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Authors: Stephanie Calvin

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BOOK: The Young Wife
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Seeing the look of trepidation that crossed my features, she clearly guessed it had nothing to do with concentration on my driving, and hastened to reassure me.
‘Don't worry,' she said, while laying a slim hand on my knee. ‘I'll be with you every step of the way. Those two bitches are no match for me.'
‘If you keep your hand there, I'll crash long before we get there,' I said, with a nervous laugh to let her know I was joking. ‘If you just stand near me, Anne, I'll deal with them myself. I'm not a mouse, really – even if I do come over to your house crying my eyes out, when I hardly know you.'
I glanced over, to see what her face said, and was pleased when she smiled an answer to the question implicit in my words.
‘I think we'll know each other inside out before long,' she said, and we both snorted with laughter.
The prospect of the confrontation ahead added a slightly high note to my own hilarity. Anne obviously noticed, and attempted to take my mind off it by going over the outline of her plan again.
‘Are you clear on what it is we are going to do, Jessica?' she asked, and plunged on without waiting for my reply, which was only a low mumble of dubious certainty anyway. ‘First we establish who is boss: namely, you. Then we lay down the conditions of my employment, and my duties.'
‘What if they ask about your professional qualifications?' I interrupted her. ‘I expect that Leo needs all sorts of medications, and it wouldn't look good if he died because we didn't give him adequate care. The doctors told me that he is on a knife-edge at the moment, and that any excitement could trigger another attack.'
I felt the look that Anne gave me then. Even though I could only see her out of the corner of my eye, I knew instantly what she was thinking. I confess, the thought had occurred to me at the same time.
‘No, Anne,' I protested. ‘We can't do that. No matter how rotten Leo is. It wouldn't be right.'
‘What?' she said, with a very suspect note in her voice. ‘I have no intention of exciting the man. Though if you felt that you wanted to make his twilight years more interesting, as far as I can see, you would only be doing your wifely duties. At least he would go with a smile on his face.'
‘Oh, Anne! You are impossible,' I spluttered in reply, as I assumed she was joking. Yet I couldn't achieve her levity of tone. What was worrying me was that the idea of titillating Leo until he died of excitement had taken root in my mind and, like a stubborn tune that one hates, was reeling like a merry-go-round in my head.
‘Don't worry about the real nursing. I have a lot of contacts who will be able to help out,' Anne explained, in a more serious tone. ‘The worst thing that could happen right now is if the guy pops his clogs so soon after you marrying him. The one blessing that you have is that they think he got in the state he's in through overstrenuous consummation. If they realise he didn't even dip his wick, they might get the marriage annulled, and you'll have gone through all this for nothing.'
‘Dip his wick? What kind of a way is that to describe it? Honestly, Anne. You sound like a seaside comedian. Dip his bloody wick, for fuck's sake!' I said, through peals of laughter that forced me to grip the wheel a little harder to keep the car from swerving.
‘Look, the guy's a pig, Jessica,' said Anne, ‘and it wasn't your fault that he had a stroke, so don't start getting too sympathetic just yet, or those two cows waiting up at the house will walk all over you. Just remember what he was going to do to you, and you'll be fine.'
It was a sobering thought, and it kept me in silence all the rest of the short drive to the house. The crunching of the gravel driveway, normally a comforting sound, started a little knot of tension under my ribcage that would not go away, even when I drew in several deep breaths. I hate confrontation, and the sound of raised, argumentative voices.
The front door opened as we swung up in front of the house. I turned to Anne as I switched the engine off and could tell, by the wide-eyed look on her face, that she was impressed by the handsome Georgian facade, and the sheer size of the place.
