to her? No... that was too silly to imagine. But the thought persisted, and Alice found herself imagining Sandy kissing the youth, as she had kissed Robert long, long ago before they were married. Then she recalled the other things she'd let him do to her, and suddenly she got very worried again.

Alice moved around and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what she should do, if anything. She didn't want to make a fool of herself if nothing was wrong, and it could be perfectly innocent out there. She listened... there was quiet again, and then she heard a muffled mewling, followed by a long sigh of pleasure.

Without turning on the lamp, she groped her way through the darkness of her bedroom to the door, pressing her ear tightly against it to see if she could hear anything more. There was the unmistakable rustling of clothing and a soft kind of whimpering, but it was impossible to tell exactly from the sounds what was going on. She hesitated again, telling herself that if something was drastically wrong, Sandy would scream for help. She would certainly hear that! Her hand was frozen on the door knob as she waited silently, unable to make up her mind what to do.