Chapter One

 

Elizabeth had been sort of kidding that night several months ago...but sort of not. During foreplay her husband Bill had teased and tantalized the already-aroused woman so skillfully, so relentlessly, that at his sly-eyed pleading she at last had to admit some of her most private, dirty little fantasies to her loving husband. A bit guiltily and yet wickedly thrilled, too, as the man kissed her, touched her, stroked her, she had husked out the sweet, syrupy impossible scenarios that had excited her in desperate secret for so, so long. She had always been a "good girl"-rather prim in high school, not very experienced at all in college before she met Bill, and then a solid, respectable wife and mother all these years...but, ah, how she seethed sometimes to the thought of wanton, exhibitionistic debaucheries that she knew could never be played out in the real world.

One daydream, for example, always found her spread-legged and naked on a park bench somewhere, her knees high and her bare heels pulled up on either side of her hips as she masturbated herself, showy and languid and unashamed. To expose herself in such a manner seemed just the height of naughtiness, a thought that never failed to thrill her. Mm, to flaunt her restless female flesh, to open it up all hairy and thick-lipped, and pink and glistening inside, to let everyone see the things she truly did-to make them see.

For, oh, how long she once had touched herself in desperate, agonized secrecy, thinking it was wrong somehow! Her final year of high school, when the eighteen-year-old at last had begun to explore her own burgeoning body, had been torture, with the conditioning of the puritanical nuns of her early school days always shaming her so fiercely with what she did to herself under the covers at night. Elizabeth had tried to stop-she truly had. Guilty and forlorn and deeply repentant in the cold light of day, she always swore it off, and said she never would do something so unnatural and unladylike again. Even after a shower that cleansed her body of the sticky sweat of the previous night's desperate exertions, she washed her hands again in scalding hot water, scrubbing compulsively under her nails with soap so that there would remain no hint of that telltale fishy smell. And then when she dressed, she did not even let herself look down as she clothed that recalcitrant white flesh into dutiful chastity once more.

Eventually, though, the poor girl could not help but break down. All day long she would think of things-strange things, dirty things, things that excited her so profoundly even though she knew they were wrong. And then, of course, as soon as she could, after the endless torture of homework and dinner and chitchat and television, Elizabeth finally locked herself in her room at night, and she began to rub herself, down there. Yes, and in the secret darkness that seemed to invite any and all wickedness, and to cloak it from any chance of discovery, too, she would do wonderful, terrible things to her shivering virgin body. She simply could not stop-could not-until she convulsed in that sweet paroxysm whose name the sheltered girl did not yet even know.

Under Bill's patient tutelage, however, Elizabeth gradually had come to accept that her self-pleasuring was not really so dirty-why, her husband, red-faced, always assured her that it in fact was beautiful. She would never forget the time back when the two were going out in college, when they first really started getting serious, and Bill finally convinced the secretly curious girl into some heavy petting. He had driven them out into the country and parked along an out-of-the-way dirt road beside a swamp where bullfrogs croaked, and fireflies winked in the heavy night air, and water lilies shone pale beneath the silvery moon. It was so romantic and magical, and at the younger man's urging she at last had taken out his penis, and she began to touch it in a sort of awe.

The thing was thick and bare in her hands, burning hot, and although one side of her mind told her that this was wrong, and that she should be offended, a lower and more dimly lit corner of her psyche whispered that maybe she was not being taken advantage of after all. Clearly what her inexperienced hands did excited him so much, and as she explored the throbbing pillar of flesh with an innocently wanton curiosity, she almost wondered if perhaps she was the one who wielded the real power here, not the supposedly swaggering male. And certainly the touch of his fingers in the desperately moist panties beneath her skirt had been heaven-how she squirmed in the seat, so embarrassingly wet and yet unable to resist! He did not know how to touch the thing as expertly as she did, she thought to herself dirtily, and yet it was good, so good, to feel those blunt male digits swirling with such endearing eagerness in her fearsomely juiced-up folds.

And when after, all too soon, the poor boy had discharged all over himself-all over!-with a helpless whimper, shocking Elizabeth with the endless gluey mess, he had begged her to finish herself off as well...and, blushing and yet unable to resist, she had, and then as he watched, wide-eyed, he began to yank breathlessly again at his own sticky little organ. It was all so deliciously forbidden and yet completely irresistible as well. His feverish, almost helpless actions were the perfect counterpart to her own, and the way his unoccupied hand clutched hers was so incongruously yet endearingly tender. She simply loved Bill so much, and he made her feel as she never had before, and so she showed him everything-everything. It was the first time that, afterward, she had not felt bad about touching herself. Ah, and it was but the first of many, many gentle lessons.

In Elizabeth's naughty fantasies, however, exciting her beloved spouse in private was...just not quite naughty enough. If it was a wicked thrill to rub herself before one man, after all, why, would not even more viewers make the act even better? Oh, the thrill of flaunting herself without shame or hesitation or remorse, feeling wild and feminine and free as she demonstrated so wantonly both the desirability of her fluttering bare flesh, and its true erotic capabilities as well! How she might rub and rub and rub that hairy wet pussy of hers on the oft-imagined park bench somewhere...

Some passersby might nod courteously, giving merely the brief, unconcerned, matter-of-fact smile with which one wordlessly acknowledges a stranger on the street. More often, however, people stopped and stared, wide-eyed-that was always particularly nice. Sometimes college-age guys gawked and pointed and dug one another in the ribs, chuckling to one another about what a slut she was, calling her a milf, and commenting on the worth of her plump, matronly titties compared to the perky handfuls of some little nineteen-year-old wenches they had used just the night before. Now and then some upright and irreproachable members of society such as the retired older couple down the street, or the director of Human Resources at her work, or perhaps the principal of her children's high school would step up and in a very neighborly fashion encourage the spread-legged thing to a panting frenzy, and as her red-nailed hand moved faster and faster in a glistening nest of squelching curls, then she would show them-