There wasn't a lot of time to admire the scenery, as Leo's sister wasted no time before swinging into the attack. She strode towards me with short, aggressive strides, and stood directly in my path, with her hips cocked and her arms folded. Perhaps it was my experience with Anne that made the difference, but I didn't find her physical presence quite so intimidating as I had on our last encounter. I found myself thinking that she was quite short, really, and soft, underneath the fiery Latin surface. I became aware, even as she started speaking, that I was assessing her in a totally different way to the last time we had faced each other. I noticed the plump and shapely thighs which her faded jeans only served to emphasise. I noticed the heavy swell of her breasts above the folded arms, and the slight imprint of her nipples through the light yellow cotton of her shirt. She was wearing a bra, but there was the faintest chill in the afternoon breeze, which caused the little peaks of her breast-buds to show hard through the thin material. I stared at the seam of her zip, where it slipped away into the dark blue denim at her groin, and wondered if her sex was as plump as it looked. It was impossible to be afraid of her, now that I wanted to hold her down and kiss her. Kiss her purple lipstick until it was smeared over her chin. Kiss the thin, fine skin around her wet, brown eyes.
I snapped back into the real world as the sense of her words struck me. My temper flared, and I concentrated hard on what she was saying. She had started by observing that I was back, and asked me if I was coming to pick up my things. My lack of a response and the odd look I was giving her seemed to make her nervous, and she stuttered a little as she continued.
‘W-well,' she snapped, ‘are you going to stand there all d-day? What do you want?'
I snorted a bitter laugh of contempt, and walked past her, making sure that I gave her a swipe of my hip as I did so. I was six inches taller, and at least a stone heavier, so she was knocked off balance by me as I passed. It enraged her.
‘Hey, you,' she squawked, ‘where the fuck do you think you are going?'
I turned on her and, planting a hand on her ample chest, I leaned into her so that our eyes were on a level and four inches apart.
‘I am going into my house, to my rooms, and I am bringing my friend with me,' I said, spitting the words out through clenched teeth. ‘Now get this through your silly little head, Vivian. I expect that Leo is glad to have you here, even though he is unable to say so: and, out of respect for his feelings, I am willing to tolerate you, and that other one, Antonia. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I won't change my mind if you don't treat me properly, and don't think I won't have you thrown out on your arse if you upset me. I have had about as much as I can stand of you, and I will not put up with it any more. Do you understand?'
She looked stunned, yet she clearly had enough sense to nod her agreement. I think she sensed that my blood had risen, and that I was close to violence. Without another word to Vivian, or a backwards glance, I strode towards the house, pausing only to call Anne after me with a peremptory, ‘Miss Simpson, follow me and I will show you to your room.'
I strode firmly up the stairs, knowing Anne would follow, and led her to the room where Leo had had his ‘accident'. I felt a small thrill of excitement as I turned the handle, and beckoned to Anne to follow. She maintained a straight face just long enough for me to close the door, and then she swept over to me, smiling like a lunatic.
‘God, that was so exciting. I thought you were going to punch her,' she gasped, and ran her hands all over my back. Her leg slipped between mine, as she turned her head to kiss me. The noisy working of our tongues consumed me, and I reached down under the hem of her summer frock to sweep it up and bare her hips. My hands swept all over her silky thighs, her cool bottom-cheeks, her fluttering stomach, and then my right hand dipped to the soft bulge of her knicker-covered cunt.
How wet she was! Her panties were soaked at the seam between her warm thighs, and she wriggled her self on to my palm when I cupped her damp mound. It was the work of a moment to peel the damp material aside, and for the sweetest time my hand slipped against her wet slit. I had no patience then, and no sooner than I had touched her, my fingers slipped within her. Up, so easily, into the folds of slippery flesh. She tensed her legs, and I felt the warm tunnel contract around the ends of my first two probing fingers. My thumb dipped upwards, to graze the wet nub of her little clit, and my other hand folded round her, to pull her right buttock to one side. The fingers of that hand touched her anus, making her momentarily squeeze her cheeks, and she expelled a little puff of ecstatic breath into my neck.
‘Oh! You make me so excited,' she whispered, and bent her right leg around the back of mine. ‘Rub my arse, too, Jessica. I like it,' she continued.
