"Indeed I do!" Cord was beaming, and Diane felt faintly uncomfortable under his steady, open scrutiny. "How are you, Diane?"
"Just fine, thank you."
"Good, good!" Cord enthused. "Come on around to the pool, kids. I want you to meet my better half." He winked. "Or so she says, anyway."
Diane walked beside Roger, following Cord along the crushed shell path and around to a large, redwood-fenced patio. The path ended in a long, narrow grotto, floored with more of the crushed shells and fronting a green-tiled, L-shaped swimming pool with clear, still water. Three tall eucalyptus tree grew beyond it, just inside that section of fencing.
The grotto contained several brightly colored lounge chairs and chaise longues and two white-metal tables with barber-striped beach umbrellas shading them from center poles. At one of the tables sat a tall, willowy woman with short jet black hair, wearing a brilliant cobalt blue bandanna bikini. A frosted glass identical to Cord's was clasped in one slim hand. She was as bronzed as her husband, with a smooth taut stomach and fine high breasts barely concealed in the narrow strip of her suit top; no whiteness showed at all on the plentiful amount of bare bosom which was exposed. The bottom section outlined the tight, slightly protruding pubic mound, revealed her full rich thighs, and then tucked into the crevice between her globular buttocks, leaving the brown curve of her hips almost completely nude.
That's a rather scandalous outfit, Diane thought critically, a little prudishly. It was certainly much more daring than her own relatively skimpy two-piece paisley swimsuit, which was in the large straw handbag she carried. Why, it shows… well, almost everything she has; it doesn't leave much of anything to the imagination. Of course, this is her house and her pool and she can dress however she chooses — but it hardly seems the most conventional attire for receiving guests she's never previously met.
The woman stood as they approached, smiling in a bold, easy way. Cord went to her and put his arm about her waist, letting his fingers splay familiarly on the satiny surface of her almost naked hip. "Roger and Diane Slater," he said convivially, "This is my wife, Cindy. The wildest little woman north of the Golden Gate Bridge." He winked at her. "HELL, and south, east and west of it, too!"
Cindy moved her body closer to his approvingly, rubbing her bare flesh against him like a purring cat. Then she stepped forward and took Diane's hand, coolly, briefly. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Slater," she said in a throaty tenor.
"It's a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Cord."
Cindy pivoted her body to Roger and took his hand. "Well, well, so you're Roger Slater," she purred. "Marc's told me so much about you."
Roger grinned. "All of it good, I hope."
"Very good," Cindy said. Her cool gray eyes appraised him in an almost predatory way, and Diane saw that his eyes seemed to be caressing her jutting breasts. They were still touching hands. Roger finally released the clasp, but as if with a great reluctance.
"Well, Rog?" Cord asked. "Can I pick them, or can I pick them?"
"You can certainly pick them!" Roger agreed ardently.
Diane felt uncomfortable. What was the matter with Roger? she thought. He was acting like a school boy, looking at Cindy's exposed bosom like that and holding onto her hand so long. Not that she was any better! "Marc's told me so much about you!" and standing there showing off her body like a common tramp…
She realized Marc Cord was speaking to her, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cord," she said. "What did you say?"
"Marc," he answered. "None of this 'Mr. Cord' stuff. Marc and Cindy, Roger and Diane. Okay?"
"Okay."
"What I asked was, did you kids bring your suits? It's a great day for swimming."
"And for drinking rum cocktails," Cindy added, still looking at Roger.
"Sure," Cord said. "And for drinking rum cocktails."
"Well, yes, yes, we did," Diane told him. "Bring our suits, I mean."
"Fine! I'll show you where to change. Cindy'll have a couple of tall ones made for you when you come back. Won't you, honey?"
"Certainly."
Cord, taking Cindy's hand, led Roger and Diane across the width of the patio to where a redwood door was set into a covered sun porch, flanked on both sides by long, bamboo-shaded windows. There was a compact bar at one end of the porch inside, and a large blue-and-gold tweed couch, and several comfortable-appearing chairs. Cindy went immediately to the bar and began to blend rum and Bacardi mix into a tall pitcher. Cord indicated an archway leading into the interior of the house proper, to where a closed door was situated. "Dressing room's in there, kids."
Roger nodded. "Thanks, Marc." And then to Diane, "Come on, honey."
She followed him into the dressing room. When he had shut the door, she took his swimsuit, rolled in a towel, from her purse and handed it to him. Then, she went primly into the partitioned cubicle at one end to change. She saw him scowl darkly as she did — he obviously didn't approve of her modesty — but she certainly wasn't about to strip naked in front of him after last night; especially not when he, too, would be nude. She simply couldn't bare to look at that impossibly huge member of his again, even in a state of flaccidity.
She undressed, folding her summer dress and underthings carefully, and slipped into the paisley two-piece. It fit her snugly, accentuating the firm, generous hills and valleys of her alabaster body. Looking down at her planed stomach and her tapering thighs and calves, she felt a painful vulnerability — as if she were somehow like the almost assuredly wanton Mrs. Cindy Cord. But she forced that consideration from her mind, and stepped out of the cubicle. Even if she wasn't having a good time, she had to pretend that she was enjoying herself; and she couldn't do that if she was constantly worrying about her partially undraped body.
Roger looked at her with critical approbation but said nothing. She allowed him to take her arm, and they went out to the sun porch again. Cord and his wife were sitting side by side on the tweed couch; two frosted tumblers filled with chipped ice sat next to the now-full pitcher on a woven rattan table in front of them.
Cord stood up and favored Diane with a profligate smile as his eyes traveled the width and breadth of her creamy body. He emitted a long, low, appreciative whistle. "Well, now, aren't you something, Diane!"
She blushed under his frank examination. "T-thank you," she said in a faltering tone, lowering her eyes.
"You've got a beautiful, desirable woman there, Rog," Cord said. "You're a lucky man."
"Yes, a lucky man," Roger answered, but there was an undeniable note of bitterness in his voice that was painfully apparent to Diane.
"Let's have a drink," Cindy said, rising from the couch. She poured the two tumblers full of the pale, golden rum concoction.
"Good idea," Cord agreed earnestly. He picked up the full glasses and handed one to Roger and one to Diane. "Drink hearty, kids. There's plenty more where these came from."
Diane tasted hers responsively. The liquid was tart, without much alcohol taste at all, and really very refreshing; she didn't care for liquor much, and she was glad she wouldn't have to pretend to like the drinks, that she could compliment her host and hostess on them genuinely. She noticed that Roger had taken a long swallow from his glass, and was licking his lips. "Very good!" he said enthusiastically, beaming at Cindy.
"Thank you sir," she replied, dimpling prettily.
Cord suggested then that they all go out near the pool. Cindy carried the pitcher of rum cocktails, and they took up residence at one of the white metal tables. The men began to talk business, discussing things like Roger's proposed new duties and advancement possibilities, and the women were soon completely ignored. Diane felt ill at ease, and at first Cindy made little effort to alter her discomfort; Diane noticed that Mrs. Cord's eyes periodically flashed to Roger, as if she were fascinated by him somehow.