Chapter 3

Ann sat nervously at her typewriter, her fingers poised and trembling above the keys as the electric machine's constant whirring noise seemed to reverberate around in her confused and tortured mind. God, there was so much to be done and although she generally worked best under pressure, this particular day was a very difficult one for the voluptuous young blonde. Her mind was a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces were scattered all over the floor waiting to be put back together again. Confused and nagging emotions fought against one another in her tormented mind; feelings and desires she never knew she could experience battled against one another and her thoughts seemed to have a dozen different sources at one.

After she'd gotten Carl off her back by shoving a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, she'd had to work with Dr. Everett breathing down her neck, intermittently brushing his hand on her leg up and down her thigh till she thought she'd go bananas for sure. Finally, as if by an act of God, Carl had called him into the back office for a weekly conference to plan the activities for next week.

"Damn!" she hissed under her breath as she made the third typo on that first line of the page. All thumbs, she felt her neck muscles tense and freeze in position. That would never do, she thought with gut hurting anguish. I can't boggle this work just because of some young stud. And as if her physically handicapped condition was not enough to cloud her mind, everything she typed had something to do with sex. God, it was driving her crazy!

She winced in anguish, still feeling the touch of Dr. Everett hotly slithering up and down her body. God, how stupid could one get? Pretty rotten, she inwardly seethed, sick at the thought of having him, that gorgeous hunk of man, right in her eagerly yearning little hands, then frittering away her hold through girlish reluctance. Damn, she'd never intended they be any more than lovers, an affair, maybe.

For what seemed like minutes, she stood there staring blindly out of the window, watching students spill out of the building across the street. Some stoop shouldered, disappointed and grim, others half skipping with the bounce of springtime in their airy steps. For a brief she imagined where she would be, what she would be doing, and whether she would be happy had she not married Dr. Carl Dexter. A stewardess flying to Australia, maybe? A model on the cover of Vogue?

"Uh, Mrs. Dexter, could you come in the office for a minute," Dr. Everett's voice interrupted her wildly, dizzily spinning thoughts.

"Yes, of course, right away," Ann answered, reaching down to pick up the file folder.

"No, you won't need that," Mrs. Dexter," he said coldly, and then she knew she'd blown it! Without so much as a smile, he turned his back and disappeared into the wood-walled interior of her husband's office. Was this a joke?

Ann followed the tall doctor, her knees quaking, her hands still trembling, her full, fleshy thighs tremulously shaking, her full breasts quivering beneath her short knit dress as her chest heaved with heavy breathing. Once inside the office, Ann seated herself on the chair by the desk, directly opposite Dr. Everett who sat frowning over a series of ten pages that Ann had finished typing about half an hour earlier. The full breasted young blonde crossed her legs demurely and folded her hands across her lap to stop from trembling, then waited patiently for Dr. Everett to say whatever he had to say, hoping for dear life it had nothing to do with what had happened that morning.

"Uh, Mrs. Dexter," he began awkwardly obviously finding it difficult to get to the point, "this is... uh, the pages you typed this morning... ?"

"Yes, Dr. Everett." There was no trace of intimacy, let alone familiarity between them now; all business, the way it should have been those fateful hours earlier.

"I'm afraid there are a lot of mistakes you're going to have to correct before we can have these pages copied... some glaring errors that are very unlike you, Mrs. Dexter. Look here," he concluded, pushing the papers across the desk toward her.

Ann looked at the typewritten page on the top. Five or six extraordinary obvious mistakes seemed to jump off of the white paper at her, almost as if they were pointing accusing fingers at the helplessly quaking wife. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Dr. Everett. I really am. I... I'm... I'll fix it right away, of course. I'm... so sorry."

"I know this isn't like you, Mrs. Dexter," George's voice softened. "But we are in a terrible rush, as you know... so if you could take care of them, it would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh yes," the distraught young woman cried. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I've been all thumbs today."

"Well, why don't you take what you have done and make three copies down the street at the Instant Press." Finished he returned to his work, as if nothing had happened between them that morning.

In minutes, Ann had corrected the mistakes and a half hour later she was headed out the door, file folder in hand.

Even as she walked the short distance to the Instant Press, she could concentrate on little else but her handsome co-worker and the way she had stupidly bungled the whole thing -- not only this morning by telling him she couldn't meet him, but by making all those typos! Of course, she could have gotten finished in time for a friendly after-dinner drink! Carl had never questioned her in that respect, whatever story she came up with, and most times it was just to get a break away from him and take in a movie, or a quiet relieving walk. Damn... was it too late? She could go back later and set it up for tonight. God knows, she was still that sensually excited... but no! No, she wasn't about to do that for any man! If... if only she could cool down a little bit! She was actually wet, wet between her legs, and no one but Dr. George Everett had done that! But dammit, she wasn't about to go back and beg... never!

Oh, what was the address of that damned place?

