But in that moment she didn't care what she was working herself up to. Her hands were moving sensuously around to her front now, moving across the full firmness of her pliant young breasts. Gradually, she began opening and closing her legs as she massaged her sensitive mounds of warm flesh, the sound of the babbling politicians and their insipid wives seeming to consume her very being. She watched, fascinated, her own fingers began plucking at the snaps of her bikini bra top; but, finding them too time consuming, gave up her attempt. Her hands traveled almost greedily up and down her body now, over the bra-encased mounds of her breasts, down to her throbbing pubic mound, across the smoothness of her taut little brown belly.
Rhonda was a tall young woman, with long slender model's legs and fully rounded hips and breasts, and her hands seemed to be seeking knowledge of every inch of her proportionately lovely flesh. She ran her nail teasingly over the area up between her thighs, arching her long limbs up and spreading them open to the delicious, forbidden delights which her caresses were instilling within her body. Her mouth was parted, and her brain was whirling with the heat of her growing lust; she flailed her head from side to side on the over-sized pillow, her long, red hair swirling in a tangled cascade of shimmering loveliness. The magazine she'd been reading was kicked off the bed, as her hands continued their mad pace up and down, down and around, teasing her now-fevered flesh into even more intense arousal, her brain alive with lewd thoughts of her fiancee's long hard penis sawing in and out of her wetly throbbing cunt…
Rhonda arched her back, her hands moving behind and under her to quickly unsnap the catches of her bikini top; she had to have her breasts free, had to touch the rigid nipples without the encumbrance of clothing. She pulled the top off, tossed it to the floor beside the bed, and her hands hungrily engulfed the soft warmth of her alabaster mounds. Slowly, rhythmically, she began to roll the nipples back and forth, squeezing them and then releasing them, squeezing, then releasing…
The entire time she was thinking: No, no, this is wrong, it's sick! Rhonda Baker, masturbating like a teenage girl after she's read one of her daddy's sex books. But God, it feels good!
Her right hand left her nakedly quivering breast and moved slowly down over her stomach to the elastic waistband of her panties. In spite of her self-recrimination, her shame at what she was doing, she wasn't able to stop herself. There was only her urgency now, frantic need for release from the ever building whirlpools of passions inside her shamelessly aroused body.
She was drawing her bikini bottoms down, drawing them sensuously over her pubic mound while her other hand continued to stroke the nipple of one breast. She raised up on the bed, pulling the wisp of a garment down to her ankles, her eyes tightly shut, and then pulling them off completely so that she was completely naked. She lay back again, one hand on her breast, the other stroking first one thigh, then the other, carefully avoiding for the moment the moist inferno of lust between her legs. Then, when she could stand the pressure no longer, her eager hand shot to the hotly pulsating folds of her pussy, and pressed against the wet sensitive flesh there and she brought her legs up off the bed and splayed them wide apart. Her tight little pussy was opened wide now as she gently eased her outstretched finger into her wetly pulsating cunt.
"Ooooooohhhh!" she moaned as her eager hand shot to the hotly pulsating folds of her tight little pussy!
She imagined it was Bob's hand, his finger touching her there, stroking her down there. She imagined it was he who was now caressing her hair-lined cuntal lips until they seemed to be swollen with blood, until her clitoris was as hard as his cock was hard. She found her sensitive nerve bud with the tip of her searching finger and began to tease it back and forth, running the nail around the quivering tip until the delight caused her to jackknife her legs back up against her chest, mashing her breasts flat. Her buttocks, white moons of the softest, most flawless flesh imaginable, jerked and twisted in completely wantonness under her fingering, and the resulting erotic sensations caused the sweat to bead and shine on her lust-grimacing face, matting her hematin hair to her scalp.
OH, if only Bob were here! she groaned, through the daze of passion which controlled her brain. I wish he was here playing with my pussy… I wish he was going to put his penis inside my cunt… and fuck me, hard, harder until he came and so did I… oh God, I want to cum so bad, so bad… Bob, Bob, hurry home, baby.
Faster and faster, Rhonda's finger fucked into her moistly clasping cunt, deliberately teasing her clitoris and cuntal opening until her orgasm was only moments away. Her hips thrashed and pounded the waterbed, making it dip and sway in waves in rhythm to her own waves of pain-pleasure coursing through her sensitive flesh. There was no guilt, no shame for her in that frozen period of time; there was only the wonderful, rapturous feelings of impending climax which were filling her very soul.
Her Irish Catholic Mamma was no threat to her now.
CHAPTER TWO
Slowly, as she struggled for her climax, an unwelcomed sound penetrated Rhonda's lust filled brain: a knocking at the back door… persistent… almost angry knocking. Now who in the hell could that be? Oh, just a couple more minutes and I would have cum, thought Rhonda aggravated by the intrusion.
Damn! she cursed under her breath, then quickly grasped her housecoat from the foot of the bed as she shivered maddeningly from the impassioned sensations still electrifying her loins. Who could it be?
"Rhonda… oh, Rhonnndaa!" came the unmistakable throaty female voice of her neighbor, Marla Cushing.
"Damn it, Marla," Rhonda thought dejectedly as she slipped into the robe, hurriedly buttoned it and then gave her hair several quick pats.
"Oh, there you are, honey," the voice gushed as Rhonda approached the kitchen door with a forced calm that belied the inner turmoil she felt.
"I hope I didn't get you away from the TV?" the thirty-five year old divorcee continued. Then, not waiting to be invited in, she opened the door, paused to let her German Shepherd enter first and then boldly stepped in herself.
"No, that's all right. I was watching the convention and that's always a bore," she lied.
"That's good. I hate to be an intrusion," said the woman in a tone that clearly indicated that she really wasn't. Her eyes traveled up and then down her neighbor's scantily clad body. "I know you won't mind… you'll have time by yourself now that Bob is gone…"
"Oh, yes…" thought Rhonda, wondering how her nosy neighbor happened to know that Bob had left for Minneapolis. But then information seemed to float to Marla's ears from the wind.
"Would you do me a favor, dear?"
"Like what?"
"Taking care of Cesar here? You see," she continued to gush excitedly, then smiled broadly at her own cleverness in handling the matter. "He's really no trouble at all, but my brother-in-law and my sister are coming down and they're bringing their Doberman along with them. Well, you can see right off that a Shepherd and Doberman will never be friends…" her dark eyes darted upwards again, "… it'll only be until the weekend…" Her eyes dropped, quickly swept the room, then returned to Rhonda's.
Rhonda remained motionless for a long moment, digesting the flow of words which over the months she had become accustomed to. Her eyes shifted from her shorts and halter clad neighbor to the dog who was still sitting at his owner's feet. Finally, Rhonda lifted her glance again, studied those of the expectant woman, and said, "You take care of their dog, and I take care of yours, is that it?" It didn't seem to make much sense, all this shuffling of pets, but then Marla was not one to accept a refusal.