by Sally Apple
With a sigh, he adjusted his pants to accommodate his aching balls. A guy could dream, couldn’t he?
Chapter Two
Following her visit to High Score, Shelley stayed up late that night reading the first book Rita had purchased for her from cover to cover. The X-rated manual blew her away. She couldn’t lay it down until her eyelids drooped, heavy as manhole covers.
She awoke early on Sunday morning and groped for the book on her nightstand. By the time she finished it, the sun was high in the sky, and she had a bad case of the hots. No, she wouldn’t mention to Dickie that she owned dirty books. They would remain her secret. Even in her wildest imagination, she couldn’t picture herself indulging in some of the kinky activities it described.
It wasn’t as though she were totally naïve. She’d lost her virginity years before, but in her experience, which included teenage groping in the backseat of a car and a couple of one-night stands, sex hadn’t lived up to its publicity. She knew there had to be more to it than the missionary position and a two-minute quickie.
Now that she was aware of the possibilities, she realized she had more to learn. Just the thought of exploring those possibilities put her in a perpetual state of arousal.
What worried her was that Dickie might not understand any more than she did about the pleasures of the flesh. What if he turned out to be one of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am variety?
One way to find out!
She picked up the phone and hit Dickie’s speed dial number. Anticipation made her pulse flutter. The receiver pressed to her ear trembled slightly.
God, my nerves are taut as wires!
He answered on the third ring.
“Dickie? Let’s do something today. Why don’t you come over?”
“I’m just heading out the door, sweets. John—you remember my friend John? Anyway, he asked me to take a look at some property he’s thinking of buying. I told him I’d give him my opinion.”
She groaned. “On Sunday? Your day of rest?”
“I told you about it on Friday, remember?”
“You did? Shoot! I was hoping we could do something today.”
“I’d like to, but— Hey, if I get back in time, I’ll give you a call, okay?”
“All right. See you later.” Dispirited, Shelley broke the connection.
The worst case of restlessness she’d ever experienced set in. Feeling twitchy, she prowled the house, searching for some means of relief. While running a load of dirty clothes through the washer, she sat atop the machine during the spin cycle, but the vibrations only made her condition worse. Desperately, she rummaged through the vegetable bin in the refrigerator, but only found lettuce and broccoli—no zucchini, no carrots, no cucumbers. Obviously, she was behind in her grocery shopping.
By nine that night, she gave up on Dickie. Obviously, the louse had forgotten his promise to call and arrange to come over.
Feeling stymied, she tried watching late-night TV, but couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was trying something a little kinky, something out of the ordinary. Taking a hot bath and playing with herself under water was okay up to a point. She enjoyed the orgasm, but it didn’t do much to diminish her wild urges.
She still thought incessantly about pleasures of the flesh. Desperation led to panic.
Am I becoming a nyphmo? A sex addict?
* * * * *
Answering phones all day Monday at the Toyota dealership where she worked was sheer torture. She couldn’t wait to get home, grab a snack and start reading the second book. Maybe not such a good idea, considering the state she was in, but she couldn’t resist. The problem had become bigger than she was.
A man was what she really needed. A man with magic in his fingers. A man who knew his way around a woman’s body.
Granted, she had a fiancé she could call on, but no way would she call Dickie until he contacted her first with an apology for standing her up on Sunday. If his friends were more important than she was, he could go sit on a tack!
Sure enough, the fictionalized anecdotes in the second book describing various sexual games left her squirming with damp panties and a state of undiminished ardor. The idea of wild sex with vegetables lost ground to higher technology. If she couldn’t have a real live man between her legs, she would settle for nothing less than an animated object with moving parts. Was she going to have to humiliate herself by going back to High Score and buying a mechanized dildo?
When she finally stumbled on the perfect solution, she slapped her forehead. How stupid could she be? Was she the only woman in town who hadn’t instantly recognized a muscle massager for what it really was? She wouldn’t have to suffer the knowing look of Thor Ryersson as she made an embarrassing purchase. She could head for the local discount store and look for a bargain in the small appliance department.
