Her lust-inciting words droned on and on. Dora felt as if she were being carried away on an inexorable tide of emotion. If this had been a strange man using such filthy words with her, she would have called for a policeman. But this was one of her best friends, Jane Hammond. She had known Jane ever since they were small girls together in kindergarten, when her name had been Jane Marshall. And now it was her beloved Jane mouthing these sickening – yet fearfully exciting – imprecations over and over and over… not some street slut, or some sex maniac, but ordinary, middle class Jane Hammond… uttering these obscene sexy phrases that Dora couldn't even bring herself to repeat under any circumstance… Jane Hammond, her beloved friend… a woman of good character and background her own age… of presumably the same needs and desires, the same satisfactions… a person of greater similarity could not be imagined… same background… same voluptuous body yearning to break free of the dreadful taboos and inhibitions which so wound up tightly their every day lives so that one could scarcely move, or speak, or think, or enjoy… Jane Hammond… who had been made love to by a dog, a huge menacing-looking German shepherd very similar to her beloved muscular and powerful Brute, whom she had loved ever since he was a puppy… and thereby indulging in the most obscene act that the mind of man – or woman – could conceive…
Uttering a stifling little sob of indeterminate origin, Dora suddenly leapt to her feet and made for the door as swiftly as she could. Within her massive heaving breasts her heart pounded erratically like an African tom-tom, drowning her ears in sound. She had to get out – out – anywhere! But away from this terrible thing which was threatening to consume her, this dreadful itching and burning sensation in her loins which was half driving her out of her mind! Anywhere, but out! Away!
And this was the sight that the shocked Jane Hammond saw as she looked after her swiftly departing friend as she moved like a voluptuous wraith among the unseen tables of Cantor's Delicatessen and finally out into the sunlit street, hurrying off at a frantic pace towards her car. A lushly proportioned woman with long russet auburn hair and flushed red cheeks, her shapely breasts rubbing in excited unrest against the inadequate confines of her thin spring shift. And that was the last she saw of her old friend.
But Jane Hammond smiled to herself as she turned to finish her coffee and enjoy another long, lingering cigarette.
Because she knew without a doubt what the outcome was going to be of all of Dora's frenetic activity and rush for the fresh open air.
It was inevitable.
CHAPTER NINE
For a long period Dora Donovan just drove aimlessly around, her thoughts a myriad confusion of various things. For one thing she just couldn't seem to sort out her violent sexual reaction to the photograph of her friend Jane Hammond in a lewd relationship with that powerful German shepherd, its slick pink penis thrust deep in her sex-slickened ass-cheeks. Yet obviously it had thrilled her.
Dora sighed. It seemed scarcely credible that life could take such a turn. Conservative, shy little Jane. Out of a Jekyl-and-Hyde transformation, into the brunette Marilyn Monroe, sultry, sexy, knowing exactly what she wanted and prepared to do anything to get it.
Dora looked down at her own voluptuous body, her breasts gradually subsiding from their uncontrollable excitement of a half hour before in Cantor's restaurant. She shivered involuntarily. What was wrong with her? She had the same sort of equipment as Jane. Her proportions had often been complimented and called beautiful by earnest swains – first when she was a teenager, and then later when, married to Guy, 'friends of the family' tried to put the make on her at the North Shore Country Club and elsewhere. Of course, she was always flattered by men's attentions, and not a little flirtatious and a bit of a tease in return on her own part. Still, she had never dreamed that she could get excited over anything except her wonderful husband Guy and his generously proportioned genitals.
So with all of her own generously rounded contours, said so often to be 'made for love', why should she hesitate to use them in order to find physical satisfaction and quench this terrible, heedless burning sensation in her loins?
Why, indeed?
Yet at the same time that was not something that one could calculate mathematically in a civil engineering way. So many tons of concrete make so many buildings and so many orgasms, and so forth. No, love and sex was something that had to come naturally, from the bottom of one's heart.
The confused housewife looked around her. For some reason she had ended up at Eden Plaza alongside the big Carson Pirie store. She slowed into the parking lot after a careful left turn on Mannheim Road, then gradually came to a stop. Settling down cozily in the seat, she sighed again for the millionth time and took out a cigarette. She lit up and blew broken smoke rings; Jane's had been solid and perfect. So even there, she was no competition now.
Where had she driven on this pleasant spring day? She couldn't remember exactly. Partly on Dempster Street after DelFarm, partly on the expressway. She couldn't remember exactly, because she had meandered quite a lot.
If only she could figure out who it was that Guy imagined himself carrying on with when they had intercourse.
But then that would solve nothing. There was, after all, no way of interfering with a man's thoughts if he wanted to think something.
For that matter, she could be entirely mistaken about the whole thing; imagining it, and then her useless accusations might ruin everything.
But she wasn't imagining her discomfiture and inability to achieve her usual heights of ecstasy. Whether Guy was thinking of someone else or not, or whether she was just imagining it, the fact still remained that her loins were becoming desperately unsettled.
So why couldn't she do as Jane had done? Find satisfaction, anywhere she could. She was a human being and she had a right to it. Or was she going to have to go on imagining Brute every time she needed a climax?
Just then a pedigree German shepherd passed in front of the car, held severely on a leash by a rather overbearing looking woman. For no reason she was quite sure of, Dora instinctively slumped down in her seat.
The dog was just medium-sized. No match for her own dog Brute, of course, but there was a sort of sleek, masculine beauty about the way he held his handsome head on his strong, sturdy young neck. Automatically, Dora found herself looking between his legs for his "equipment". Would they be as nice as Brute's was?
The commanding woman guiding him opened the car door not far from hers. "Now, you naughty doggy," Dora overheard her say, "you must behave yourself. Mama won't tolerate any more of that fooling around with young wives in the supermarket. Am I making myself clear?"
For answer – to Dora's amazement and excitement – the dog suddenly stuck its snout underneath the woman's dress and seemed to be nosing up inside there!
Dora gasped and held her throat. The woman staggered against the car, seemed to have difficulty getting her breath, and giggled nervously as a schoolgirl. The woman looked around anxiously as well, to see if anyone was looking. Dora slumped down further in her seat.
"Now, dear, you musn't do that! You know how that makes Mama feel! Stop immediately, darling! Ooooh, you dear you… but someone might be looking… hurry in the car dear and let's hurry home. Mama can't wait to get your big fat tongue on her juicy hot cunt! Now, get in the car!"
Dora gasped again, choked nervously on something which seemed to stick in her throat, and coughed awkwardly. Furious sensations assailed her. She had to get home! A cold shower was just the thing! Somehow – anyhow – she had to break this tightly woven erotic thread which was threatening to strangle her in its rapidly closing vise-like grip!