I tried to oblige her, though I had to keep twisting my torso around to keep both hands in place as she squirmed her lower body to the rhythm of my moving hands. I was able to slip the first two knuckles of the three largest fingers on my right hand into her front, while I explored the unfamiliar waxy crinkling of the entrance at her rear. I felt both openings contract together, and my own cunny flooded wetly at the sensations in my fingertips. I smelled the arousal on the panting breaths that popped softly between her flushed and swollen lips. I pushed my bunched digits into her, as far as they would comfortably go, and she let out a loud, ‘Ooooh!' of satisfaction. I released her, and pushed her backwards, so that the hollows of her knees met the heavy counterpane on the edge of the bed. She collapsed weakly backwards, and flung her arms out over her head. I kneeled, and grabbed the hem of her flimsy dress with both hands. I was so eager to see her naked again that I pushed it clumsily upwards as if it was a rag. Her flat, muscular belly soared into view, and the untidy white sprawl of her little cotton pants. They were pushed to one side still, and the plump and swollen lips of her pretty cunt pouted beneath their little crowning strip of fluffy, auburn hair. I pushed the dress up over her bra, until it was wreathed below her hairless armpits; then I pushed her bra up over her creamy tits, so that it awkwardly framed the quivering mounds of sandy flesh. Her nipples glowed a dark, goose-pimpled brown, and stood erect like the little disks of chocolate on iced currant buns. I swept her little panties down to her ankles, and then tugged them roughly over her shiny leather shoes.
She looked delicious, and my only thought was whether I dared to eat her. She shuffled herself wordlessly backwards, with sinuous movements of her back and muscular hips. I watched her squirming thighs, and the rippling muscles in her fiat stomach, with a rising fever of desire, and then she rolled her legs up until her knees hung over her head, and her ankles swayed out to the sides of her hips. Her wet cunt bulged up to me, and parted like a weird pink sea-creature. The lips seemed to gasp, like something alive, as they opened. I could see the tight pucker of her rosy arsehole clearly, and the coral opening to her sex, shimmering with fluid. I bent myself down to her and, in one bold movement, swept my untried tongue into the hot slit that beckoned me. My mind recoiled from the overflow of sensation, and I gasped a breath as the first strong scent of her musk hit my nostrils, while the salty taste of her cunt set my tongue on fire. An odd, bitter fluid flooded on my tongue as I dipped it into her hole. Clean and tangy, it was so strange that I drew back to spread her legs wide and see the source of it.
Her cunt and arsehole were six inches from my face, so I studied them for long moments, even as I licked the flexing insides of her copper thighs. Then that odd, compelling fragrance drew me back, and I dipped my clever tongue back into her, to lick and suck the silky flesh that bulged to me. I heard her dull groaning as she rocked her pelvis to my tongue. I felt the straining of her inner thighs as she struggled to keep her legs apart. I felt her shudder when I pushed three eager fingers into her warm cunt, and heard the deep grunt of pleasure as she slipped into the bliss of animal satisfaction that only comes on the other side of surrender. I worked my fingers into her, stretching her, even as her orgasm subsided, and I felt the convulsive tightening along her perineum in the grip of her sex on my fingers. The juices spilled over her arsehole, and I noticed that she was totally hairless all along the rubbery seam of her arse. It gleamed like plastic in the glow of the overhead lamp. The smoothness of her fascinated me and I realised, with a start of mental satisfaction, that she had no hair on the lower lips of her cunt either. It made the swollen pursing of them round my fingers look more dirty, and even more delicious. My fingers felt strange when I pulled them from her, like they had been in bathwater too long.
It was some time before she recovered, and I busied myself with studying her lovely, lazy, spent and supine form. She lay, sprawled across the heavy creamy bedcover, in the tangled, careless way of pretty girls in men's magazines. I wanted to photograph her, just like that.
‘That was fucking lovely,' she said, interrupting my reverie, and sat up to arrange her clothing more comfortably. She smiled a sweet, and misty-eyed smile at me, before asking, ‘Mind if I use your phone, Jess?'
I mused on the change of name when I nodded my amused consent, and watched her tap out a number on the periphery of my vision, while my eyes drifted over the creamy swell of her long hip and thigh. Her dress was still rucked up at her hips, and she looked delightful. So sweet and naughty.
‘Angela, it's me,' I dimly heard her say. ‘Is it on for tonight still? . . . Good . . . Can I bring a friend?' She continued chatting in a vacant way for a while, then hung up after saying, ‘Ciao.'
BOOK: The Young Wife
4.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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