Chapter 2

Marily enjoyed the dinner. She had consumed two drinks, much to Fred's consternation, then had eaten a delicious steak, blood rare. She felt great. She had admonished herself for looking at the men in the room, feeling each time she looked thoroughly at one of them (sitting alone at the bar, with other women, with men friends) the sensations that she had had earlier in the afternoon. She was just as pleased to leave the restaurant as she had been to arrive there.

Once home Marily tried to shake the feeling of need and desire that bunched up inside her demanding an outlet. She couldn't. While Fred had been showering for bed, she had wandered out to the patio, had looked in the direction of Peter's house, had tried to figure which bedroom might be his. Then she remembered his wife, she frowned and, in her own mind, agreed with her husband: how could he live with such a silly woman? She returned to the house, went to the bathroom, stopped in the bedroom and stifled a giggle when she realized that Fred was doing his deep breathing exercises, as he did every night, before going to sleep. She stripped in the bathroom, stood straight and looked at herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. She was tall, five feet eight, she had nice large breasts that had not the slightest trace of a sag. She ran her hands over her breasts, lifted them so that the nipples, pink and soft, pointed straight into the mirror, then let them drop, ran her hands from her chest out over her breasts, to the end of the nipple, then down, under and across her stomach, marveled at the smoothness of it, then along the outside of her thighs. She stopped, shook herself, a need that had never been there before today rushing through her, and slipped her black negligee over her head. She gave her hair a couple of quick strokes, then returned to the bedroom. She stopped just inside the door and looked at Fred. She couldn't tell whether or not he was asleep because he often, as he explained, went to sleep in stages. She walked softly to his bed, circling her own, and lay down alongside him. He gave no indication that he was awake, that he knew she was there.

She carefully put her hand under the cover, let it rest gently on his stomach. He still made no move to indicate that he was aware of her presence. She started to massage his stomach, moving her hand across it back and in a circular motion and suddenly he sprang up to a sitting position, reached out, turned on the lamp. Marily was startled.

"Marily, what are you doing over here in my bed?" He wanted to know, scowling at her.

"I came to... I want you tonight, Fred." She leveled her large, hungry stare at him.

"This is Tuesday night! I just don't understand you, Marily. I broke up the entire schedule for the day and now you want to take it into the night, ruining our whole weeks' plans. I just don't understand." He was perplexed beyond doubt. "Don't try to understand. Let's just make love, Fred." She moved to him, put a hand behind his back. Fred sighed, turned out the light, then crawled on top of her. He lifted her negligee, took his penis out through the opening of his pajamas, then eased himself down to her so that his soft, fleshy prick was pressed against her warm, open vaginal slit. She moved slightly, put her hand on his back. He shook it off. She lay still, fear somehow almost paralyzing her that she would go crazy and give all that happened away and then he moved against her. She felt him begin to harden, and she wanted to kiss him, to be kissed, to have his tongue inside her mouth just as Peter's had been, but she dared not. She felt him enter her, easily, then push himself all the way in, then move in and out of her. She felt a rush of memories from the afternoon and before she realized what she was doing her legs went around his back, her arms circled his neck. He withdrew immediately. He was shocked, she knew.

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded of her, raised above her on his arms. "If you want me to make love to you, then lie still."

Marily did. She lay perfectly still, all desire gone, while he fucked in and out of her, not really touching her feelings again. She lay under him almost hating him, repulsion for his selfishness angering her. She knew that he was about to cum, not because he grabbed her and clung to her and pounded into her but simply because his breathing increased and his strokes became minutely faster. He withdrew from her almost as soon as his semen had flooded into her and got off the bed and went directly to the bathroom.