That night she took a massager to bed with her. The cool sheets had a sensual effect on her feverish skin. She applied the buzzing metal probe, sans attachments, to the cluster of ultra-sensitive nerves between her legs.
She yelped and arched off the bed. Too strong! After experimenting with various settings, she found the perfect combination. Tingling, quivering, shuddering stimulation drew her into a vortex of pleasure.
Ahh, yesssss!
As delicious tremors spread throughout her lower body, sexual fantasies in vivid color reeled through her mind…
A Viking looking a lot like Thor Ryersson, dressed in animal skins and studded leather belts, stalks her across the barren wasteland. She tries to hide in a ravine, but as he gets closer and closer, she knows it’s no use—he’s bound to discover her.
Her nakedness is cloaked with her hip-length hair. She shivers with dread as she watches the entrance to the ravine. A sound tells her she isn’t alone. She whirls to find the menacing Viking looming from behind. He seizes her and binds her arms behind her back. Helplessly, she kicks out at him, but he is huge and unbelievably strong. She might as well kick a boulder.
He throws her over his shoulder and hikes out of the ravine. He drops her on a bed of animal furs spread out on the sand. Darkness falls. As he builds a fire, she watches his every move. The red light of the flames outlines his silhouette, highlighting the bulging muscles in his arms and shoulders. His bare thighs below the loincloth are thick as tree trunks. A deep hunger grows within her, a longing so strong she wouldn’t run away if she could.
He crouches over her, releases her bonds, and gives orders in guttural sounds. She is too frightened to disobey, so she lies back and spreads her legs at his command. He fumbles with his primitive garb, freeing his massive organ. It juts from his loins, thick and long. On hands and knees, he positions himself over her.
She gazes up at him helplessly, filled with growing need. Please hurry! I can’t wait any longer!
Hooking his arms under her knees, he forces them upward toward her chest. Her calves are draped over his shoulders. She feels utterly vulnerable, open and exposed. He guides his pulsing cock between her legs, pressing it against her opening. He moves the blunt tip up and down her slit to lubricate himself before he invades her body. Driven by mighty thrusts of his pelvis, he buries himself to the hilt. She gasps for breath, pinned down by his weight, impaled on his immense shaft. She has never felt so helpless. Desperately, she clings to him. She craves contact with every inch of his skin and hungers to be filled by him.
He slams into her, over and over, until her will seeps away and she surrenders completely. I am yours, she whispers. Do with me what you will.
Shelley surrendered to the strong contractions racking her body. Feeling gloriously relaxed and content, she gradually floated back to reality. What a relief! As a stopgap measure, her massager had done the job.
* * * * *
By Wednesday, Shelley’s pride had reduced itself to rubble. She decided to call Dickie at home. She didn’t want to speak with him while he was at work for fear someone might hear his side of the conversation. She waited until late afternoon to m
ake the call. Working in property management, he often attended meetings that ran late, but maybe she would be lucky and catch him home early.
No answer. He wasn’t home.
She didn’t want to leave a message on his home machine. Not the way she was feeling. It was bound to come out wrong.
She dialed his number every fifteen minutes. Finally, at 5:45, he picked up.
“Hi, handsome,” she cooed. “How’s everything?”
“Fine, Shelley. Just fine. Guess what? My broker said reviews are coming up, and I believe I’m in line for a raise and an office of my own.”
“That’s great, Dickie.”
“I can’t wait to get out of this cubicle. If I get the raise I’m due, I just may be able to afford that diamond ring we’ve been looking at to go with the gold band.”
“That would be wonderful! Say, Dickie, can you come over tonight?”
“Well… I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do. And morning comes early, you know.”
Shelley sighed. “I know how busy you are, but I’d really like to see you tonight. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, pumpkin. What say we plan something for Friday night? I’ll make a point of keeping my calendar open.”
