"Vodka collins," Bob put in.
Again she hesitated. Bailey was waiting. "No," she said, shifting slightly in her seat. "I'll have a… dry martini."
"Make that two." Sylvia Bailey, her smiling face beaming, walked briskly into the room. She took brief note of the slight change in Cathy's mode of apparel; she looked Bob over, obviously pleased; and when she turned back, Cathy couldn't help but notice, Sylvia was watching very closely to see where his attention would go. It went, after a brief exchange of thoughtful glances on their part, to Cathy.
Self-conscious, secretly thrilled, Cathy waited as the older man brought her drink. She accepted it and drank eagerly of the almost straight glass of gin. Almost the moment the burning aftertaste had left her lips she felt the first faint lightening in her head. Now, she knew, she was really playing with fire. She could drink vodka and control herself fairly well. But gin was something else.
CHAPTER FIVE
A thin haze of smoke hung over the room. On the table were the remains of a Virginia ham, sweet potatoes, strawberry short cake with whipped cream, empty wine bottles, spilled wine glasses that left violet stains on the white table cloth. Outside the rain fell in a patter that was soft, almost musical. Cathy sat on one end of the couch. She held a tall cocktail glass between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, held it up before her face and stared into it, turning it slowly, as though hypnotized by it.
Bob's body was in the bent "sitting" position, but he was horizontal beside her, his head in her lap. Several minutes earlier he had begun to snore. Across the room, Sylvia Bailey reclined in a leather-covered easy chair, her hands clasped behind her neck to arch her full voluptuous breasts, her skirt hiked up her thighs almost to her panties. At the window, Bailey was pacing slowly back and forth, drink in hand.
Then abruptly he stopped and turned and looked at Cathy. "I'll help you get your boy there to bed."
"Yes. Thank you," Cathy said. She slipped from her place on the couch, letting Bob's head fall onto the cushion where she'd sat. She turned toward Sylvia. "It was a fine meal. I had… a nice time. Good night, Sylvia."
Sylvia Bailey smiled. "Night, Cathy."
Bailey reached the couch, stopped and hoisted Bob without apparent effort onto his shoulder. Bearing him like a sack of grain, he went out the door and down the hall. Cathy looked back once more at Sylvia, then followed him Out, walking behind him down the hall to the guest bedroom where she and Bob were to sleep. She caught up to him and opened the door to let him in. He bent and dropped Bob on the bed, straightened up and stood looking down at him. Bob stirred, moaned, curled into the fetal position and was silent.
Bailey turned slowly to Cathy, standing just inside the door with her back to the wall. Her long blond hair, now dry, hung freely over her shoulders. Sometime during the night another of the buttons at the front of her dress had come loose; now it was parted almost to her nipples. She was breathing hoarsely, heavily. Her head was spinning from the alcohol she'd drunk. The fluttering in her stomach, as his eyes moved slowly down her body, was like a beating of wings. Then he walked slowly toward her.
"No." She formed the word with her lips and shook her head. She started to move back into the open doorway, but his arm moved up to the facing to block her escape. Then his strong body was hard against hers, pinning her against the wall. His lips crushed again over hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her open mouth, his other hand dropping down to cup full over one of her ripe young breasts on the outside of her dress. He pressed his body hard against her, driving her against the wall, the bulging erection of his cock tenting up hard in his trousers to press right against the soft mound of her pussy protected by nothing but the thin material of her dress.
Squirming helplessly, Cathy could not have resisted if she wanted to. He was too strong for her, and even as she felt his hand tugging the material of her dress aside so that suddenly her naked breast popped free, there was nothing she could do to escape. Then she felt his hand press back over her nakedly exposed nipple, his finger and thumb squeezing the little bud so hard it was all she could do to resist crying out aloud from the sheer sensation, and a moment later she felt his other hand moving down her body, seizing the hem of her dress to start to tug it slowly upward off her long slender thighs and the tightly clenched half moons of her ass.
"Oh God, no, please!" Cathy moaned into her powerful aggressor's mouth, her legs almost going weak from her building unwanted desire as her skirt inched higher and higher off her buttocks and suddenly she felt Bailey's thigh pressing right against the mound of her softly haired pubis and the nakedly tingling little bud of her completely unprotected clitoris. Then he shoved his hand up beneath the skirt, his fingers coming suddenly in contact with the cleft cheeks of her ass, darting straight up between her thighs from behind to stroke right along the already lustfully moistened slit of her cunt.
Cathy saw the surprise in Bailey's eyes as he drew back to look down into her own frightened and lasciviously excited face. She thought she could have almost gone out of her mind from the contact of his hands on her sensitive flesh. He was holding her helplessly in his strong arms, now almost smirking into her eyes, his finger lying right along her hair-lined little cunt slit. It had been waiting there for him, completely naked and unprotected beneath her skirt. And she felt like crying from shame at the realization that for all he knew she might have had it that way on purpose.
Then a half-stifled whimper rose in the pinioned blonde's throat as she felt Bailey push his hand even farther up between her thighs from the rear, carefully parting her flanged pussy lips so that the long middle finger thrust suddenly right up into the entrance of the quivering little vaginal hole. She shook her head desperately, whipping her hair wildly over her shoulders, but short of crying for help and waking up her husband or alerting Bailey's wife there was nothing she could do to resist. And every minute her very will to do so was growing weaker and weaker. He was still grinning down into her face; his hand was still wedged tight between her thighs; and with a relentless pressure he was working that penetrating finger deeper up into her warmly yielding flesh.
"Oh God," Cathy gasped finally aloud as she felt the ravaging finger penetrate to the last knuckle.
Bailey moistened his lips, watching the unwillingly aroused young blond with almost sadistic relish, slowly withdrew the finger and rammed it swiftly in again, repeating this gesture until he was finger-fucking straight in and out the now freely lubricated cuntal slit. Before him Cathy swayed and trembled, her mind reeling by the very salaciousness and depravity of it all. She could feel her resolve weakening, her body responding as though of its own satanical accord, her flesh crying out for more and more of the relentless masculine aggression some perverse secret part of her could not help but want. Then, just as she experienced far up in the most secret depths of her loins that first strange tremoring that seemed to promise that magic she had never known, she heard a low moan across the room and her sudden shame and fear seemed to snap her completely back from the heights of joy to which she seemed almost on the verge of ascending.
Bailey must have heard the moan too, for he half-turned to look over his shoulder. And as a kind of instinctive reaction, she seized the inherent opportunity of the diversion, grabbing his wrist suddenly and forcing his hand down from between her thighs, moving to the right along the wall to slip free of him. He whirled back, and in spite of the stab of near pain she felt far into the depths of her loins, she shied away as he reached out to grab her. Then, as he stalked toward her she retreated to the only relatively safe place she could think of in the room. She backed to the bed, dropped down at the head of it and took her sleeping husband's head back in her lap, bending over to hug it lovingly to her breasts. For her efforts she got the slightest stirring of his legs. But that was enough. Bailey stopped.