"Oh, Mr. Marsdale, maybe what you say is right. I don't know," she said doubtfully.
"Of course, I'm right," he stated firmly. "Now, let's have a little drink. I feel so uptight, I need something to relax."
"I don't think so…" she began.
"Oh come on, Mrs. Frampton. You do have a drink every once in a while don't you?" he asked, his gaze penetrating her.
He knows. He can smell the scotch I had before he came.
"Okay, what'll be?" he asked, automatically going for the bar and then stopping, "with your permission, of course."
"Go ahead, Mr. Marsdale," she said, her voice disinterested, lifeless, now all thoughts on her husband's adultery.
"Maybe we can get a little less formal. My name's Clay. May I call you Alyce? I hope if we are contemplating some plan of action we are at least going to be on a first name basis."
The young blonde wife was really shocked now. "You don't really mean that you're considering… what you suggested… intimated… before…?"
"I don't see why not?" he leered. "What's sauce for the goose is…"
She was visibly disturbed. She had no intention of pretending or otherwise to be an adulteress.
Marsdale poured some stiff drinks and brought one over to her.
They sat and chatted while Alyce nervously sipped the glass of straight scotch, and before she knew it the glass was empty. Clay watched her closely.
He moved in quickly. "Another drink, my dear?" he asked.
"No, thanks. I rarely drink. Well, all right, but just a small one this time, it's still afternoon."
The scotch was beginning to make her feel a little reckless; additionally a small bolt of electrical energy had balled itself, racing through her body, along her nerve endings to unleash its force in a gigantic stab at her genitals. The pleasant, though unusual, sensations produced in her naked loins beneath her dress signaled that she was feeling the effects of the alcohol. She recognized the sensual sensations, but she was sure that she was in complete possession of her mind and senses.
While Clay was pouring her another drink, she tried not to let the image of her husband copulating with Nina Marsdale take shape. How awful! How could Eddie do this to me?
The more she thought about it the more she became aware of the insistent, seething, sensations in her, and thought for a fleeting second that it would serve Eddie right if she were to play at the same game. She soon pushed that thought from her mind. No! I just can't do it!
Clay returned to her, handing her the tall glass of scotch. She looked up at him, seeing him for the first time. She saw a stocky, powerfully built man with dark hair, heavy features, and she noted the satisfied leer on his face as he resumed the seat opposite her, lounging back in it to wait.
That's it! He's waiting like a cat waiting for a canary!
Suddenly Alyce had had enough.
"Mr. Marsdale, I'm not going to have any part of this," she said with determination.
Calmly he said. "It's already been decided. You and I are going to bed and I'm going to fuck you!"
"No!" she gasped. "I won't do it!"
"Let's put it another way then. If you don't then your husband will be out of a job."
"You wouldn't…"
Marsdale remained as cool as a cucumber. "Just finish your drink, Alyce. You're going to enjoy this," he said soothingly.
His words and the alcohol were beginning to have their effect on the confused wife. She slumped back on the cushions of the couch, sliding down dejectedly, her dress riding up to show the smoothness of her thighs. She didn't care now. She was trapped. Everything seemed hopeless. Let him ogle her legs if that's what he wanted.
Clay waited for a few moments before he reached for her, his hand going out to rest gently on her inner thigh, above the knee, feeling the silky, smooth warmth of her as his hand moved upward, slowly, massaging the creamy flesh until he had reached the hem of her dress; then her legs parted almost imperceptibly, involuntarily, and he moved on upward confidently, the fingers of his hand exploring her searchingly.
Now he was up to the pubic hair, unconfined, the blonde down of her softly curling crotch inciting him, inflaming him with hot passion.
Alyce sat, unmoving, except for the involuntary relaxing of her thigh muscles to allow him access to the juncture of her thighs, but she was a mass of rolling sensations. Her body had reacted to him against her will, the sensitive nerve endings, inflamed by the liquor, had a mind of their own. She dimly realized that whether or not she wanted it, her reasoning mind was no longer in command. Her body was betraying her. She couldn't help herself.
His voice came in a fog. "Let's go to your bedroom!"
He pulled her, zombie-like, from the sofa and guided her firmly toward the bedroom.
"Get undressed!" he ordered.
Trance-like, Alyce turned her back on him and pulled the dress over her head, then in grim acceptance, she lay down naked on the bed, her legs held tight together, her arms folded over her naked breasts and daring not to look at him.
"Turn over on your stomach!" His voice was getting raspy.
Clay Marsdale, still fully clothed, sat down on the bed. Reaching out stubby fingers, he began to trace the outlines of her loveliness, lightly drawing his hand over her back and down across the swelling protuberances of the twin orbs of her smooth-skinned buttocks; then, down over her legs, allowing the fingers to drift up in the inside of her thighs, back to her smooth, white bottom, where he paused to massage and knead, his fingers digging in on the silky skin.
His voice was soft, seductive now. "You have a gorgeous body, Alyce."
Then his lips were on her neck, kissing her wetly, his tongue tracing along on down her back, crouching over her as he came to her buttocks, on down her legs to the ankles, back up to the knees, paying special attention to the inside surface of them. His mouth was hot on the outside of her thighs, as he approached the juncture, where he burrowed briefly into the mysterious dark crevice.
Finally, after what seemed eons of time to Alyce, he had traversed the full length of her body, down and back up to her neck; then, to her ears, where he inserted the tip of his tongue to tantalize a hole there, running his wet tongue around the rim of it.
The young blonde wife shuddered. The slow burning and banked fires in her were partially uncovered, as he had kissed her, and suddenly, she was aware that her body was a raging inferno of fiery sensations, all of which were being generated in her loins.
Oh no! It's starting to feel like I'm on fire down there! He's driving me crazy. Oh, God. Help me!
"Turn over!" he commanded. "I want to see whether the front of you is as luscious as the back."
Compliantly, she turned to her back. His tongue darted instantly across the tip of one nipple, his mouth dipping to take the whole aureole in his lips while a hand stroked the other breast, cupping the milk white mound, then kneading it hard, his thumb and forefinger teasing the nipple to painful erectness.
Alyce felt the rampaging electricity in her rapidly moistening vagina, and she mewled involuntarily with the pleasurable sensation, knowing that she wanted him. Wanted his cock absorbed into her raging loins.
His tongue trailed moistly across her body, stopping momentarily to screw into her navel, then teasingly on downward to the soft blonde curls at the triangle of her belly and thighs.
Her legs which she had kept clamped tightly together began involuntarily to relax, her thighs opening slightly to his probing of her private, feminine parts. His tongue was now replaced by his hand. He inserted an exploratory finger into the soft, hair-lined crease, forcing it down, until he found the canopied bud of her clitoris and rubbed his hard finger against it, grunting with satisfaction as it began to grow, blood-engorged, under his titillation of it.