"The panty lovers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Johnson Colin)

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Where's that motherfucker LaFarge?" asked Birindelli suddenly wide awake, all business and ready for action the moment he opened his eyes.

Feeling lazy and strangely happy, Ann had been lying awake for some time, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun and the comfort of the big double bed while she stared dreamily at the ceiling, relaxed and at peace with herself. She decided to ignore Birindelli for the moment and continue with her own thoughts.

What do you have to be happy about? she asked herself accusingly, her life-long puritanical moralistic sense coming quickly to the surface. You should be ashamed of yourself instead of lying here smiling away like a simpleton! You have just passed the most sin-filled night of your life, doing things with two strange men which you never even dreamed of doing with your own dear husband. So why are you so happy?

Why indeed? Ann ran her tongue lightly over her bruised, red lips, noting that she could still detect the pungent male taste of dried cum and she grinned to herself as she remembered how it had gotten there. Why indeed? She answered herself back as if there were two separate people in her head conducting a debate. I'm happy because I've been really satisfied for the first time in my life. At last I know what sex is all about! Before last night, I was in kindergarten and now, all of a sudden, I feel like I'm going to college. The stuff Frank has in his medical books is only half the story and the dull half too!

"What are you grinning about?" demanded Birindelli, his curiosity aroused by the sly, secret smile on her face. The big, burly corporation executive rolled over on one side, kicking the sheet off his hairy muscular body, and looked at me buxom young model lying unashamedly naked beside him.

"I'm grinning because I have just realized that there is more to sex than the missionary position, a couple of quick jabs and then a good night's sleep," she confessed, no longer feeling shy about discussing such a personal matter.

"I could have told you that," boasted Birindelli casually, lightly running his fingers over the swollen mounds of her breasts and playing absentmindedly with the sensitive brown nipples. "You mean it took Jacques LaFarge to teach you that fucking can be fun?"

"Well, you did some teaching too, as I recall," she reminded him tartly, blushing at her own boldness.

"I guess I did," Birindelli admitted. "But LaFarge did the pick-and-shovel work, damn his hairy French balls! By the way, congratulations on the performance you put on last night. You almost had me convinced you'd never gone down on a man before."

"It wasn't exactly an act," Ann confessed honestly. "I never had done it before and the idea of letting a man put his… his penis into my mouth just disgusted me. I knew I was going to have to do it eventually, but I guess I wouldn't have last night if he hadn't used the belt on me."

"And now?" prompted Birindelli.

"And now I guess I could do it without being beaten," she admitted with a giggle.

"Hmmmmm, you're going to regret having told me that," he informed her with a broad lascivious smile. "I'm only sorry that I don't have the time to put you to the test right now, but I have other fish to fry. Or should I say French-fry? Anyway, you get dressed and get out of here. I want to be alone with LaFarge when I show him the pictures. Call me tonight and I'll let you know whether we won or lost."

"Tell me something," questioned Ann as she began gathering up her clothing from the floor. "I know it's none of my business, but suppose he just laughs at you and refuses to sign?"

"He'll sign," affirmed Birindelli confidently. "I've got enough photographic evidence to make sure that he signs with Wonder-Wear for many a year."

"But why should he be that sensitive to blackmail? After all, he's French! Suppose he tells you to go jump in the lake with your dirty pictures?"

"He won't," grinned the executive. "Our friend LaFarge started his career without a penny to his name and built an empire with his wife's money. He supplied the brains all right, but Old Lady LaFarge kept everything in her name. She's as suspicious as the Devil and jealous as hell and if she catches him screwing around, he'll be out on his ass! And he knows it!"

Frank was in the bathtub when Ann came in, and the sound of his splashing gave her an idea. Throwing her coat over a nearby chair, she headed for the bathroom, preparing in her mind the usual excuse about a promotional conference which had lasted until the early morning hours, forcing her to go home with Jenifer rather than face the long, dangerous ride on the subway.

There was no reason for her and Frank to stay in the Middle Ages as far as their love-making was concerned, she told herself. Of course, she could never confess to him how she had learned all that she now knew, but maybe she could put some fun into their marriage!

"Hello, lover!" she called cheerfully, swinging open the bathroom door and finding him seated in hot water up to his waist. He looked mildly surprised at this intrusion since they habitually respected each other's privacy as far as the bathroom was concerned.

"Hi," he replied, a little embarrassed at having her see him completely naked like this. "You had to spend the night in town?"

"Oh, yes," she assured him, trying to imagine what kind of expression she could produce on his face if she were to tell him exactly what she had done downtown that night. "Did you miss me?"

