Chapter 5

Cindy Jamison slumped against the door, shuddering as she sat in the passenger side of the Volkswagen Variant, her face buried in her hands. She cried plaintively, weeping her tortured emotions into her palms as one might wash an infected wound. The sangria she had consumed to dull her sensitivities had, if anything, only loosened the barriers holding them back, and now, fully surrendered to the alcohol, she allowed her pent-up emotions release.

She had purged her soul once, to Norma Taylor... but the intervening days when she had been forced to act the part of a carefree, loving housewife to Howard, her husband, had once more built the raging storm of her torment to cyclone proportions. It had forced her to this party, had been the leading cause of her not eating and then of drinking heavily--and was, with the help of the potent sangria, completely controlling her mind. She was nearly delirious, almost psychotically hysterical, and there wasn't even the sanity of sobriety to fall back upon.

Her only prayer, her only hope was Ralph Taylor; or so her benumbed mind thought. The one thing that had kept her from dashing out of the house and fleeing to where? Anywhere--so long as it was far, far away-- was the comforting words that Ralph Taylor would help her. Perhaps if she hadn't partaken of the sangria so heavily, if she didn't have a head spinning so madly, she might have considered that it had been the sales manager's opening words: Norma told me about the postal clerk which had sent her into such a mental tailspin.

As it was, when her husband's boss opened the other side of the car and climbed in beside her, she looked upon him almost as a savior, an angel who could save her from the depredations of her actions.

"Thank God, Ralph," the pretty young housewife moaned. "I was afraid you weren't going to come." She started crying again.

"Everything will be all right, Cindy," the manager said, and he put his arm around her, as a father might his errant daughter. "Of course I was going to come. You don't think I'd let you be like this, do you? So upset and everything..."

She leaned against him, clutching to him for dear life. "It... it was terrible, Ralph," she blurted. "I... I sent for some pictures from the Polaroid Club... like the ones you gave to Howie... only wanted to surprise him..." and she went on to pour forth the total story of her humiliation by the postal clerk, breaking into sobs of agony frequently.

As she talked, Ralph was only half listening. He knew the story already, had Norma repeat it to him until he knew every detail. Instead, he looked around and saw that the back of the station wagon was empty, and that the rear seat had been folded down. Good, good. Plenty of room back there to fuck... can't do it here, not with these bucket seats and gear shift... Now to figure out a way of getting her back there...

He pulled out the pint of Old Tennessee, uncapped it and gave her the bottle. "Here, Cindy. Take a swallow. It'll help."

She took it gratefully and drank heavily. The liquor burned a path to her stomach, but she was too wrought up and too drunk to notice... she drank again, came up for air and continued telling her story...

"Then... he made me get up on my knees and he... he did it to me from behind... I've never done that even with my husband before... he... he even did it to me in my mouth... Oh, God, Ralph, it was just awful," she sobbed.

He interrupted her with an urging to take another swallow, which she did, and then he said: "Would you like to lie down, take a rest? Wouldn't that be better?"

"Yes..." The combination of the sangria, Old Tennessee, and her now purged soul had made her lethargic, dazed, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open. Her muscles seemed to be plastic and her bones like sawdust. "But I don't want to go back inside yet, Ralph, not until you talk to me about what you can do for me... I need your help..."

Her voice was slurred and thick, as though her mouth was full of pebbles--or she had taken too much liquor and was very, very drunk. The auto executive smiled and said, "You can crawl over the seat and stretch out in back if you like."

Cindy looked up from Ralph's chest. "That would be nice," she replied dreamily. "Help me..."

Ralph Taylor did, his cock hardening into a throbbing beast as he carefully helped his salesman's wife to semi-stand and squeeze between the two seats. Her motions were jerky and fumbling; she wouldn't have been able to stand, he thought, not now after all that booze. But she sprawled on the rubber matting of the back section, not minding or even being aware that her short dress had slipped up around her panties. Taylor sucked in his breath as he saw the thinly covered pubic mound become exposed... then he squeezed back there with her, and the two of them lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and he placed his hands around her and held her to him.

Taylor stroked the very inebriated young wife's golden hair lightly, gently, comfortingly. And in a smooth, rich tone of voice he intoned, "Don't think about it, Cindy. Don't think about that strange man and you and how you looked on your bed, about the passion you two were experiencing, don't think about it at all..."

In the tortured, stupefied confusion of her mind, Cindy Jamison couldn't help thinking about what she and Samuels had done--and why. She remained in her husband's boss's gently pressing embrace, stretched out in the back of the station wagon, a dreamy torpor making her lightheaded and giddy. His words flowed like honey, soothing and hypnotic... and although she didn't want to think about what she had done with the postal clerk, his soporific voice dredged still more from her subconscious mind. She sobbed into the thin material of Taylor's shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the gentle stroking of his hand on her bare arm. And horribly, perversely, the images in her drunken brain started to have a certain physical effect on her dazed mind as well. She could feel an odd twitching in her belly, and for some crazy reason she sensed that her nipples were hardening in her bra cups. She tried to will her body to cease its evil awakening and her mind to stop the vivid remembrances--but nothing she tried to do would work. And what was Ralph Taylor saying? The same as his wife Norma, had told her?

