The Young Wife

by The Young Wife [Nexus] (retail) (epub)

  She looked delicious, and my only thought was whether I dared to eat her. She shuffled herself wordlessly backwards, with sinuous movements of her back and muscular hips. I watched her squirming thighs, and the rippling muscles in her fiat stomach, with a rising fever of desire, and then she rolled her legs up until her knees hung over her head, and her ankles swayed out to the sides of her hips. Her wet cunt bulged up to me, and parted like a weird pink sea-creature. The lips seemed to gasp, like something alive, as they opened. I could see the tight pucker of her rosy arsehole clearly, and the coral opening to her sex, shimmering with fluid. I bent myself down to her and, in one bold movement, swept my untried tongue into the hot slit that beckoned me. My mind recoiled from the overflow of sensation, and I gasped a breath as the first strong scent of her musk hit my nostrils, while the salty taste of her cunt set my tongue on fire. An odd, bitter fluid flooded on my tongue as I dipped it into her hole. Clean and tangy, it was so strange that I drew back to spread her legs wide and see the source of it.

  Her cunt and arsehole were six inches from my face, so I studied them for long moments, even as I licked the flexing insides of her copper thighs. Then that odd, compelling fragrance drew me back, and I dipped my clever tongue back into her, to lick and suck the silky flesh that bulged to me. I heard her dull groaning as she rocked her pelvis to my tongue. I felt the straining of her inner thighs as she struggled to keep her legs apart. I felt her shudder when I pushed three eager fingers into her warm cunt, and heard the deep grunt of pleasure as she slipped into the bliss of animal satisfaction that only comes on the other side of surrender. I worked my fingers into her, stretching her, even as her orgasm subsided, and I felt the convulsive tightening along her perineum in the grip of her sex on my fingers. The juices spilled over her arsehole, and I noticed that she was totally hairless all along the rubbery seam of her arse. It gleamed like plastic in the glow of the overhead lamp. The smoothness of her fascinated me and I realised, with a start of mental satisfaction, that she had no hair on the lower lips of her cunt either. It made the swollen pursing of them round my fingers look more dirty, and even more delicious. My fingers felt strange when I pulled them from her, like they had been in bathwater too long.

  It was some time before she recovered, and I busied myself with studying her lovely, lazy, spent and supine form. She lay, sprawled across the heavy creamy bedcover, in the tangled, careless way of pretty girls in men’s magazines. I wanted to photograph her, just like that.

  ‘That was fucking lovely,’ she said, interrupting my reverie, and sat up to arrange her clothing more comfortably. She smiled a sweet, and misty-eyed smile at me, before asking, ‘Mind if I use your phone, Jess?’

  I mused on the change of name when I nodded my amused consent, and watched her tap out a number on the periphery of my vision, while my eyes drifted over the creamy swell of her long hip and thigh. Her dress was still rucked up at her hips, and she looked delightful. So sweet and naughty.

  ‘Angela, it’s me,’ I dimly heard her say. ‘Is it on for tonight still? . . . Good . . . Can I bring a friend?’ She continued chatting in a vacant way for a while, then hung up after saying, ‘Ciao.’

  She turned her megawatt smile at me and said, ‘Fancy going out tonight?’

  ‘Going where?’ I asked, in bemusement.

  ‘To a club I know. A very special club,’ she answered in a mock snooty accent. ‘It’s ladies’ night tonight, but then it’s ladies’ night every night. Come on, let’s go and tell Vivian not to wait up for us.’

  And then she threw her head back and laughed. She could be, as I later discovered, a little wild when she was aroused.

  ‘I’m going to be making some arrangements for Leo’s care,’ was what I told Vivian, when we met her in the hall. ‘Several professionals will be coming to stay here until he recovers, so I will require all the rooms. You and Antonia are welcome to use the guesthouse for the duration, if you like?’

  She didn’t know quite how to respond, so I merely nodded at her, and continued with, ‘I will not be using my old room, so Miss Simpson will be staying there. Too many dreadful memories of that awful night, you know? Anyway, I would like to introduce Leo to Miss Simpson, so I will be obliged if you would show us through to him, now!’

