"Kelly," he murmured, letting his eyes rove over her. She was exquisite, he thought. Absolutely exquisite. Her figure was perfect, her
breasts high and firm, her waist slender, tiny, her hips flaring. She turned and crossed the room to take a canape from the silver tray on the bar.
Whitmore stared, his mouth suddenly dry, He licked his lips, breathing heavily. God; he'd never seen anyone so graceful, never seen anyone so sensuous and yet so unobtrusive about it. She was just what the doctor ordered, he told himself passionately, just what he'd been waiting for all these years. And now he'd found her. Why wait any longer? There was no reason to, he thought, stepping forward, taking her glass from her and setting it down on the top of the bar.
Kelly looked surprised and opened her mouth as if to protest, but suddenly John flicked his head forward, fastening his mouth on her warm moist lips. She recoiled involuntarily, and then relaxed, letting him press his loins up against her pelvis, parting her lips willingly as his tongue darted out to probe at them, then press between them.
It found hers and swirled around it, then shot forward deep into her throat until Kelly was afraid he would choke her. She struggled briefly against him, gasping for breath. And then when she caught it she relaxed, feeling the little darts of pleasure shoot deep into her as John crushed her to him, mashing her firm little pointed breasts, the nipples hard as diamonds, against his chest.
Kelly felt a tingling in her pussy, the beginning of a moistness there that she could hardly comprehend. She wished desperately that it would go away and then knew that only John could make that happen; at the same time she knew that she wanted just that… that she wanted to submit to him completely as she had never wanted to submit to her own husband… she felt his fingers pressing into the soft white flesh of her shoulders, felt his hands as they slipped beneath the neckline of her dress, then down to the ripe mounds of her breasts.
He slid them gently beneath the sheer fabric of her brassiere and then he began to stroke her soft skin; Gently, tenderly, but relentlessly too he went on, until the tingling between Kelly's legs grew and spread throughout her quaking young loins.
She pressed her soft white thighs together in a desperate effort to quell the agonizing quivering there, the little flames that seemed to lick at her most secret parts, then to set on fire even her narrow cuntal passage. The flames of desire spread through her helpless flesh, and she mewled with pleasure as the pressure of John's fingers against her softly ripe breasts increased, as he cupped them now, kneading them until new bolts of excitement seemed to set off tiny explosions in her blood.
He took her tiny budding nipples between his thumbs and forefingers now, rolling them with teasing and tantalizing motions that made her gasp almost breathlessly. She seemed to come alive
beneath his touch, she thought with wonder, to spring into a quivering ecstasy, to respond as she never had with her own husband!
She gave a little sigh, almost inaudible, in regret for all those lost years when she had been as unfeeling as a marble statue, all those years during which she had waited for just such a moment as this. An unwanted chill spread through her, heightening the fires that burned within her, then suddenly she tilted her face up to John's again.
He bent down to whisper in her shell-like ear, "My God, but you're lovely," and his very words excited her further. She was trembling uncontrollably now, wishing desperately that he would slip her dress off, unfasten the hooks at the back of her bra and release her throbbing breasts.
"Oh, John," she murmured, her voice small and quivering. "Oh,
my God!"
"Kelly, let's go into the guest room. Would you like that?"
"Yes," she whispered, nodding. "Oh, yes!" She glanced up at him, her eyes bright as twinkling stars now.
John led the way from the library and down the hall with Kelly following willingly, her heart flailing against her ribs. It seemed so wicked to her in so many ways. She was being unfaithful to Tom after all, no matter what fact was put upon the adulterous act she would soon commit, and yet it seemed right, somehow. John Whitmore was such a fine person, such a gentleman, how could he possibly do anything wrong? Or ask her to do anything wrong? It just wasn't possible, she thought, anymore than it would have been possible for her father to do so.
John opened a door far down the hall and Kelly peered in at the twin beds covered with silk bedspreads, at the matching draperies, the thick carpet. The furniture was graceful, the other furnishings in the best possible taste. Kelly relaxed, whatever qualms she had had earlier now stilled. She felt at home here, in a way she had never felt in her own small house. And again, she felt her blood raging, rampaging through her veins.
She went in as he held the door for her and looked around. He quickly followed her, closing the door softly but definitely behind them. And then once again he moved close to Kelly, pressing his loins up against hers… she felt the bulge there beneath his trousers now and shivered a little as-the full realization of what she was about to do, all the implications of this act, reached her. And yet she brushed away all doubts, all fears. There would be no humiliation with this man as there had been with her own husband, merely because John would have none of the sense of inferiority she knew that Tom had in relation to her. There would be none of that and their lovemaking would be beautiful and fulfilling, just the way it was described in some of the psychology books, those that dealt primarily with the psychology of sex, that she had been reading recently.
She shivered again in anticipation, feeling a little weak with the erotic joy of the moment, while the nearness of John fanned the flames that seemed to burn within her, consuming her loins like brushwood in a forest fire. "Oh, God," she moaned, and then felt his hands go behind her to fumble with the zipper at the back of her dress.
He drew it down slowly in a thrilling, tantalizing motion that sent little feathers of delight tripping across her trembling skin, teasing her until it seemed that every nerve end responded. She felt the cool air of the room waft across her and sucked in her breath with the pleasurable shock. And then he eased his fingers beneath the narrow shoulders, the tiny cap sleeves to slide the dress down her slender white arms.
It fell to her hips and John ran his hands slowly down the flat plane of her belly to the small folds of fabric there, then smoothed it down over her quivering thighs, her softly undulating buttocks.
She stared at him, her eyes wide in her lovely face, her blonde hair hanging angelically about her shoulders, and waited. Oh, God! He was so gentle with her so… so… she searched for the word. So considerate, she thought, remembering the rough way in which her husband so often took her.
Tom had fucked her, she thought disconsolately, remembering the obscenity he so often used and which she still heard with a slight shock. He had fucked her, but John would make love to her, the way ladies and gentlemen did, the way people of her own background, did. It was what she would expect of a man who lived in a house like this, and her eyes suddenly darted around the room, taking in all the small luxurious details which she had overlooked before. It was what her father and mother had done and not the terrible and shocking carnal act that she and her husband performed together.
She had thought that she and Tom could be happy together, had thought she could escape the stuffiness of her own family background with a man like him. He was rough, like an uncut gem. But she had scratched the surface and found, she thought, the wonderful qualities beneath the crude exterior. She had thought they would be enough, and she had been mistaken. But such a thing would never happen with John Whitmore.