At one point, while crossing the street, the sexually frustrated young wife almost tripped over a rut in the sidewalk street, and her papers went flying all over the intersection! Great! All she needed was to go back and say, "Sorry, guys, but I just lost your report!" Oh, that would go over really well. If it hadn't been for the older man next to her who managed to catch all but two pages, she'd have been an ex- secretary. As it was, she had half glanced behind her to see him observing the spectacle she was thoughtlessly offering him in her bent- over position. Though she had immediately straightened and turned to glare at him, despite his life-saving catch, his elderly, lecherous smirk as she walked on past her only seemed to add unneeded fuel to the already glowing bed of coals smoldering in the hot, fluid hearth of her.

When she finally found Instant Press, a small building set off from the street brightly decorated in red, white and blue, she discovered that only the errand boy was there to fill her order.

"The boss'll be back later, lady -- it'll be about two hours, I'd say. But if you want I'll be happy to fill it for you. Three copies you say?"

"That's right... oh, is there any chance you could deliver this to my house? You see, lad, this is a dire situation I'm in, and it would save my life... my job at least if you could get this order to my house later today." Emphasizing her helplessly needful situation, she leaned her elbows on the counter in a weary gesture, perhaps to egg him on. She could tell after she'd bent down to fill out the order form that his youthfully bugging blue eyes had briefly fed o the unexpected, engaging sight. His good looking teenage mouth was agape, his smooth, fair cheeks a flushed crimson.

Lord, it was absolutely absurd to work one's self into such a lewd state, she berated herself teasingly. But she couldn't help it, either... there was something erotically exciting about it, being caught up in such a lascivious mood right out in public... before God and everyone and in broad daylight.

"I'll have this to you as soon as the boss comes back, ma'am. You fill out the form? Okay, I'll be over to your office real soon..."

"Oh, that's not my office address, dear; that's my home address." Her eyelashes fluttered and she perched her hand on one hip. "But I'll be there in just a few minutes. And thank you, dear, you've saved my life." With a warm pat, she rested her hand on his, and for a brief moment she was tempted to jump over that counter and plant one on his full lush lips. But what normal woman would ever set out to lure a boy when she could have a man, not that the choice had been offered to her as of late, she realized with a throaty moan.

"Thank you... what's your name?"

"Eddie..."

"... Eddie," she warmly smiled at him as he raced around the corner to open the door for her. Girlishly, she waved at him through the glass window pane, though his face was blocked by the poster covering the far corner of the glass. Instinctively, she knew he was still watching her and she made an extra effort to take salacious long strides for the duration of the block.

Damn, he was a sweet, young dream, the infused blonde wife reflected most of the way to her car. Some lucky girl either was, or was going to be made mighty happy with that young darling crawling between her legs... Lord... if she didn't stop thinking like this she was going to be a mess of frayed nerves before the day was over! And it was her own fault, too! Her scheme had worked with George... at least she knew his taunting remarks had been sincerely founded... then, dammit, she'd blown the whole thing, telling him she had to work. Damn, he knew it was a lie! What she needed was a drink.

The ride home was brief and uneventful in reality, the fantasy side of her mind feasting off the events of the day. Oh, thank the Lord there were only twenty-four hours in a day! Perhaps a good night's sleep would quell that surging loneliness up there between her legs.

After hanging up her coat, Ann made a bee-line for the liquor cabinet and mixed a martini. With this fortification, she took out a roast from the refrigerator and plopped it in a dutch oven and set the timer. Thank God for modern conveniences, she mused as she sipped ravenously at the martini.

How should she act the next day in front of Dr. Everett? Cool, aloof? As if nothing had happened? Should she let him make the next move, which she was almost positive he would? Yes, of course, what kind of a hussy was she to go chasing after her husband's colleague. ADULTERY! The word flashed electric red in her mind. My God, she'd never thought of it in those lurid terms before. But it was against the law, against every moral fiber in her soul. Why had she entertained such a fantasy? The truth was, she knew but would not admit, was that she was afraid... a professorial husband on Pill Hill was status, security, travel... but dull as hell.

"Hey, you're not the whore that you pretend to be," she said aloud. And mentally: though if anyone knew the way you're aching inside for some good hard cock, they'd never guess it! Maybe a good hot bath to calm the fires before the genius comes home and you find yourself trying to seduce the poor old fool just to be frustrated again. On second thought, maybe I'd better do it myself -- that way I'll make sure the job gets done.

A tiny ripple of sexual excitement added a new emotional arousal of the sizzling agitation already stewing in her soft belly and hot, moistened loins. Determined, she attacked the wine bottle this time, carrying a cool goblet of white wine into the bathroom with her. Then she stripped naked.

In the bathroom she wound her long blonde hair into a knot, and started to draw water as she sipped at her wine, the alcohol beginning to effectively warm her. Her sultry blue eyes glancing at her white nakedness reflected in the full length mirror and glimmered narcistically as a tiny ripply sensation of pleasure flittered through her voluptuous, twenty-two year old body. For a moment, she stood unmoving, admiring her sensually harmonious curves, her full, pink nippled breasts and slender waist, the sweeping flow of her arched hips into the long, white columns of her smooth, rounded thighs and tapering calves.