  She found herself outmanoeuvred and without moral support, so she turned, without a word, and led us to the drawing room, where they had set up a bed for the invalid. I suppose it was sensible, as it saved having to get him upstairs. He sat, looking very sorry for himself, by the window, and while I was none too pleased to see him myself, I was quite unprepared for the effect he had on Anne. She stiffened perceptibly, and I watched, as a curious mix of emotions swept across her features. Shock, followed by anger, followed by some form of resolution. She stepped forward with a grim sort of smile on her face, and turned him round to face her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I am Anne Simpson, Leo, and I will be helping to look after you now.’

  I glanced quizzically at her when I heard the tone in her voice, and she turned her head to give me a barely perceptible shake of negation before she turned her attention back to Leo.

  ‘As soon as I am moved in, I am going to begin attending to your health, Leo. Would you like that?’ she said, in a deceptively mild and chirpy voice.

  If Leo recognised her, he gave no sign, even to a widening of his eyes, which was about all he was capable of. It puzzled me, and I couldn’t wait to get Anne outside so that I could ask her.

  I turned back to Vivian, and said, ‘We are going to be getting some of the things Miss Simpson will need, and I shall be engaging more qualified help, so that Leo can have round-the-clock care. Which means I don’t know what time I shall be returning. I expect you and Antonia will be wanting to get yourselves settled in the guesthouse as soon as possible, so I shall let you know what the final arrangements are as soon as I can confirm them.’

  Vivian sniffed, and shook her curly black locks in such a superior way that I had to quell the itch to slap her silly face. I strode past her instead, and forced myself to lean over affectionately to Leo, and kiss his dry unresponsive cheek. It was rough with stubble, and I took the opportunity to make a point.

  ‘You need a shave, darling,’ I crooned, ‘but don’t worry; I shall make sure you have all the help you need from now on.’

  I turned my head quickly to glance at Vivian, and caught her throwing me a look of pure hatred. I resolved to punish her at the earliest opportunity, in whatever way I could. For the moment, though, I smiled sweetly, and called to Anne, ‘Miss Simpson, the day is slipping away from us. We must get moving if we are to keep that appointment. See you later, Vivian, and don’t wait up. I may be quite late.’

  She positively trembled with impotent fury, and I struggled to suppress a smile of pure malice as I swept past her, out of the door to the car. Neither Anne nor I spoke until we were well away from the house, and when I finally asked her what it was that was bothering her, she seemed to struggle with herself before replying, ‘It’s him.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, ‘Who is him?’

  ‘Leo,’ she hissed furiously. ‘Leo is the man I saw. With Miss Rackham, you know?’

  I was shocked into silence, and I had to pull the car over for a moment, while we got to the bottom of this latest twist.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, and she nodded, tight-lipped and intense.

  I could think of nothing to say, and we drove back to her house in silence. She seemed to have come to some form of resolution by the time we arrived, however, for her mood had taken a swing back to the sunny side, and she seemed to be almost happy, once we were inside her front door.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now, Jess, if you don’t mind. It’s too much to take in,’ she said, and I murmured a soft agreement. I felt the pressure of her silence building on me, forcing me to change the subject, so I asked her the first thing that sprang to mind.

  ‘What’s this place like?’ I said. Then, seeing h
er look of confusion, continued, ‘You know, the one you said we are going to?’

  She grinned, and came towards me, then put her hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s a fetish club, for lesbians and their friends. You’ll love it!’ she said, and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

  ‘It’s not some awful place full of women being right on and banging on about the sisterhood, is it?’ I asked in mock horror.

  She laughed again, and said, in between giggles, ‘No, it’s pure entertainment. No politics at all. Though I suppose that the phrase that springs to mind is “lipstick lesbians”, as most of the women there are young, and almost all are fairly attractive. It’s hard to describe to anyone who is used to normal clubs. It’s more like an eighteenth-century men’s entertainment than anything else. Although it has elements of fancy dress, and theatre as well.’

  She struggled to find the right description, then gave up, with a shrug of her wide brown shoulders. ‘You have to see it for yourself,’ she said.

  ‘What is it called?’ I asked, as she turned away from me and headed upstairs.