"Well, yeah," he affirmed. "I mean I had to make my own breakfast, but I guess it's worth it for that fat new salary you're getting."

"Well, I'm here now," she replied, a little miffed that he was unable to think of a better reason for missing her than that. "And I've come to scrub my husband's back. Turn around, Doctor!"

Smiling cheerfully, she picked up the soap and a wash-cloth and moved toward him, deciding that he would probably be aroused by the touch of her soft hands on his naked skin.

"Better not," he advised her seriously. "You'll get your dress all wet."

"Then I'll take it off," she countered and quickly stepped out of it, turning to face him clad only in her bra and panties.

"That's not very substantial underwear," Frank commented seriously, studying the Pink Cloud combination that she had modeled so often. "I mean you can see right through it…"

"Would you like me to take it off?" she asked hopefully, her hands on her brassiere.

"No, I didn't mean that," he hurriedly explained. "I just meant that it would be more economical to buy underwear that was sturdier. Besides… well, with that brassiere… your breasts wiggle when you walk, even when you have your dress on. After all, as a doctor's wife, you…"

"All right, all right," she conceded, refusing to let him spoil the warm sensual mood she was in. "I'll take it off so it won't upset you. There's nothing wrong with a woman letting her husband see her breasts, is there?"

"No," he admitted dubiously, as he watched her strip off her fragile brassiere and bare the sensuously-swaying mounds of her breasts to him, wondering with his precise scientific mind what on earth had gotten into her.

"All right, now let me wash your back!" she picked up the cloth and began running her hands tenderly over his shoulders and ribs, deliberately trying to arouse him.

Nothing!

She changed positions, perching on the side of the tub facing him so that her large pendulous breasts hung directly in front of his face as she scrubbed him, a sight guaranteed to arouse any normal man.

No results. She glanced covertly down between her husband's legs as she washed him, expecting at any moment to see his small soft penis begin to grow. But his cock remained limp and inactive, bobbing gently under the surface of the bath water.

"Did an interesting autopsy yesterday," he said, trying to start a little light conversation, and ignoring the fact that Ann's right nipple was brushing persistently across his lips as he tried to speak. "A young woman, about your age, killed in an automobile accident…"

"Oh, don't be gruesome, Frank," she cut him off. "I don't want to hear about it. Come on, climb out now, you're done. I'll dry you off."

The young doctor obediently stopped talking about the fascinating autopsy he'd done and stepped dripping onto the bathmat, wondering what on earth was coming over his wife. First she comes bursting into the sanctity of his bathroom, then rips off her clothing and insists on scrubbing his back, something he had been doing for himself since he was ten years old. And not wanting to hear about his autopsy! What could you do with such a woman?

Ann busily dried Frank's shoulders and arms and then knelt at his feet to take care of his trunk and legs. Before her eyes dangled his small soft boyish cock, about half the size of Birindelli's massive instrument, and Ann found herself wondering how she managed to arouse such powerful emotions in other men and nothing at all in her own husband?

She ran the towel languidly up the inside of his leg until her hand came into contact with his balls and then down again to his knees. Would he ever get the idea? she wondered, moving her face unnecessarily close to his penis in the hope that her hot breath would turn him on.

Frank, in the meantime, was paying very little attention to her efforts, concentrating instead on reviewing what he knew about female psychology in an effort to diagnose his wife's strange behavior. Then suddenly, as she began rubbing the towel vigorously over his penis, a very significant paragraph from one of his text-books occurred to him. All the symptoms she was displaying were characteristic of intensive sexual desire. "Well, that's easily taken care of," he announced with an easy professional smile as if he had been reading her mind all along. "Why didn't you just say so if you wanted to make love, my dear?"

Ann could have wept with joy. "Oh, make love to me, Frank," she pleaded. "I don't know why, but I want it so bad!"

"Certainly, sweet," he answered condescendingly. "Shall we go into the bedroom?"

"Wait," she stopped him, an impish smile crossing her face as she dropped the towel on the floor. "I'll get you started first."

Raising her hands, she took his soft flaccid penis in her fingers and moved it gently past her parted lips, running her tongue across the red gland the way she had for Jacques LaFarge the night before. Then, sucking hard, she pulled him all the way into her mouth, her face nestling in his clean, fresh-smelling loins.

But before she could properly begin the operation, Frank was gone, yanking himself roughly away from her with a horrified gasp. His hand came down out of nowhere, catching her cruelly on the side of the head and sending her sprawling across the tiled bathroom floor.

"You slut!" he shouted at her in a rage. "Where did you learn that little trick? I won't have my wife behaving like a common whore. Get your clothing on. You disgust me!"

And he stalked out of the room, leaving her to sob into the wet washcloth.