Since that time, we had made love on an average of about twice a week, the dread of being found out growing less and less, the guilt still there, but shoved into the background. Now and again, I would have a bout of self-loathing when I was on my own, but it was forgotten as soon as I lay in Stella's arms. I suppose it's something like an habitual drunkard must feel the morning after a night on the bottle and finding the quickest way to get rid of the feeling was to pull another cork.
I must be quite honest about one thing, though — Stella's a gorgeous creature and after that first time, I have found no difficulty whatever in forgetting the wrongness of what I was doing in the delights of her lovely body.
I have had recent doubts about what I am-lesbian or normal woman; I'm fairly certain now that I am bisexual, although I have never before been roused by another woman, and, even though poor Phil has been on “rations,” I can still enjoy having normal intercourse with him.
CHAPTER TWO
Now, as I went into our bedroom, all the shame and guilt came flooding back. Phil's remarks had been far too astute to be ignored; it had never occurred to me that he might have noticed the sort of person Stella was, let alone think of the possibility of her “getting my pants off me.”
I thought back to the last time we had had sex together; he was right-it was over a month-and that wasn't like me at all. As he said-there were times when I had practically begged for it, stripping slowly in front of him downstairs after Jane had gone to bed, throwing myself on to his lap and wriggling about until he was mad for me, too.
I had been very thoughtless-from both our points of view; I'd have to do something about it as soon as possible. What would I do if he found out about Stella and I? Could he divorce me and cite her as the corespondent? Whatever he did, I shuddered at the thought of the shame attached. I must give myself to him that night. The trouble was, Stella had had me twice that afternoon and I didn't feel at all like sex right then. Well, I'd just have to force myself.
Leaving the door ajar and keeping my ears open for his footsteps on the stairs, I undressed quickly, stripping right down to my nothings.
Rummaging amongst my underthings in the bottom drawer of the dressing-table, I found the little packet of erotic photographs Phil brought home from time to time, which we sometimes used for inspiration when we had one of our “long sessions.”
Laying them out on top of my things so that I could push the drawer shut if I heard him coming up, I knelt and studied them, picking out what used to be my favourite positions. With my eyes on the lascivious contortions of the men and women in the pictures, I knelt there, with my knees apart and masturbated, goading myself into an erotic fervour to accept my husband.
I rubbed my clitoris and thrust a finger in and out of myself until I was rewarded with the first trickle of slippery wetness; even so, it was hard work, after the session Stella and I had had that afternoon.
There was one picture, which had always been one of my favourites (now I knew why) of two girls and a man. One girl knelt astride the man's face, with his mouth to her sex, while the other straddled his loins, impaled on his penis; as their obviously happy quims were being attended to, they were kissing, hands cupping each others breasts.
I kept my eyes on this one as I frigged myself, trying to get my clitoris to stand up and really take notice. I got a slight reaction and having got things moving down there, briefly rubbed at my nipples to bring them up. However much I might simulate passion with Phil, he would know there was something wrong if my nipples remained soft. I rubbed them, but saw that it would take too long to get them up that way, so I resorted to a little trick I had amused Phil with.
By getting both hands under each breast in turn, lifting it as far as it would go and bending my head well down, I was just able to get my mouth to the nipple. I did this with both of them, sucking hard and running my tongue over my reluctant teats.
They were beginning to respond to the treatment, when I heard a door close downstairs and Phil's step on the stairs. I gave each nipple one last, hard suck, wrapped the photos up and shut the drawer.
I was just picking up my shortie nightie as he came into the bedroom. I could see by the way he looked at my naked body that he wanted me. I couldn't deny him.
“Think you'll really need that nightie on?”
I looked at his hot eyes, then dropped my hand, letting the nightie slide from my fingers to the floor.
“Not unless I want it ripped off me.” I walked slowly towards him, letting my hips and breasts sway sexily. I halted in front of him and smiled up into his eyes. He made a grab for me, but I jumped back out of reach. “You won't need those clothes, either.”
He began to rip his clothes off like a maniac. I felt sorry as I watched him: it really wasn't fair. In no time at all, he was naked as I and coming for me again. I was about to slip into his arms, when I saw the door out of the corner of my eye.
“Better close the door and turn the key before we get down to business darling, in case Jane comes along — we don't want to give her any more ideas than she's probably picking up already.”
He locked the door and I went over to the bed and lay back on it, hands under my head. This was the way he liked it-me lying back passive, with everything exposed for him to do what he wanted. As he came to join me I opened my legs.
Already, his penis was erect and ready for the fray- I hoped I was. I breathed a sigh of relief when he showed he was in an exploratory mood and started the proceedings by fondling and kissing me. I squirmed and wriggled against him, giving him my mouth and rubbing my breasts hard against his chest, making it nice for him, but chiefly to try and bring myself on.
He started to suck my nipples, then, and I knew I was saved. With the few sucks I had given them myself and the rough treatment of rubbing them against the hair on his chest, they were already reddening and beginning to swell-even if it was only soreness! He sucked on them until they were the big, hot lumps of dark pink flesh that he loved, then he got between my legs, the hard knob of his penis thumping at my sex.
I had enough juices flowing to accommodate him. And then I had the oddly unfamiliar sensation of his warm, stiffened flesh gliding up inside me; odd, as I had, in the last few months become more used to the soft mouth and tongue of Stella.
I gripped him, locking my legs over his thighs, bucking and jerking under him as enthusiastically as I knew how. I began to feel my body really responding at last as he rode me. He stopped once, lifting his upper body away from me and closing his eyes, as he fought to control himself and stave off an orgasm.
I remembered something else, then, as he began ramming himself into me again. Moaning, I raked my nails down his back and bucked like an unbroken horse under him, jamming my mouth to his. Then I relaxed back for a while, as though temporarily exhausted from an orgasm. In normal bouts, I generally spent three or four times before he unloaded his semen into me, so I felt I had to pretend at least one and hoped I should be able to muster one genuine orgasm.
On he rode and I came back into the game. He was getting close, now, and I lifted my bottom high off the bed as he gave me each thrust, to let him get well up me. I felt his cock swell inside me, then came the throbs as he pumped sperm into my womb.