  ‘Plastika,’ came the shouted reply, bouncing hollowly off the stairs.

  I was going to make a cup of tea, and ask her more when she came back down, as I was nervous about following her around the place, in case she found it annoying. Strange that I could be so intimate in some things, and so separate in others, isn’t it? Then she called me upstairs, and I walked up, listening to the sound of running water. It took me a moment to realise that she was running a bath, and the scent of the oils she was using, mixed with the steam of the hot, running water from the tap, hit me when I reached the upstairs landing. I pushed open the bathroom door to see her bent, stark naked, over the big cast-iron bath. Her bathroom had no blind, or curtains, so the afternoon sunlight streamed in on to the bright, white tiles that ran around the bathroom walls. The rich brown of her back and bottom made a startling contrast to the background’s lightness, and she seemed to stand out, like a piece of brown marble sculpture, in the centre of the room. I noticed the pearly perfection of her toenails, and the clean strength of her sinewy ankles. The muscles at the back of her calves bunched like little rocks of hard sand, and the cleft between her buttocks was as deep and well-defined as the dimple in a plum. I wanted to put my hand in, to see how deep it was. How far in I could go.

  She looked over her shoulder, and I saw the bulge of one sweet breast under the ripple of her ribcage. The nipple was hard, and stood out like a raisin.

  ‘Do you mind sharing a bath?’ she asked, as I studied the little knobs of her spine. ‘It’s just that my boiler takes ages to heat up again, and we don’t have much time to get ready.’

  ‘No,’ I said, as I hovered uncertainly in the doorway. ‘I don’t mind at all, if you don’t.’

  I wanted her to stay bent over like that, but she turned around to stand facing me, and my eyes darted down to her nest. I was surprised again by how sparse the hair around her cunt was, and decided to mention it, saying, ‘Do you shave it into that shape, or is it natural?

  She knew exactly what I meant, and replied, with a shy smile, ‘No, I wax the edges. I like it small and neat. Do you like it?’

  I smiled, and nodded, then asked, ‘What about your bottom? That has no hair at all. Surely you don’t wax that as well?’

  She giggled, and nodded, saying, ‘As a matter of fact, I do. Why? Do you think it’s strange?’

  ‘Doesn’t it sting?’ I enquired, in a fascinated tone, to avoid telling her how I had felt when I first noticed it was bare.

  She explained in a demure and matter-of-fact way: ‘Yes, a little, but I quite like it. I don’t mind a little pain, if the effect is worth it. I like having no hair there. It seems cleaner, or something. Anyway, it makes me feel kinky, knowing that it is totally exposed when I bend over. Even the lips, you know?’

  I laughed uncomfortably, though I knew what she meant, and there was a heavy snake of excitement curling in my belly when I asked her, ‘Do you think I should do it too, Anne?’

  ‘I’ll do it for you,’ she offered with a cheeky smile. Her hand went to her hip, the other to her hair, then she turned her back on me and bent to test the water again. I watched the flaring of her smooth hips, and the flash of her lips underneath the tight cheeks. She flicked the hot water off her fingers, and turned the taps off. Then she sat down beside the bath.

  ‘Get undressed, Jessie. The water will get cold if you just stand there,’ she said, and rested her chin on one hand to watch what I would do. My dress, which was feeling a little bit grubby by then, hit the floor, followed closely by an equally jaded pair of cotton pants. I kicked them away in embarrassment, knowing that Anne would understand exactly how I was feeling. Bra and shoes, then my hairclips on to a shelf, until I was as naked as the lovely Miss Simpson. I stepped over her into the steamy, fragrant water, and she peeped up between my legs as they parted.

  ‘I am going to have to do something about the front too, Jessica,’ she said. ‘It’s very untidy, isn’t it?’

  I didn’t answer, being more intent on getting rid of the feeling of uncleanness that had suddenly come over me.

