"God, I wish we were naked. I wish we were somewhere else. Oh, Thorne… darling, I'm going to come. We're flicking here on the glider like two teenagers, and I'm going to come, and I don't even care how many clothes are between us."
"Vera… Vera…" he gasped, his prick bucking and surging stiffly inside her snatch.
"Are you going to come, Thorne? Do you want me to wait? Darling, I love the way you fuck. Ohhhhh, if I'd known how beautifully you hack, I don't think I could have waited."
She babbled on and on. It was a crazy-wonderful thing to do. It felt so good to be able to do it and know that it excited him. She could tell it did by the way his prick jerked and thudded in the depths of her streaming, shaking cunt.
"Thorne?"
"Darling, you don't have to wait for me!" he gasped.
"Are you ready? Ohhhhh, are you ready?"
"F me full, darling! Hose it into me! Fill my pussy with your sperm until it backs up and shoots all over us. God, I'm wanton, aren't I? Thorne… Ohbbhhhh, Thorne!" she wailed tightly.
Her body lifted. Her hips strained upward. Her pussy mouth gobbled and sucked at the root of his prick. She felt suspended in air, three feet above the glider.
It began to swing gently, adding to the sensation of flying that was overtaking her. She held her position rigidly, all her muscles tensed and waiting for the huge crush.
It came. It made her shudder and vibrate. There was a high keening somewhere off in the distance. His lips mashed against hers, and it stopped.
His prick bucked and danced at the back of her cunt. She felt warm pressuring, and she knew his cock was spurting into her. She felt him shudder strongly against her, and then the crush came.
Her whole body wrenched violently. She bellowed throatily against his mouth. Very undignified. Very unlike a mature lady of thirty-eight.
Her pussy drank and drank, not caring. Her tits spiked and swelled against his chest, not caring either. Her ass went rock hard in his hands, and her thighs squeezed tightly about his waist, no part of her caring.
She stopped caring, too, and she bellowed again, clinging to him, shuddering as if she would never stop.
They lay together for a long time, breathing heavily, clinging to each other.
It had been good. Very good. She felt sane again. She felt right. His blast of sperm had been like a cleansing hose, washing the perversion and sailed crud out of her cunt, making it fresh and clean again, making her whole being that way.
Everything would be all right now. She knew it would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The sun outside her window was bright and warm. She heard a mockingbird singing for the first time in a week. She sat up in bed and let the sheet slip from her naked tits and looked out the window at the thick foliage in the yard.
The bird was perched near a fire-red hibiscus blossom. It cupped its beak up and piped with clear tones, running scales, trying a little cardinal and oriole and warbler at the seine time, experimenting with the sounds, playing with them happily.
Vera smiled broadly and stretched. her arms and body. She felt wonderful. She felt alive and renewed. She felt better than she had for-a year.
She showered lazily, dressed slowly, choosing a white mini with a low neckline. A virginal color. She was hardly that. But she felt like it. She hummed to herself as she brushed her hair and made it shine in the sun.
She went out of her room and down the hail and stopped up short. She looked at them, sitting there at the dining table over coffee, talking in low voices.
Max got up from the table and nearly bowed. His eyes flicked over her appreciatively, a gesture to her beauty. He smiled handsomely, paternally.
"Good morning, Vera," he said. "I just stopped by to have a chat with you and Roger, but I didn't want to disturb your sleep.
She felt her spine stiffen warily. She couldn't help it. She looked at him oddly, aware that he had fucked her two days ago. She wondered why. She wondered why she had let him. He was appealing, but he wasn't that appealing to her. The episode seemed a hundred years ago, and that made her feel strange.
"What do you want, Max?" she asked, aware of the curtness of her voice.
"Well, I've already talked to Jack Cutter this morning, and he tells me you haven't been in yet." He smiled quickly. "There's no immediate rush, of course, but I would like to hear something before the meeting next week. I have commitments and schedules to meet, you know."
He glanced at Roger, then back at her. "Roger tells me you're concerned over the image to your husband's chain the Loon Key unit will make. I'd like to take you down to the Key and have you talk to the residents there, just to see what they all think about it."
"I don't think that's at all necessary, Max," she said. "I've pretty well made up my mind."
"That's what Roger was telling me. I'd like you to be open-minded about it, Vera. Just this once. Just do me this one favor, and I won't bother you about it any more, all right?"
"C'mon, Mom-be fair," Roger said.
Vera sighed heavily. Maybe it would be best to keep him guessing. If he were as slick as Thorne said, he might think up something tough to fight if he knew he'd lost. Maybe he'd get to work on gathering up another 3 percent vote against her,
"All right," she said finally.
She made breakfast for herself and Roger. Max had more coffee. He was very amiable. He told good stories that were interesting and entertaining.
On the way to Loon Key, he slid from anecdotes about fishing and boating to Thorne.
"You know, there are two sides to everything, Vera. Thorne was against this unit from the start, but your husband went ahead with it. He was a wise businessman, your husband. Younger men just don't have the experience or foresight to see things we old-timers see. That's not a condemnation of Bundt, exactly-not that by itself."
"What do you mean?" she asked, growing wary.
"Well, there's a case to be made against him. Not just by me, you understand, but by others in the company. Peterson, Harmon-men like that. They say Bundt came up too fast, that he isolated Paul from what was really going on, that he gave advice that would make him look good but wasn't in the best interests of the company."
"Hah!" Roger cackled. "I knew it! Big whiz kid!"
"They say he's trying to gain control. They're afraid he'll even try to marry you to get it." Max shrugged. "That's what they say, Vera. They're a little afraid of his ambition. I think that's why he talks against me so hard. He knows I'll stop him-Roger and I," he added quickly, giving Roger a fatherly punch in the shoulder.
Vera didn't respond. She felt an icy shiver go through her. He was lying, of course. Thorne wasn't like that. Was he? Marry me, Vera-tomorrow…
She shivered again, and her breakfast turned to a strong mixture of bark and lead in her stomach.
They crossed the 'humped, narrow, old bridge onto Loon Key and pulled off the highway at the first tourist shack, the weathered, wind-blown, decrepit crab shack where Nate Mackton lived.
There were barnacled crab and lobster pots piled high, cracking in the sun. An old yellow dog lay in the shade, thumping up little puffs of dust with his tail. Nate turned a leathery, gnarled face toward them and spat into the dust and came over to see if they wanted some crab claws.
The motel was the best damn thing ever happened to Loon Key. He wasn't the only one who said so. They all did. One after the other. It was as if Max had paid them off in advance. There was only one exception.
Her name was Martha. She ran a sundries store, old and neat. She was nut brown from the sun, pushing seventy, scrawny through the face and shoulders but fat in the belly. She wore baggy green pants and a checkered shirt.
"Paul Hanson," she said, her tone oddly soft. "Good man. Came in here regular to drink his tea all the time. Some foreign brand I had to import from Palm Beach-Burmese. Got two boxes left. Drank it by the gallon. His heart, you know. Had to quit coffee. We talked a lot while he drank his tea."