Melanie's legs bent obscenely as she rolled over and felt Amos' now limp penis slipping from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound. A long sigh of satiation rasped from the abused young wife's heaving chest, and she relaxed her legs in relief from the painfully stretched muscles of her previously kneeling position. Her body was beaten and filled as it had never been before, and her heart pounded in her chest as she saw the obscene picture the three of them nakedly made on the wide cushions, her arms and legs spread apart and two sprawling people she hardly knew nakedly covering her between them. The euphoria of the marijuana waned with the relaxation of her climax, and as her mind slowly returned to sanity, a new and even more powerful wave of shame and humiliation overcame her. God, she had no idea what had come to possess her, but she had been unable to control herself in any way, and not only had her body shamelessly betrayed her, but she had also betrayed her deep abiding love for her husband. And with her shame, she was gripped by a bitter desire to get away from this horrible house as fast as she could…
"Like it, my dear?" Amos said casually, lifting his head and grinning at her.
"Yes," she said miserably. How could she deny the obvious after the way she had been acting? "Yes, but now let me up. I want to go home."
"In a minute, in a minute," he replied in an off hand manner. "I'm still resting comfortably. You sucked me inside-out, I swear, and right after I fucked the hell out of you, too. I'm a little tired. Can you blame me?"
Melanie groaned from this further indignity. It was bad enough to have been so weak and corrupt to have allowed herself to surrender to the man whose cum lay hot and sticky deep in both her body's ends, but to have to listen to him talk about it afterwards was simply too much to take.
"Amos, please, let me up, please," she whimpered.
"What are you worried about? There's nobody here but us chickens."
"I know, I know," she pleaded, struggling with muscles that were as responsive as melted rubber. "But I've had enough."
"Let her up, Amos," his wife said sympathetically. She moved slightly so that her thigh was no longer resting on Melanie's leg. "She looks dead-beat and worn to the bone."
"Yeah, she does at that." Andersson smiled and sat up, removing his arms. "Maybe she has taken all she can for one night."
"Forever," Melanie whispered in a promise to herself. She pulled herself slowly to her feet, pausing as she nakedly stood to allow her aching limbs time to adjust to the change before she tried to walk.
She saw herself in the full-length mirror – the two-way mirror which she was still unaware had helped in her seduction. She studied with tear-blurring eyes the bruises and welts that marked her smooth white skin, and she reached up hesitantly and touched her throbbing breasts. She winced, for they were actually more raw and sore than they had been after Tim had so brutally raped her a month ago. She stood a moment longer, eyeing her piteous form in the mirror, and then stumbled back to the foot of the couch to pick up her clothes. They were still in the heap in which they had fallen when Amos Andersson had stripped her drug-helpless body naked a seeming eternity ago. A picture of that disheveled pile could tell without a word the whole story of her sordid downfall. The phrase "one picture is worth a thousand words" ran crazily through her mind. A few hours ago she was still a faithful and innocent wife who had never had anyone other than her husband, and now she stood with the lewd sperm and obscene saliva of two complete strangers – one female, one male – lying deep inside her body. No matter what Tim might be doing in New York, it didn't excuse her for what she had done here tonight, and she vowed that somehow she would always keep her shame a secret from him. Her husband must never know – never!
She struggled slowly into her thin pullover and tight mini-skirt, and then surveyed the living room one final time. It would live in her mind forever as the symbol of her impossible degradation. Then she turned without a word and started slowly for the front door.
"You want me to call a taxi, my dear?" Andersson asked.
She turned and studied the naked man. Handsome and muscular, a small satisfied smile on his lips, Amos sat in total ease on the couch with his legs casually crossed. His wife was curled beside him, a cat-like smirk on her face, one of her slim hands tenderly stroking her husband's obscenely exposed penis.
"No," Melanie said coldly, shivering as she turned away from the salacious pose the two of them made together. "No, I don't want you to do anything more for me, Mr. Andersson. You've done quite enough already."
She opened the large front door, hearing a soft chuckle, and she paused, her spine stiffening. "And what's more," she called back over her shoulder, "Please don't expect me at work tomorrow evening. Or any other evening."
"Oh really, my dear?"
"That's right. I quit!"
She didn't bother to close the front door, tears of shame and self-loathing falling down her blushing cheeks as she stumbled out into the night. Behind her, she could hear Syble's loud, mocking shriek coming from inside the Andersson home and chasing her into the dark street leading back to Greenridge…
CHAPTER FIVE
Melanie Cartwright sat in an old squeaky rocking chair, her hands folded neatly in the lap of her bathrobe as she stared sightlessly as the animated screen of her television set. Her eyes viewed but did not watch; her ears heard but did not listen; her mind was concentrating on more important matters than the raucous images dancing only a few feet away. Three days of bed rest and home care had alleviated most of the physical damages to her ravished, battered and bruised body, but Melanie doubted if anything could ever eliminate the horrible mental injury done to her soul.
Lethargically she rose from the rocker and walked to the kitchen, where a three-quarter full bottle of bourbon was on the counter. It had been new and unopened that morning, just as two empty ones resting in the garbage sack beneath the sink had been full the last two respective mornings, and more than likely this one on the counter would join them by tomorrow. It was her only sedative to calm her ragged nerves enough to function during the daylight hours and sleep through the dark night's constant dreams.
She poured herself a half a tumbler full, put the bottle back on the counter and returned to the rocking chair in the living room.
Though it was brightly shining outside with Saturday's mid-morning sun, she had closed the venetian blinds, unable to face the brilliance in her present frayed condition. She took a long drink from the straight bourbon and felt the liquid hit the bottom of her stomach. The warmth crept through her body, causing a slight tingling sensation to ripple across her skin. It felt good, so she raised the glass and took another long sip. Her heavy-ridded, shallow eyes turned back to the soap opera on the television screen, but once more her mind returned to the horror of that Wednesday night when she had innocently accepted the Andersson's invitation…
The drinking at the Dew Drop Inn… The smoking of the marijuana… The surrender of her spontaneously passionate body to the assault of her employer – her ex-employer now, thank God… The obscene mouth of his naked wife upon her wide-splayed thighs… Oh dear God! She shivered convulsively and took another large swallow of the amber liquor to soothe the misery in her heart. She knew she should be filled with repugnance and loathing for the vile things that had been done to her, and she was. But her nightmares were not of them so much as of her own despicable submission and performance, and that was scaring her more. She had not merely succumbed to the Andersson's perverted advances, but had given herself willingly, and what had happened was as much her own doing as either of theirs. The fact of the matter was that she had been completely and wantonly enslaved by the ugly but delightful sensations they had sent coursing through her helplessly trapped body. Had she been the strongly moral person she had always thought herself to be, the whole repulsive incident would never have happened.