“Just hold your body like this,” Cameron
said, “and then swing the racket up… and forward.”
The words were easy, the movement easier
still, but Rory’s mind wasn’t on tennis, not with the big, athletic man’s body
pressed so tightly against her from behind. His hands was gentle but firm on
her wrist as he led her body through the movement, and she felt the warm heat
of his chest against her back as he moved. More explicitly, she felt his groin
pressed into her bottom. At first it was just a light touch, but with her lack
of protest the contact had become more and more firm – in more ways than one.
Now she could feel the man’s cock hardening
as he pressed himself more confidently into her tight young buttocks and ground
himself there ever so slightly as he pretended to think only of tennis.
Tennis. Why did she even care about tennis? She was
a small-town girl who’d been raised on a farm to quite religious parents. She
was a simple girl who had barely scraped through school with all the absences
her parents required of her to work on the farm. And what did
she need an education for anyway, they’d say, beyond reading and simple
arithmetic. She was a girl, and destined to be someone’s wife. The times might
have changed elsewhere, but not where Rory grew up.
And that was where Michael had found her and
swept her off her feet. Not that the sweeping had been difficult. He’d been an
older man, more sophisticated, more accomplished and worldly. To Rory he’d been
a gallant, shining knight who’d come to take her away from the drudgery and
boredom of life on a small farm in a small, rural, backwater area. He’d had no
faults, no flaws. Not then.
This was now.
She was not a seventeen year old girl now.
She’d lived with him for three years, three years in Dublin and London with
long visits to Paris and Rome. And she was a changed girl. She’d grown
enormously more aware of the world around her, become more sophisticated and
knowledgeable, and, of course, she’d matured, grown as a person, since she was
a mere teenager.
The tennis lessons were new, but before them
had been diction lessons, so she might speak in a more sophisticated tone, art
and history lessons so she might sound more accomplished when she spoke with
his friends and business acquaintances, and lessons in fashion and makeup so
she might look pretty while on his arm.
With all she had learned and how she had
matured, Rory now had few illusions about her husband. He was a venal man, an
immature man much given to adolescent pouting when he didn’t get his way. He
was a prim man, very prudish about all things related to sex and nudity. He got
that from his mother, the mother Rory now realized had helped select her as his
mate. An old-fashioned girl, an obedient girl.
And his mother was ever present in Michael’s
life. It was no wonder he was such an immature little toad with that evil old
harpy always around him constantly berating him for his innumerable failings.
At first Rory had been afraid of the woman, then merely intimidated, and then
she’d grown resentful. She’d tried to defend Michael, but he’d always sided
with his mother, and become furious whenever she disagreed, even when it was
about his worth or value. And she’d given up.
Around her he was a fawning, obsequious
little sycophant, desperate to please her, though he never did. Around everyone
else he was a smirking, sulking, bullying, obnoxious cretin with an elevated
opinion of himself. She hadn’t recognized his arrogance when she’d first met
him. She’d shared his opinion of him, after all. But she’d matured and he had
not. And now she had come to loath him.
Not, of course, as much as she loathed his
mother. And some part of her even felt sorry for him. What else could he have
become, raised by that woman? But much of the time she simply thought he was
pathetic and dislikeable.
Three years ago, the idea she might have an
affair would have been unthinkable. She would have literally bet her life that
she would never consider any such thing. But her eyes had been opened in more
ways than one. She’d been tempted by so many beautiful, charming, sophisticated
men since she’d left the farm! And what did she have to resist them with? Her
knowledge of what a wonderful lover Michael was?
Michael, prudish, prurient Michael, who had
made love to her exactly twice since they’d married,
both times having to get himself so drunk first he could barely get an
erection? No, there was no satisfaction for her womanly needs to be found
there. Three years ago she hadn’t even thought she’d have such needs. But the
world outside had wakened many things within her, and desire was one of them.
She’d heard of Cameron through idle gossip,
and so while she had always had a small interest in tennis, her real interest
here was what was pressing against her bottom.
Yet she was far from a forward young woman.
She’d had virtually no experience with men other than casual flirting. She knew
herself to be a lovely young woman – Michael’s mother would never have selected
her otherwise. She was to be the pretty bird on his arm during his business
meetings, the trophy wife to show his virility and manliness – despite all
evidence to the contrary.
So it had been quite difficult to accept the
idea of having an affair, and now, as she felt Cameron’s manhood rubbing
against her getting larger and larger, she could also feel her face heating as
her limbs trembled with the urge to flee. She felt panic well up inside her,
fear and anxiety, alarm and shame swirling and churning within her belly and
guts. She fought to keep still, to not show what an insipid little child she
was as he gently pushed himself against her and his voice continued to speak
soothing words about tennis and movement.
His right hand was on her wrist, but his left
was on her belly, and now, as he rubbed more brazenly against her, that hand
slid gently upwards until it was pressed against the underside of one of Rory’s
full breasts. A moment it waited, then confidently rose to squeeze her breast
fully and firmly, the strong fingers working and kneading the soft flesh.
“I-I – .
“Swing again, practice the movement,” he said
soothingly.
The hand slid back, fingers nimbly undoing
two buttons in the center of her blouse, then slid forward into it, deftly
pushing down the cup of her bra as it slid in to cup her bare breast. Flame
warmed Rory’s face, but she could feel her nipples burning as well, and aching
with hunger and pleasure.
An hour later she was in his bed, writhing,
sweating, gasping, moaning, crying out in a soft, breaking voice as his big
hands held her buttocks and his tongue did shocking, wicked, amazing things to
her insides.
Oh she knew very well what sex involved.
She’d been in the world for three years, after all, and while she’d at first
been shocked by the gossip and stories other girls told her she’d absorbed it
all and come to understand. Still, it had made her insides burn with
embarrassment when Cameron had begun to lick and caress her down there, and only her steely determination to see things
through had kept her from screaming and running.
Now she was on the verge of screaming and cumming.