  ‘Move down, Jess. I want to get behind you,’ she said, and I obliged her by sliding my bottom along the silky surface of the bathtub, until my knees had drawn up, and my toes were grazed by the plug. The water splished and splashed as she settled in behind me, and I felt the smooth insides of her thighs stroke like a warm breeze against my back. The feeling of her skin against mine, under water, was amazing. So smooth that it felt as if currents of hot water were touching me, not another woman’s skin. She began to wet, and wash, my hair, making my scalp tingle with her fingers. My eyes closed, and I let her rub my temples, then the tense cords of my neck, then the small muscles at the top of my spine. My tits were bobbing at the waterline, and they swayed with the slightest movement of our lithe bodies. Her hands came round and up to enfold the wet globes, to squeeze my thorny nipples on their beds of plump flesh. She soaped my back and armpits, my neck and bobbing breasts; then she rinsed me with her cupped hands. The steam had beaded on my forehead, and it ran down my face, collected into tiny streams. It tickled my neck and chest, but I did not wipe it away.

  ‘Kneel up, so I can wash your bottom,’ she said, and I did, without opening my eyes. I felt the water level drop to mid-thigh as I raised myself, on slippery knees, to the cold air. My breasts swung their straining tips, hardening against the cold, and I groped for the taps to steady my sliding knees. The water ran down my spine and into my crack, tickling as it went, until it lost itself in the damp grove around my slit. I felt slim fingers slip between my clenched thighs, and I gasped at the pressure of her forearm on the plump lips of my cunt. I tilted my bottom up, so that it would open wide, and let my knees slide wider still. She sponged me, underneath the creases of my cheeks, making them wobble, each in turn. She sponged them apart, then round their upper slopes, then back into the open cleft. She sponged my weeping slit, and fluffed the soapy button pursed between the upper meeting of my foamy pussy-lips. I groaned, and thrust my cold cheeks back at her, for the warmth of the sponge on my cold, goose pimpled buttocks was sending tingles up the deep ravine of my spine. Her finger rubbed the rippling edges of my bumhole, making me squeeze it tight against the stinging soap. I wanted her hand in me, her finger up me, my cheeks spread wide against the sponge. The stinging in my arse increased, and I felt the first rudeness of her finger’s entry beyond the rim. She soaped my cunt when I protested, and the feelings melded into one. The itchy stinging of her finger; the floating sweetness of the sponge. Her finger worked within me; how much I couldn’t tell, and my anus spasmed against every in and every out.

  ‘Oh, stop!’ I moaned, and jerked my hips back and forth, to speed the working of her finger in my arse.

  ‘Take it out!’ I squealed, and wriggled my hips to work it further in.

  ‘Please, it stings!’ I gasped, and reached back with taloned hands to spread my satin cheeks.


  I came, from just the movement of her finger and the rubbing in my soapy slit. The hair flapped in cold, wet strands against my face as I gasped and burbled my last protests against the cool chrome of the taps. My hips shivered like the hindquarters of a wet dog, and I felt my anus pouting to the cold, as the water dried on my shivering buttocks. Her hands smoothed the goose pimples away, while her warm tongue soothed the soreness in my arsehole to a dull itch of irritation. My cunt glowed, plump and full, and it seemed to weigh like a purse of coins when I straightened up. My upper body was dry, and the last of the water ran down my weakened, trembling thighs as I stepped out of the bath.

  Anne was lying full length in the water, with just her face exposed to the air, grimacing up slit-eyed at me. Her hand twisted between her tensioned legs, and her feet pressed hard against the end of the bath, as she worked herself to climax while I watched. I covered her lean brown body with a towel, when she had recovered enough to rise from the tepid bath, and she shivered in ecstatic satisfaction as I towelled her limbs to their normal velvet smoothness. We kissed, and rubbed each other’s hips for long, lazy minutes, then she made me kneel down by the pressure of her hands on my shoulders. She descended with me, and gently prodded me until I lay back on the bathroom rug. My head touched the wooden boards, and I rolled my face to one side, to stare at the white, shiny walls of her bright bathroom. Her hands gripped me at the tender backs of my knees, and drew my legs up, and back, so that they swung to either side of my head. I let them sway languidly apart, and the tendons in my groin took up the strain. I arched my feet, settling my hips comfortably, then supported the bulge of each heavy thigh on a propped forearm. My seam was exposed.