“That’s the night of my wedding shower!”
“Oh, right. And I can’t make it Saturday, either. Did I tell you Skeeter is throwing a bachelor party for me?”
“Why, no, you haven’t mentioned it,” she purred, wondering how much he would confide in her. “What sort of entertainment is he planning?”
He hesitated a moment too long. “I have no idea. As far as I know, it’s just the guys and a keg of beer. Probably watch a football game on TV or something.”
“On Saturday night? They have games on Sunday afternoons sometimes, and there’s Monday night football. Are you sure there’s a game on TV next Saturday?”
“I don’t know, Shelley.” Dickie sounded impatient. “I’m leaving it all up to Skeeter.”
Yeah, sure. Mr. Innocent doesn’t know a thing, eh? Rotten liar!
“About tonight…” Shelley tried to put his dastardly secret out of her mind. “I’d really, really like you to come over right now. Just for a while. I won’t keep you up late.”
“Wish I could, sweets. But I’m beat. Tell you what. I’ll try to knock off early tomorrow night, okay? I’ll bring some burgers and a video. What movie would you like to watch?”
“I don’t know,” she said, feeling the dull ache of rejection. She needed him here now. “You pick one out.”
“Okay. I’ll bring a comedy. You like those, I know.”
“Fine.”
A few minutes later, Shelley hung up, frustrated and more dissatisfied than she could ever remember. The vibrator wasn’t going to cut it tonight, she thought. She craved something different, something that involved another human being.
With a sense of despair, she located the adult video that Thor Ryersson had lent her and popped it into the VCR. She had intended to turn down the offer of the adult flick, but Rita had almost snatched it out of Thor’s hands. Shelley hadn’t had a chance to beg off. Oh, well—now she had it in the privacy of her own home, why not check it out?
After a half-hour of viewing huge, glistening cocks, slick pussies and breasts with erect nipples, she felt herself slipping over the edge of coherence and into forbidden territory. Lust was gaining a toehold on her sanity, and she didn’t care.
How was she ever going to last until Dickie arrived the next evening? What would he think if she ripped his clothes off and demanded that he satisfy her? If he were anything like the jocks in the adult video, he’d be more than willing. In fact, he’d likely get a hard-on just thinking about fucking her.
She chuckled at the ease with which she could now utter four-letter words. Fuck. Cunt. Cock. Nothing to it.
By the time the last scene of heavy breathing and wild pumping action faded on the TV screen, Shelley’s mind whirled with tantalizing images. Magnificent cocks impaled fair maidens. Curvaceous women simultaneously sucked one another’s pussies. Men pushed their cocks into women’s mouths.
“Oh. My. God.” Shelley peeled off her sweater just to get some cool air on her superheated skin. The crotch of her panties was soaked with her own juices. Wow! Had watching that video ever been a mistake! What innocence she’d had was gone completely. Suddenly, anything in the way of sex seemed damn near acceptable.
She unzipped her jeans and shoved her hand down the front to fondle her clit. It was swollen and screaming for attention. She couldn’t recall when she’d ever felt so frustrated! How long was she going to have to rely on herself for satisfaction? Ferocious need drove her to finish what she’d started. Grimly, she plunged her fingers into her hot, wet core. Within a few strokes, she had an orgasm that registered nine on the Richter scale. Still she felt discontent and ungratified. It just wasn’t enough.
Dickie, damn you! Where’s a man when I need one?
* * * * *
Watching the clock all day did nothing to alleviate Shelley’s impatience. When she got off work, she raced home to shower and get ready for Dickie.
She needed to fix herself up to look foxy! If only she’d had the foresight to borrow a dress from Rita! She settled for a silky tank top—no bra—and a pair of black spandex leggings. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she realized that every detail of her body was on parade.
This outfit should deliver the message.
A drink! She’d have a cocktail ready for him. Get him relaxed, then hit him up for some prenuptial hanky-panky.
