Chapter 4

Pain.

Pain!

That was the first thing Grace felt when she awakened next morning to the blaring of her radio alarm clock. Without opening her eyes, she reached blindly over and shut it off.

Her head felt as if someone were using a baseball bat atop her skull. She tried to open her eyes, but the blinding rays of the sun caused her to clench them shut almost immediately. She lay there in torment as her brain gradually began sorting out the various messages it was receiving.

"I'm still dressed," she said to herself, "and I'm on top of the bed."

That was her first cohesive thought. Then, slowly, as if she were viewing a motion picture film in slow motion, the events of the night before began coming back. "I went to the track... I met a man... Jim Meloney... I won some money... I had my photograph taken in the winner's circle... I met a lot of people... I had too much to drink... " The film stopped. It was almost as if her memory were attempting to protect her sensibilities. She actually had to force the mental reproduction of the rest of the evening. Murkily, as if seen through a deep almost impenetrable fog, she saw the vague outlines of Jim Meloney's study... his head between her widespread thighs...

Oh, God... no! Surely that last thought had to be the vague memory of a horrible nightmare, a dirty perverted dream. She forced herself to open her eyes; again the light caused a blinding flash of agony throughout her skull. Unsteadily, she stood, clutching the end of the bed for support. It was a dream. It had to be a dream! But even as she tried to tell herself this, her brain was transmitting the message: You don't have your panties on... and there is a dried crust matting your pubic hair and upper thighs. And with this came additional information--from various nerve centers--a minor amount of pain in her vagina, as though it had been terribly stretched, and a slight discomfort in her rectum where his finger had wormed its way into her nether depths.

Suddenly, her knees were trembling so violently they would no longer support her weight, and she was forced to sit on the bed. "Oh... dear God!" she croaked, knowing now the truth, as memories like a swarm of angry hornets began stinging her conscience. With shaking hands, she reached down and pulled up her dress--looking down at her black patch of pubic hair. Yes... that was dried cum, and yes! a stranger's penis had been pushed into her vagina... and... yes! It had been something wickedly enjoyable, not repugnant. Deeply ashamed, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. Her throat was now so tight it felt as though a wooden stake had been driven through it. Her heart began pounding rapidly-- beating painfully against her rib cage. Another thought hit her with all the suddenness of a lightning strike: What if I get pregnant?

She tensed, then dismissed the threat with the recollection that her period was due in about four days, and therefore she presumably was safe. Still, though, it was a terrifying thought that would hang like barbed hook in her sub-consciousness for four or five days, to be expatiated only with the beginning of her menstrual flow.

The slowing welling up of tears became a torrent when she glanced over toward the dresser and spotted her wedding picture. Stan had his arm protectively around her. "Stan... " she gasped. "Stan... I'm so sorry."

She continued crying for at least five minutes, deep heart-rendering, convulsive sobs of shame and humiliation.

I'm nothing more than a whore. Worse than a whore, because I've betrayed my husband and our love. What makes it worse is that I did it on the very first night I went out socially. As though I were some bitch in heat accidentally permitted out of the house!

A woman thinks of many things when first she accuses herself of wrong-doing. If the sin is of the flesh and it can't be blamed on anyone but herself, she will frequently consider dramatic, but drastic measures. Grace's first thought was that Stan would be better off without her and that she would be better off dead. This was replaced by a resolution to write Stan immediately, tell him what she had done and explain that she was leaving him because she was no longer worthy of his love. Then she decided she would have to quit her job because obviously everyone would know what had happened just by looking at her.

And finally, emerging from the hog-wallow of self-pity and incrimination, she decided that first she should have a shower. Quickly, then, she stripped off her dress, bra, garter belt and hose. Completely nude, she inspected herself in the full-length mirror before timidly reaching down to finger the matted black silken hair where cum had glued the strands together. She flushed as she remembered his rain of kisses across her abdomen and inner thighs, his tantalizing tongue licking and thrusting... his penis. Once again her heart speeded up its tempo and her breath lost some of its regularity. She stepped up close to the mirror and looked deep into her own eyes. Yes, there was a difference in them, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she didn't know.

In the shower, she alternated between fits of convulsive sobs of shame and moments that almost approached exhilaration as she remembered the glamour and excitement of the track, and Jim Meloney's expert awakening of her latent sensual talents. Emerging from the shower stall, she made an attempt to be realistic about the entire affair as she slowly dried her body. "After all, I was too drunk to realize what was happening," she told herself, knowing even as she said it that the statement was a half-lie and that drunkenness was no excuse. Also, she remembered all too clearly her own exhortation as Jim Meloney's wonderful prick thrust in, pulled out, thrust in... She could almost feel it happening now! She moaned low in her throat and felt her heart respond once more to the mental stimulus of love-making. There was a soft urgent tingling between her thighs, a feeling of wantonness that brought a flush to her face. Her nipples, she noticed, were fully erect. Grace knew she could get rid of her headache by taking aspirin, but there was no medicine that would cure or alleviate this sudden intense excitement. She couldn't tell how much of it was caused by the thought of pleasurable sex and how much by the sudden recollection of winning some money--a considerable sum of money. Quickly, she gobbled down the three aspirin she had shaken out of the bottle, and began searching for her purse, finding it tossed carelessly on the front room couch. She blushed when she opened the bag and found her bikini panties stuffed inside, then gasped when she saw the money.