Sandra didn't know how long she was asleep, and it was dark when she woke. Blindly, she groped her way into the bedroom, and threw herself down on the bed, not bothering to remove her slacks or sweater. Her slacks were slipping down around her hips, but she was too tired to care. All the feeling of pleasure had deserted her body, leaving her an empty shell of misery and guilt. She could hardly allow her mind to dwell on the disgusting event from which she was just recovering, and her brain, almost jeeringly, refused to even reconsider the delight her body had experienced, but insisted in emphasizing the lewd aspect of her abhorrent submission to the farm hand's lewd handling of her naked vagina.
Feelings of self-loathing rose up in her and filled her with contempt for her own weakness. Kaleidoscopic pictures of her husband in different pictures with different girls, performing different prurient acts of self-gratification tripped through her mind, lascivious embroidery on the photographs she had actually seen, and they tormented her into a state of humiliated frenzy, until finally she dropped off into a fitful, disturbed sleep, her mind insisting in a last crippling blow, you're as bad as he is…
CHAPTER FOUR
"For God's sake, Sandra, will you stop shouting? Do you want everyone on the farm to hear you?" Mike was getting exasperated. Ever since he'd come back to the house for dinner, she'd been nagging at him, and it was getting to be more than he could take. It had been like this for several days now. It seemed to him that his wife was forever harping on at him, like a harridan, about one thing or another, and nothing he did pleased her. She seemed to be particularly distressed ever since he came back from town, and he wondered worriedly if she had found out about him and Eve. He felt a lightening of his worry when he thought of his blond dairy helper – if it weren't for her, and the comfort she gave him over the last week or so, he'd have gone out of his mind.
"You mean you don't want your little blonde girlfriend to hear, isn't that it?" Sandra shrieked bitterly. She knew that she was acting like a fishwife, but she didn't care. The last few days had been hell for her. Tormented with guilt over the episode with their hired man when she had joyfully reached orgasm from his manipulation, she had taken out her feelings on her unsuspecting husband. The fact that he was rather furtive and silent with her didn't help matters, and although she longed for some sign of warmth from him, her nagging and complaining prohibited any show of tenderness. Consumed with guilt over her own infidelity, she had no trouble in imagining her husband to be engaged in similar action, and she was haunted in particular by the photographs she had uncovered. She felt she couldn't trust him – he had concealed a period of stealth and deceit from her, a period when he had had numerous adulterous affairs, and she had no reason now to think he was not continuing his old ways.
"You think I don't notice," she went on relentlessly, "but I saw you with your arm around that hussy yesterday! Where were you taking her? Into the cow-stall to screw her?"
Mike flinched under her verbal assault. He hadn't realized that she'd noticed his friendliness with Eve, and hoped that she was only guessing wildly about what was going on.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Mike retorted, feigning nonchalance, his heart thudding at the memory of how he had in fact lead Eve towards the hay barn. He tingled even now at the memory of the passionate fire of their fucking, how her creamy, resilient body had fused with his as they writhed nakedly together on the hay, how she had welcomed him inside her with all the certainty of true womanhood. He shivered as he remembered how her tight, eager young pussy had felt as it had contracted like warm, throbbing liver around his pumping organ, how her pliant fleshy breasts felt under his caressing hands, how her full ripe lips felt as they returned his ardent kiss.
"Hah, you're thinking about her now, aren't you?" Sandra taunted, glaring with blazing eyes at him. "Have you forgotten about all the others?" She felt a stab of triumph when she noticed his sudden crimsoning, his quick look of worried fear.
"You didn't think I knew, did you?" she jeered, enjoying the look of perplexity that masked his face. She hadn't meant to throw it up to him about the other women in his life, but somehow, the expression of rapt pleasure he assumed when she knew he was thinking about HER, unleashed the green-eyed monster in her, and she couldn't hold back.
"W-what do you mean?" Mike said lamely. A worried knot of agitation was churning in his stomach, and he had an ominous premonition that Sandra had found out about his affairs.
"This is what I mean, you cheating bastard!" Sandra snapped, holding aloft a bundle of photographs, which Mike recognized with a sinking heart. She had found them!
"Have you forgotten about this blonde," Sandra jeered, waving a snapshot, "the one you're screwing in the ass?"
Mike blanched under his wife's taunting obscenities.
"That's enough," he said, his voice icy cold.
"What about that cute redhead, the one whose pussy you were licking and sucking? Have you forgotten her already?" Sandra went on hysterically.
"Give me those photographs, Sandra," Mike commanded calmly, although he was a turmoil of emotion inside. He had dreaded Sandra ever finding those lewd incriminations, and told himself that he should have destroyed them. Now he was paying for his procrastination. He had no idea how he was going to extricate himself from the results of his indiscretions, but he would worry about that later. All that mattered now was recovering the snapshots.
"Give-me-the-photographs," he enunciated again, and Sandra felt a quiver of fear. But she was determined not to give in.
"Like hell I will!" she taunted, and Mike, aggravated by her obstinacy, made a grab for them. Laughing shrilly, she held them up in the air, and began to dodge around the sitting room, laughing and tittering at her husband's attempts to retrieve the snapshots.
"Catch me if you can!" she yelled wildly, ducking behind the sofa. Mike, snarling with rage, threw himself at the settee, but his agile wife slipped out from behind it and once more prancing around the room.
"Stop that, you little bitch!" Mike spat, incensed at his wife's mockery of him. He made another lunge at her, and this time, managed to grab her wrist, holding her immobile.
"Now give them to me!" he ordered, his breath coming in pants from the unaccustomed exertion.
"Never!" Sandra gasped, looking wildly around the room and struggling vainly to escape.
"I'm afraid you've no choice," Mike jeered, "give them to me, or I'll take them." Sandra was desperate. Somehow withholding the coveted snapshots from him was a symbol of some kind of victory over him, and she wasn't about to relinquish that so easily.
"I'm waiting, Sandra," Mike intoned, his fingers digging into her wrist.
"Then wait, you son of a bitch!" Sandra snapped, and with a defiant look of triumph, threw the bundle of lewd photographs onto the burning fire!
"You bitch! You Goddamn little bitch!" Mike spat. She had burned his photographs!
His fingers tightened cruelly around her wrist as he stared at the burning photos. His raging anger had finally mastered his embarrassed self-reproach, and her spiteful sarcastic taunts echoed in his mind as the pictures burned, the glossy sheen curling and distorting the naked forms. As flames engulfed the mass of photographs, he pulled one away from the burning heap.
With unseeing eyes, he stared at the half-burned snapshot, the two naked figures on it barely recognizable. Shame and indignation boiled over together in the cauldron of his emotions, and with a growl, he threw Sandra down against the large ottoman at the foot of the sofa.
"I'll make you pay for that, you fucking little bitch!" he screamed, clutching wildly at her cardigan and tearing it open, sending several buttons flying, and ripping away her bra, revealing her full sensual breasts jutting out timidly. The sight of their naked glory only seemed to inflame him further, and he stared at the smooth ivory orbs, his face blushing beet red, and the cords of his neck stood out like rawhide.