"No!" his young wife protested, squirming away from his still teasing fingers on her naked breast. "No, you know that's not love, just raw sex! It… It's just not right to do!"
She could feel the moisture begin again between her tightly pressed thighs and she involuntarily ground her buttocks harder against the seat to quiet the unwanted, lewd stirrings she felt.
"But look at the girl's face," Tim continued wetly into her ear. "She's letting the old professor screw her, now that she's hot enough to go up in smoke. She's enjoying it! She's enjoying everything the man's been doing to her. Christ, honey, she's not holding herself back."
"Don't talk like that!" she hissed angrily as the word screw excited her strangely against her will. "I'm not frigid. You don't have to resort to those horrible things to make a self-respecting woman like me happy."
But even as she argued with her husband, her eyes locked on the view of the once innocent young girl on the bed with her thighs spread wantonly apart and the older teacher hunched down between them, his enormous penis sunk all the way up between her uplifted legs. The camera angle showed clearly his thick glistening hardness disappearing into the soft, hair-lined folds of her widely stretched vagina. His cock was in almost to its hilt, only a tiny inch of it remaining in sight, wet and throbbing. The professor's buttocks were flexing and hollowing rapidly as he drove himself hard into the nakedly writhing young schoolgirl beneath him. Her slim white legs were wrapped tightly around his muscular body, her trim ankles locked in a lewd death-grip over his perspiring back. His fleshy prick was spearing into her virginal pussy like a steel rod, bringing groans of indescribable joy bubbling from her moist full lips. The girl's face was contorted in the most depraved picture of pure raw lust Melanie had ever seen.
God, how she must feel, the aroused young wife heard herself think. And I've never felt that way, I know it!
Melanie had never seen two people making love before and it looked so strange to her. She wondered if this was the way she and Tim looked, and the thought caused her to squirm slightly and press her thighs together to hold down the erotic fire mounting against her will deep in her loins.
Tim had dropped his hand to massage still more of her aching left breast into further hardness beneath the covering of her dress. She shuddered from his maddening touch, feeling her breath coming in short, labored gasps now. His lips were whispering moist entreaties into her ear, using words she had told him repeatedly were wrong and obscene, but which were now strangely exciting to her. In rising passion, Melanie pressed her thighs together as tight as she could to extinguish the sinful lusts growing mercilessly up between her legs. She wasn't a streetwalker, a common slut without pride or decency in what she did, and Tim had no right treating her like she was one – especially on this last night that they'd be together! She knew she had to leave the Bijou this very instant or she would find herself in a situation with an unsober husband she could not control! How embarrassing, how utterly humiliating that would be, to have something happen in front of her new employer!
"Tim!" she whispered on the verge of hysteria, pulling his hand from inside her dress. "We must go! We must go right now!"
"For Christ's sake," he snarled bitterly, "What's the matter now?"
"I can't take any more of this… this awful movie!"
"You've got to be kidding!"
"I don't care I don't care, please take me home. Please don't make a scene, Tim, not on our last night together," she quavered, tears suddenly filling her eyes.
"And if I don't go?" he sneered drunkenly, anger smoldering in his glaring eyes.
"I'll… I'll go home by myself!"
"Gawd Almighty," Tim swore thickly, but he jerked his wife angrily to her feet, reaching behind him to grab his own coat. "Then let's get the hell out of here and home, so I can have my little going away present." He snickered obscenely as he thought about it. "Yeah… that'll be better than watching a movie."
"Ohhhh, Tim!"
He shoved her through to the aisle, his rage still growing inside him. "Don't 'Oh Tim' me, you wet blanket. I'm telling you now, Melanie, that you'd better be good to me tonight. Damned good, you hear?"
Melanie gave him a cold stare in answer and walked stiffly up to the lobby, Tim trailing behind her. Out in the lobby, the sudden glare of bright lights made her pause for a moment, and then Tim caught her roughly by the arm. "C'mon," he growled. "I'm hotter than a firecracker."
"Stop being so crude, Tim," she snapped waspishly at him. "I ought to say goodnight to the Anderssons. It's only polite."
"Well, make it snappy, unless you want to be raped here in the lobby."
Melanie was shocked and dismayed by the way her husband was acting, afraid that it was because of the liquor and the stimulation of the movie. The very way Tim was behaving was reason enough for the young wife to believe such films are wrong and should be censored, if not banned entirely. Rigidly, she crossed towards the refreshment stand which was against the back wall between the two sets of aisle doors, self-pity and anger boiling through her. Oh God, no telling what Tim would be like in bed considering the mood he was in now! If only…
"Hello, Mrs. Cartwright," a warm, throaty voice said, "Are you leaving?" It was Amos Andersson who was speaking to her.
She blushed, stammering in reply: "Why… why yes, we are. Tim has to get up early in the morning to catch his plane, and…"
Andersson chuckled appreciatively. "I understand. You two want to be alone, with more important things to do than just seeing my old movie."
"Oh no, Mr. Andersson, we enjoyed it very much!"
"I'm glad you did," Andersson smiled, stroking one end of his small, clipped mustache. "But please, call me Amos. After all, we're working together now… Melanie."
"All… All right, Mr. – I mean, Amos." She dimpled prettily at the big man who was her new boss. She guessed him to be about six-two, and around two hundred pounds. His thick brown hair, lovingly rippled into waves, was long over his ears and at the base of his neck. He had a wide, handsome face, with a short nose above a heavy-lipped mouth, a firm chin cut by a deep cleft and thick eyebrows over small, pale brown eyes. To Melanie, the slightly older man was awesomely masculine, so… well, she hadn't been able to put her finger on it, other than he had seemed to her from the first moment they'd met to be overwhelmingly magnetic. In that respect, he reminded her of Tim in a more mature way, of her husband's forceful and pervasive huskiness, and an odd sort of tingling of animal attraction had hit her in the pit of the stomach when she'd been interviewed for the job ten days ago. Even now, standing as they were in the lobby of his theater in a very respectable manner, she found herself studying him with a detached interest, not as a potential sex mate – heaven forbid the idea – but just as a very attractive and stimulating male.
Amos' wife, Syble Andersson, came from behind the candy stand where she'd been counting change and joined Melanie and her husband. She had a throaty, purring voice that the young wife had always associated with torch singers, like Peggy Lee, and she thought the woman to be very attractive in that same sensual way.
"So good of you to come on my last night," Syble cooed in a light-hearted manner. "I can't say I'll miss the job, not after all the years I've spent standing behind there!"
"Well, I'm hoping I can do half the job you've done, Mrs. Andersson," Melanie answered diplomatically. "I'll certainly try."
"And you will, I'm sure you will," Syble laughed encouragingly. She had a rather narrow face, a straight nose with a little flare at the nostrils, a generous red mouth, long black lashes, and neatly plucked eyebrows. Her hair was sleek and black and glossy, gathering fully around her shoulders and down over her ripely rounded breasts. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a white starched collar peeking over the severe neckline. But she could have been wearing a steel diving suit, and it still wouldn't have held back the innate sexuality that exuded like perfume from this provocative woman. Syble was, Melanie thought, the perfect mate for such a virile man as Amos Andersson.