She watched for his car out the window, growing increasingly fretful as time dragged by. Where was he?
An hour late, he trudged up the walk carrying a white bag from a nearby fast-food drive-thru and two videos. His slouching walk and lanky frame with narrow, rounded shoulders made him look a bit like a cartoon, but he was sweet. He had the most cheerful disposition of anyone she knew. And funny—he made her laugh like nobody else could. Usually clean-shaven, he was otherwise careless of his appearance. She figured he must have a closet full of faded jeans and oversized blue-gray T-shirts, all identical. His best features were his prominent brown eyes, as gentle and imploring as a spaniel’s.
She threw open the door. “Dickie!”
He hesitated on the top step as his gaze glided down her body, took in the spandex leggings. “Been exercising?”
“Um, a little.” She waved him inside. “Did you have a nice day? Sit down and get comfy here. I’ll get you a drink.”
He tossed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. Obviously, he’d gone months without a haircut. “Gosh, Shelley. You’re a whirlwind this evening!”
“Don’t mind me. Just put it down to pre-wedding jitters.” She laughed nervously and pushed him down on the sofa. She sat beside him, facing the coffee table with the array she had set up. Using little tongs, she lifted ice cubes from the insulated bucket to a big glass, then poured bourbon over them.
“I’ve heard about pre-wedding jitters,” he admitted. “In fact, I’ve been feeling a bit nervous myself.”
“Really?” She handed the glass to him, along with a cocktail napkin to catch the drips of condensation already trickling down the sides. “Nervous, how?”
“Oh… I can’t say exactly.”
“Not getting cold feet, are you?” She leaned closer to him. His aftershave smelled more like flowers than musk, but that didn’t matter. She’d take him any way she could get him.
“Course not. If I didn’t want to get married, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
She plucked her soft drink off the coffee table and took a sip—no alcohol for her. Self-control might be in question already, judging by the excitement in the pit of her stomach when she thought about seducing her man for the first time.
“So.” She set her drink down. “You mentioned on the phone about Skeeter throwing a party for you. A bachelor party.”
“Yep.”
“Will I be able to see you Saturd
ay night after the party?” She only felt a little guilty about testing Dickie. Would he confide in her about the prostitute Skeeter was planning to bring to the party and keep all night?
“Uh, I’m not too sure about that.” His gaze shifted away. “I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
Shelley continued smiling, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He sure as hell looked like he was hiding something, though. Surely, he wasn’t considering taking Skeeter up on his offer of a hooker. Was he?
“I could wait for you at your apartment,” she suggested. “Then when you get back, we could have a drink or something.” Or something!
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Skeeter said there’d be lots of beer drinking. In fact, if I get even a little tipsy, I’m thinking of spending the night there. I know you wouldn’t want me to drink and drive.”
Shelley realized that being subtle was getting her nowhere. She’d have to come right out with a direct question. “Dickie, Rita told me that Skeeter was going to invite a stripper to perform for your party. Is that right?”
He stared at her wide-eyed. “No! I…I don’t think so!”
Right then, she knew he was guilty. No one looked that innocent unless they were covering up the truth.
“You’re sure?” she asked. “Because Rita overheard Skeeter talking about it. She said something about the guys pitching in to pay for a prostitute, too. Or maybe the stripper is doubling as a prostitute?”
“No! Hell, no!” He shook his head to emphasize his denial, dropping his gaze toward the floor.
“What if he did set you up with a hooker? Would you sleep with her?”
“Shelley, you know better than that!” He studied his tennis shoe, as though he’d never really looked at it before.
Not for a moment did she believe his lies. She’d caught him in fibs before about little things, so she recognized deceitfulness when she spotted it.
She struggled to quash her growing distrust and suspicion. What sort of man would lie to someone he cared about? Would he lie about other things during their marriage? Could she trust him at all about anything? Only time would tell, she guessed, trying with limited success to suppress her misgivings.