Dr. George Everett, wouldn't you love to see what I'm looking at right now? Nothing short of an erotically pleasing sight, I'd say? How would I fit into your research, honey... the sex-crazed housewife? The masturbating bitch?

She let her eyes sensually caress the secret ivory-like outline that her slim halter had left across the resilient mounds of her uptilted, full young breasts, and below where her tiny bikini had cupped the curved moons of her satiny firm buttocks. But it was the milky-white of her generous hips and lower belly where the silken triangle of sparse, golden curls began to sprinkle over her cuntal mound that invariably fired her excitement.

God, would she do it first, right there in front of the mirror... or in the bathtub... or on the bed?

The harsh sound of the front door broke her thoughts. Now who could that be? Irritably, she looked for something to put around her, finally settling for a beach towel. Ah, it would do in a pinch, she decided since it covered enough of her so that she could peek around the door and see what whoever it was wanted.

A stimulating little tingle raced through her at the recognition of Eddie, from Instant Press, with his clean, youthful smile. She clutched the towel to her breasts and stepped behind the door, letting him in.

"Mrs. Dexter?... Here... here's your copies. All three sets. Made them myself. We billed it to your husband's account.

For a moment, Ann stared at him in surprise. "My, that was fast! Oh, thank God! You've saved my job." Her knuckles were regaining their color now as she loosened her fist-tight grip on the towel, suddenly remembering with mixed emotions, that she wore nothing beneath.

"Won't you come in, Eddie and have something to drink? An iced tea maybe?"

"Oh, no, but thank you, Mrs. Dexter. I have to get back to the shop and clean up yet before I can leave. This was just a little extra job I took on. Now if you'll sign this, I'll be on my way..."

"Wait a minute," rebuked the young blonde impetuously grabbing his arm. "Why don't you stay for just a minute while I look through these copies."

The young teenager looked anxious, but God, with a half-naked lady asking him to come in, what could he say, but...

"Okay, if you insist... I could use something to drink," he said, passing close to her, his arm lightly brushing the tip of one sensitive breast behind the white, fuzzy towel covering her, raising a sparkling little ripple in her soft belly. In response, the young woman pulled the hardly adequate towel around her aroused nakedness, smiling at him as he timidly looked at her. His face was flushing as it had in the store earlier. He'd noticed the soft, erotic contact, too!

She gestured toward the chair as she moved toward the refrigerator, but he didn't sit. God, she felt certain his pale blue eyes were avidly traveling the length of her near-naked body, imagining beyond the single garment, wondering what, if anything, she wore beneath it. Or... or was she letting her overly keyed- up imagination run away with her? She poured a glass of ice tea, spicing it with a teaspoon of sugar and a slice of lemon, and offered him the glass. He accepted the glass and tilted it to his full, generous lips, while she continued to appraise and measure him, wildly wondering what was going through his young mind... !

It was a crazy conversation, almost as if she was finding it hard to talk to him as was he in coming up with answers that wouldn't make him look like an awkward idiot, the fifteen year old teenager nervously thought. She was so fucking beautiful! And he'd seen her nearly naked ass right there when she turned to go to the kitchen... nothing on at all! Man, she had to know he could see it... just the way she had to have felt it when he'd brushed against her tit a minute ago... !

"Excuse me just a second while I turn down the roast, dear, and then I'll look these over."

"Sure... that's okay!" he answered, probably too enthusiastically, the thoughts he was thinking absolutely knot- headed, he told himself. Get with it, idiot. What could a beautiful married woman want with a brat like you? Bet she gets laid every night by her husband! Bet he licks her cunt, too.

"Okay, that's taken care of," she beamed, re-entering the living room with a glowing smile, her long blonde hair no longer crowning her pretty head, but sweeping down around her shoulders the way she'd always worn it when he'd seen her. She'd changed it! Wonder what for? "This all looks in the right order," she said, flipping through the top five or six pages. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this service. Over and beyond the call of duty, as they say."

"That's okay, Mrs. Dexter..."

"Please call me Ann." She reached over for a cigarette. "I'm not that much older than you, am I?" She tilted her head to one side, her sexy blue eyes level with his and liquidly pouring into them. "Am I... ?"

"I-I don't know how old you are, Ann, but I'm eighteen," he lied.

"And I'll be thirteen in December," she quipped, drawing the towel closer around her and then winding the ends into a tight rope over her breasts rising and falling, even as she felt it inching slowly down. Instead, she pulled out a chair and put the Xerox copies on the end table, then lowered herself onto the chair, facing the one she'd offered him. "Sit down, Eddie doll. Let's get to know each other better... that is, if you'd like to... ?"

For answer, he accepted, trying to keep his eyes above where the towel she was wearing had fallen part-way open over her breasts. Cumsville! He could see some of the deep, mind-bending crease between her tits, even a part of one where it began to swell out from her chest like a Playboy gem... soft looking... creamy white from a bikini halter... and even part of one full satiny thigh! No question! He'd bet his crummy paycheck she was naked and bare-assed underneath that towel that kept slipping!