David felt the instant-mushrooming between his legs. He sat up in bed and tore swiftly out of his pajama-tops. Then he peeled off the bottoms and leapt to his feet, standing there before her in all his rearing hot-tipped majesty. Ahhh, but easy does it, he cautioned himself… easy, boy! Sure, she's your own wife, but don't muff it!
TWO
Still feeling the gamy fevers of his nightmare, David gazed eagerly at the superb dips and ovals of Linda's body as she stood before him in her flimsy nightgown. His eyes gleamed obsessively as he thought: God!.. What phenomenal boobs for a woman who's been married all these years. They looked so full and untouched, so rosily nipple-peaked. Two vanilla-cream sundaes, undisturbed and untasted. Due, of course, to the minimal use to which he'd put them. Linda only permitted him to kiss those burning cones. Devotion, not devourment. That was her bed-time motto, and it clung to their chaste amours like an invisible sampler. No lewd oral experiments in her shiny house of controlled electronics and detergents, and everybody brushed after eating.
For David, this was an old edict of doom, and translated it meant that tit, tongue and clit-sucking were all off-limits in his pretty pink-and-white paid-up gift-horse of a home, his soul's anchor, wherein dwelled his virginal stacked wife and mother of three issues in his image… (O watch it, ganglayers, don't spread her like that… she's somebody's Mummy!)
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he'd always sensed that Linda would go ape for those wild diversions, if she ever stopped playing Lady Guinevere long enough to relax and let them happen. But David was still too greatly in awe of his wife's antiseptic deportment ever to force his crude curiosities on her. Moreover, he valued her opinion of him much too highly to indulge in such base, secret urges as swabbing his old pirate-tongue in and out of the untrammeled crevices of her flesh. But oh man! How desperately he longed to tamper with this ripe, alabaster vessel that was Linda's body! Mightn't it be a healthy release for them both to let her know that the little boy she'd adopted at the altar had turned into a carnivorous, salivating beast? Oh Christ no, she'd be horrified…
Cool it, he warned himself. You don't really know that much about her to plow right in…
After dousing the bed-lamp, Linda removed her nightie. And then, to keep out that old voyeur Moon, she drew the drapes across the already-drawn blinds. For her, fornication must remain the enshrouded transaction it had always been. Consequently, since this storybook couple rarely toyed long enough for David's eyes to become accustomed to the dark, he could only imagine what she looked like completely nude. Damn! If only his hands had eyes, he could make do with the mere feel of her shadowed topography. But this wouldn't have been too feasible either, unless he'd tried hypnosis or chloroform; for Linda considered too much fingerplay highly juvenile: "Darling, now that we're married, we don't need all those preliminaries!"
After stripping, Linda felt her way into their adjoining bathroom to flip in her diaphragm. A devout Catholic, she had shown her full support of the Pope by donating all her contraceptive pills to a home for unwed mothers. Upon returning to the bedroom she stationed herself halfway between the beds, where David also stood in silent waiting. And thus, with perfect synchronization achieved, this was usually Linda's signal to slip into her bed and receive him. But apparently David had forgotten something. Coquettishly, she reminded him: "Isn't Cleanliness still next to Godliness in our house?"
He got the message at once. Without a word he marched into the bathroom and soapily sponged his rapidly deflating penis. Although he showered and sprayed daily, David had learned never to argue with Linda in such a moment, as it did very little to heighten the immediacy of his passion. When he returned to the pitch-dark room, he stubbed his toe and swore. Linda, now mounted on her mattress, laughed pleasantly; but David could detect the customary apprehension in her tone. Suddenly he wanted to leap through the air at her, crying: "Here Come De Dentist!.. Would Milady prefer laughing-gas or a shot in the fanny…?"
He slipped in beside her, hearing his own compulsive murmurs of desire… "Oh honey, how I want you!.. Want you more and more every day…" (and get you less and less!) How he wished they could pretend they weren't married. Christ! They'd be ideal for each other!.. And imagine a couple of strangers in this bed, built as attractively as they were! What a ball it could be… David slid the palm of his hand along her belly. Linda seized his arm and entwined it buddy-fashion about her waist, as if they were a couple of Halloween-tots about to go trick-or-treating together.
She moved her face near his and offered him the full clean cushion of her mouth: their ritual ignition-kiss. David felt the soft fluttery velvet of her lips brushing against his and he moaned and shuddered and… he went a little wilder than he knew… yearning to open those tender convent-wife petals and swarm inside with his own stabbing heat and breath-flow. He was almost positive that a helluva lot of other couples in Hillsborough sucked each others' tongues without dashing out in the night to get a Tetanus shot. But Linda cringed and bit his thrust-out underlip. With a cry of pain, he pulled away from her.
"Now David, really!" she chattered in the dark. "What's gotten into you?"
"Aw… Fin sorry, dear, I lost my head."
"I think you've been watching too many of those Market Street Hippie-girls on your lunch-hour," she chastised.
They lay on their sides and, moving on cue, pressed their bodies amiably together. David gently drew her to him, trembling with the feel of her firm round breasts pushing against him, wondering why he must be plagued with a wife who had the body of a topless go-go girl and the soul of an evangelist.
Linda reached behind on her nightstand for the small jar of lubricant, subtly placing it on the bed between their destined crotches. David's cue to start buttering himself up for the butchery. Silently, he rubbed the stuff up and down his long meaty shaft, while she waited patiently, stiffly. She never did the rubbing herself, but oh wow!.. Just the idea of it made his balls dance! Unn… to feel her hands on it at last, oooh… loving it and squeezing and dabbing!
Respectfully greased-up, David handed her the jar and she returned it to the nightstand. Then he heard her tremulous sigh: Marie-Antoinette at the guillotine, murmuring 'Head-chopper, do your bloody worst!' Faithfully remembering their choreography, David reached down and gripped his tense member in his hand, aiming it slowly between her thighs until the swelling knob lightly scratched against her curling crotch-fleece. Like the child who cries out before it's hit, Linda whimpered a little overture.
"Am I there, baby…?" he whispered gallantly.
"You're… close," she said through romantically clenched teeth. "Push a little."
David pushed, and the fat top-wedge of it oozed into her.
"Oh God Save Me!" gasped Linda, and while David sensed she was smiling socially in the dark, he always had the feeling she'd like to be saying her beads in this moment of peril.
Now their marital ballet revolved and shifted, and with David securely hooked to her, Linda rolled over on her back and let him slip into the driver's seat. Horse-and-Buggy-style. Old-fashioned homestead-pumping, like it said in the Bible and Family Circle. He let his greedy bloated rod graze gradually up her womb, the warm resilient chasm not nearly as tight as she liked to pretend. No-siree!.. That wasn't a mini-pussy down there any more, not after all his ramming alterations. Why hell, she was ready for a whole fleet of joy and jabbing up there, and by God, he'd tell her that some day, even if it made her spit-up and run home to her high-bosomed Mama and take the kids and the house and his gift-wrapped future along with her. He'd have to teach her how not to turn this bed into an operating table whenever they screwed. Of course, first he'd have to learn how himself; since, until now, all he had to go by were a bunch of gooey dreams and fancies.