"... You're all woman, Cindy. Of course you couldn't help but enjoy his penis inside you. Of course you liked his tongue on your lips and between your legs. You couldn't help not liking it, Cindy. You're a real woman... a sexually alive woman..."

He continued to stroke her shoulder, letting his hand slide slowly down. Cindy had stopped crying now, though her face was still pressed to his shirt, and he sensed that his caress had quickened her breath. He teased the ridge of her spine, pressing his horizontal body closer to hers, and he whispered into her hair bolder and bolder words:

"You and the clerk were making love, Cindy. No, you were fucking, Cindy. But you mustn't think badly of yourself for your actions. Everyone likes to fuck..."

Cindy was breathing faster now, and the manager could hear this drunken little wife of his salesman trembling with her reactions. Well, if there was ever a moment to give it everything, this was it!

Taylor brought his hand casually from her shoulder to the swelling mound of her breast. He began to rub the pliant globe tenderly through the thin dress and bra, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the beautiful wife and a sudden stiffening of her body and a convulsive kneading of his shirt. But she made no move to pull away! The sales manager grinned eagerly, knowing he had won, that she would be his, and he ran his thumb over her rock-hard nipples, his heart pounding in his chest and his cock leaping in the cage that was his shorts and pants.

A warning scream tried to penetrate the fogged, drugged lethargy which inundated Cindy Jamison's mind, tried to warn her that something was going to happen if she didn't pull away. And yet, unexplainably, his hand on her breast felt good... and his voice, so far away to her ears, made everything sound right. It was as if the sangria and the bourbon had been some liquid cement, gluing her to this position, making her unable to move at all... and the pinwheel thoughts in her mind made her not really want to move... not yet...

And then the manager's hand slid down from her breasts and went to her bare thigh, sliding up along the hot skin under her new dress. Higher and higher--until his fingers were touching the silk-encased mound of her vagina. He slipped up and down the now moist furrow from the outside, then pushed the secreting crotchband of her panties aside and slipped his middle finger into the wet, trembling passage of Cindy's suddenly hotly burning young cunt.

The distraught, nearly comatose from alcohol, wife squirmed up tighter against the sales manager with the contact of his finger against her naked flesh. Her whole being began to oscillate and she moaned in staccato cadence. The warning voice of before tolled again through the swamp which was her fevered mind: Wrong... wrong... I love Howie, I must be faithful to him... not Ralph... not with Ralph... stop it... stop it...

But she couldn't stop it. She was incapable of pulling away, and she could only lie there in the back of the station wagon and let her husband's boss continue to work his hand down between her legs, to tease the hard bud of her clitoris and revel in her soft, elastic vaginal opening.

Christ, Taylor thought, she really turns on, just like I hoped she would, damn well knew she would after that night she unknowingly sucked my cock... She's all fired up for a good fuck, and when a woman like her gets that way, nothing else matters. He whispered in her ear: "Cindy, baby, help me... help me take your panties off..."

"No..." came the feeble answer. "Oh, God, no, Ralph!"

"Yes..." he hissed back, and he moved around so that he hovered over her limply splayed legs, removing his finger from her wet, trembling pussy. He bunched her dress around her waist and hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down slowly over her full rounded young thighs and hips. Cindy tried to stop him, to yell out to leave her alone... but her body was controlled by other forces and, in spite of her hesitation, she found herself raising her hips obediently. And then her softly hair-lined cunt came into moonlit view, and Taylor gazed salaciously at it, his mouth watering at the beautiful sight.

The sales manager drove his head savagely downward, unable to control his lusting emotions, and his lips mashed onto her vaginal lips, his tongue parting the softly curling pubic hair and slipping teasingly down the pink-rimmed valley. Cindy shuddered and involuntarily her legs spread a little wider, allowing him further room. She whined sharply and convulsed into lurches as his long, hot tongue speared her quaking flesh. And as he flicked his mouth and tongue around the velvety soft interior of her vagina, he unbuckled his pants and pushed them with his shorts down, allowing them to tangle around his ankles. Now that he had the little bitch so hot and ready, he did not want to take the time to fully undress. He was afraid she might suddenly come to her senses and all would be lost.

Cindy's mind was in complete turmoil now, the blood fever of his touch and then his mouth filling her with animal wantonness--yet the other part, the portion so satiated with alcohol as to render it nothing more than a protest in vain, cried out that this was wrong... all wrong and must stop!

And suddenly, Taylor stopped.

He raised his head and grinned triumphantly down at her, his lips and chin wet with her sexual secretions.

"Ralph... Ralph... Ralph..." was all that the crazed young housewife was able to chant to the manager.

"I'm going to fuck you now, my sweet little friend. I'm going to put my long, hard cock inside your pussy and cum in it." And with those words, the lasciviously grinning sales manager moved across the unresisting body of his salesman's wife. He held his long lust-hardened cock at the open mouth of her moist palpitating cunt, and then he levered forward, sending his sensitive, hungry cock sliding hotly, deliciously far up into her quivering young belly.

Oh, God, he's inside me... he's inside me... ! Cindy thought vaguely, her mind and soul shattered by the liquor and the wretchedness of her emotions, and her body one huge sensation of pagan desire. He can't be doing this... he can't, and I can't be letting him, but he is. Oh, he is... and, oh, God, it feels so good... I must stop him... but how can I when I can't stop myself?