They chatted freely, and Iris helped herself to more of the potent Scotch. Ordinarily, she couldn't touch more than a sip, but somehow today, it seemed just about as strong as soda. Peter also sipped it liberally as he expansively explained the psychology behind the glossy fashion magazines.
"So you see," he said airily, "the conspiracy is all against the consumer — you — the woman on the streets, to make her throw out her entire mini wardrobe, and start afresh with midis, maxis — the longuettes!"
"You mean it's all a trick to rake in more money for the garment industry, the magazines, the designers?" Iris could hardly believe that this was the case, he had always thought that those who designed, advertised and sold clothes always had the best interests of the woman at heart, always striving to create a more flattering, cheaper, better garment for her to wear!
"That's just what I mean!" he continued, "as soon as Miss and Mrs. Everywoman has been completely sold on the latest style of shoe, dress, pants, coat, and has gone out and bought, bought, bought — presto! the announcement is made — that style is out! And they all fall for it, like fishes for bait. Year after year. Of course," he added, "I'm not complaining! It's money in my pocket. The manufacturers will be even more delighted over this latest push for the longuette — they feel justified in charging more for a maxiskirt than they did for a miniskirt, and the woman feels less cheated paying a higher price because she figures she's getting more for her money. The factories were really getting worried, with skirts being no longer than a wide belt!" He laughed gleefully, and drained his glass.
Iris sat back in a daze. She was shocked by what she had heard — she felt like throwing out every item in her wardrobe and clothing herself with leaves and twigs! But the daze was also caused by the effect of the straight Scotch on her — she was completely unaccustomed to imbibing at this noon hour, and she had heedlessly downed several glasses. Now she was feeling it. Her forehead suddenly felt hot, and she brushed the back of her hand against her brow to cool the burning.
Her gesture was not lost on Peter, who sat back, watching her. He liked her and he ran his eye appreciatively over her petite, perfectly molded frame. He could see her breasts jutting out through the thin material of the dress and he guessed that they would be just as upswept without a bra. He saw the firm line of her hip through the shift, and the curve of her thigh was just visible. She had an air of sensuality about her which she hadn't managed to shake off when she had "tidied" herself up, and this slightly muddled air made her more appealing in his eyes. Living in the city, he felt himself to be slightly jaded of the perfect not-a-hair-out-of-place girls who abounded in his usual habitats. He felt in the mood for a taste of naturalness and the surroundings and his hostess greatly pleased him.
"Are you all right?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Yes, I think so…"
She started to rise, but suddenly the room swam around her and she felt herself falling. But she was caught and she didn't reach the ground and then she felt herself being lifted, and carried. Then she lost consciousness.
Opening her eyes, Iris looked around her in amazement. Blinking them, she tried to focus on the man who was sitting at the edge of the bed. Yes, she was in bed, she realized, and then gasped when she felt that she was completely naked! How had she gotten here? Who had undressed her? Her vision cleared and she recognized the tall man who was looking at her, an anxious frown on his face. She noticed his dark hair, attractively framed with gray at the temples, his interesting, slightly craggy face, his deep blue eyes. She boldly examined his appearance, seemingly unconscious of the fact that he also was alive and staring back at her. Timidly, she pulled the blanket up to her chin, and then with great effort, managed to sit up.
"W-what happened?" she whispered.
"I guess you fainted, and I brought you in here," he replied. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, I don't think so!" she said, sinking back against the pillow. "Wait," she said, "would you bring a damp towel — my forehead is burning!"
He disappeared into the bathroom immediately, and then Iris relaxed when she felt the iciness of the wet towel being pressed against her perspiring brow.
"Mmmmm," she said, "thank you so much. It feels wonderful!"
"You're welcome," he said, leaning his face close to hers. Suddenly, his mouth was on hers, and he was grinding down on her, in a tight passionate kiss. She was mildly surprised but she did not resist. His kiss felt so good. Her tiredness and achiness slipped away from her and she felt her lips responding to his throbbing kiss. She could feel his breath pouring out of his nostrils and warming her face, and she reveled in the feeling. She strained her lips up against his, clinging to them as best as she could terrified lest he stop kissing her.
His hand was resting on her naked shoulder, the wet towel forgotten. His other hand began to stroke her hair, her neck, her shoulders. She quivered under his light expert touch, and she reached up and encircled him in her arms, pulling him down on her.
She felt his tongue parting her lips, and she willingly yielded, and then his tongue slipped inside her teeth, and joyfully united with hers. The lingual organ felt warm and strong, and its very masculinity sent thrills through her.
"Oh, Iris…" he sighed…
He began to kiss her all over — hot suctioning kisses that pulled and clung to her skin, leaving little red blotches. He slowly drew back the blanket and exposed her naked body to his stare. He gazed appreciatively down at her golden form — greedily drinking in the mold of her natural upswept breasts, the smooth line of her waist fanning out slightly to well-covered silky hips, descending to satiny thighs. His gaze came to rest on the dark shimmering triangle of her pubic bush, and she felt a burning there from the intensity of his stare.
Peter felt his prick begin to pulsate feverishly as it grew along his leg, forcing itself heavily against the material of his pants. He felt the blood-inflated head burning into the flesh of his inner thigh like a red hot poker. As he gloated over the sensuous curves of her body, his lust-hardened prick began a hot throbbing which was growing into a steady ache.
He reached for her and his hands closed over her shoulders and her skin felt soft and firm at the same time. He momentarily expected her to try and draw away, but he could sense her straining against him, trying to push her body into his hands. He stared at her breasts in the sunlight and the tantalizing flesh glimmered like bronze sculptures. Reaching down, he brushed one pink bud with his lips and it seemed to increase and harden and turn a deeper shade. The very tip was a blood red color and he enveloped it in his mouth, swallowing half the soft, resilient flesh at the same time, and Iris emitted a sudden gasp as the fleshy nipple swelled even more against the sharp edges of his teeth.
He ran his hands over her back and down over her slender waist, and his fingers closed on the satiny orbs of her buttocks which were set enticingly high beneath her small waist. Her entire body trembled under his touch, and his fingers transmitted its pliancy, its lack of resistance to his delighted brain.
She was staring up at him with half-closed eyes, and she didn't fail to see the growing bulge between his legs. Her body was aching with desire very nerve ending was quivering with longing and she wanted this man — this stranger — to fuck her, yes, fuck her, right here in her own bed! She didn't care that her own husband and his daughter might come in at any moment and catch them in their forbidden passion — all she wanted was his arms around her, his prick in her, ramming all the way up deep into her belly.