Chapter 5

Sandra lavishly applied the black eyeliner, rimming her clear green eyes heavily. Coupled with the woody brown eye shadow she had smoothed onto her eyelids, she had achieved a stunning effect, and her eyes had a hazy, smoldering look. Several coats of black mascara on her long dark lashes completed her eye make-up, and she decided to have another cup of coffee before putting on her lipstick.

She poured herself a cup from the still-simmering coffee pot, and added a liberal dash of brandy. She liked the combination, and felt herself beginning to relax as she leaned back against her chair, relishing the steaming aromatic brew. It was her third such cup already this morning, and she was glad that she had decided to add brandy, because its tranquilizing effect was salve to her troubled soul. She knew she was also feeling a little better because Mike would be out for the day, supervising the laying down of a new electric fence at the boundary of their property. The last few days had been hell for Sandra. Mike had tried several times to make up with her, apologizing for his dreadful behavior, but somehow, Sandra felt she had passed the point of no return. She felt a shudder of revulsion every time she looked at her husband, and the memory of the bestial anal assault he had perpetrated on her seared her brain like a branding iron, giving no respite to her jumbled thoughts of revenge and hate. She had retreated into herself since that terrible evening, refusing to listen to his feeble explanations, her hurt and disgust feeding and strengthening the anger that was germinating inside her, a slow, seething anger that wouldn't be appeased quickly. This morning again, just before he left for the day, Mike had lost his temper with her once more.

"All right, have it your way!" he'd yelled, "If you want to sulk like a child, go ahead. But don't expect me to get down on my hands and knees to you."

"And don't forget, you're not exactly a model wife yourself!" he'd hurled at her as he slammed the door. His last rebuke had stung most of all. Her husband had bit nearer the truth than he'd imagined. Her record wasn't exactly spotless, she thought bitterly, remembering her unadulterated ecstasy as Sam Maguire had fingered her freely in the secret confines of her eager vagina. A shudder ran through her now as she involuntarily relived the scraping, titillating feel of his coarsened fingers as they slid up the tight, contracting sheath of her cuntal passage, how his hard hand felt as it squeezed mercilessly on her breasts, evoking a strange sort of pleasure through the unbearable pain. Many times during the past week, Sandra had puzzled over her mind and body's acquiescence to his lewd handling, wondering, in the clear light of following days, how she could have let herself give in to him. She realized that he had thrown her completely off balance by his disclosure that he had watched her through the office window as she had made herself experience orgasmic release with her own fingers, and also the fact that he seemed to be intimately familiar with those pornographic pictures had stunned her. But she forced herself to admit that in addition, he had overpowered her by his self-assurance, and his crude masculine way of dominating her. Again she felt a tingle chill her spine as she recalled his roughness with her, his complete disregard for her expressed feelings. There was something perversely exciting to her, she acknowledged now as she finished her coffee, in the way he had treated her, even abused her.

There was little pinpricks of fire niggling between her legs and she realized that she had been grinding her pubic region down unconsciously against the upholstery of the chair in a lewd rhythmic motion. She stood up, swaying a little and had to steady herself against the table. Her head felt pleasantly afloat, and her body felt warm and light. She made her way back to the bedroom, and hurriedly applied a vivid splash of lipstick and ran her brush through her gleaming hair. She had no clear idea of what she was going to do, but the thought foremost in her mind was a desire for revenge. She had to retaliate on Mike for the unforgivable thing he had done to her! There was something else, too, a gnawing aching emptiness deep inside her, like a worm eating away at her. Her body felt restless and taut, and she knew it was because she had not made love for several weeks. She had become accustomed to regular sexual intercourse during the years of her marriage and her body was reacting to this neglect. Mike wasn't interested in her anymore, that was obvious. But Sam was! There was no denying that the farm worker was definitely interested in her and her flagging ego in its desperation found the thought not unattractive. She suddenly longed for masculine attention, a little appreciation of her as a woman, even a little flirting!

Almost without realizing it, she wandered out of the house and found herself in the yard. The brightness of the sun seared her eyes and made her feel a trifle dizzy, but she became accustomed to it after a few moments and began to feel better. She was wearing a light cotton knit dress which she knew was too short for her, really, falling as it did to just the top of her thighs. The light material stretched tightly across her full, unconfined breasts, and she knew that the horizontal stripe pattern added to the general provocativeness of the dress.

She found, to her mingled dismay and surprise, that she was almost desperately looking for Sam, her eyes darting back and forth among the scattered outbuildings, trying to catch a glimpse of his burly figure. He was no where in sight, and feeling a pang of disappointment, Sandra began to head back for the house. What do I care if I see him or not? I'm not interested in a mere farm worker, she told herself, walking slowly in the direction of the house.

Then she heard his voice, calling the dog, coming from the direction of the barn where the recently calved cows were housed. Her heart began to pound in her ribcage, and she had to stop herself from running over to the shed. What's come over me? she asked herself, acting like a lovesick teenager!

She stood in the doorway, and peered around in the dim interior.

"Morning, Mrs. Peters!" Sam's gruff voice rang out, and the dog suddenly rushed up to her, sniffing excitedly at her ankles, his big shaggy tail wagging furiously.

"Down, King," Sam ordered, and the friendly collie crept away unhappily, and lay down by Sam's feet.

"Hello, Sam," Sandra replied, her voice stiff and unnatural. Her hands felt clammy, and she was sure there were beads of perspiration on her face. I shouldn't have come here! She fought to control a wave of fear which was swelling inside her, the man's quietness, the still, dusky interior of the barn, frightening her unreasonably.

"That's some dress you're wearing, Ma'am," Sam praised, and Sandra found herself flushing.

"T-thank you, Sam," she floundered, not knowing what to say.

"Well, what can I do for you this morning?" Sam drawled, an arrogant note in his voice. Sandra could only see the glowing tip of his cigarette - the rest of him was lost in the murkiness of the barn. It irritated her that he could see her clearly, silhouetted against the doorway, and exasperated, she stepped inside.