Chubby wife on the prowl

Posted:bbwclub

Neil was still in the bathroom. She could see its light down the hall and she could hear him brushing his teeth. Melinda took a deep breath and studied herself in the mirror. Was it right? Was she perfect, for him? Oh, she hoped.

Her hair was loose and lustrous, framing an oval face with strongly chiseled features. Melinda shook her hair, delighting in the way it shimmered and fell into place around her face, onto her shoulders. She rarely wore makeup -- her eyes were naturally dark, her lips and cheeks healthy pink -- but the modest amount she'd just applied highlighted her features and made them, she hoped, irresistibly appealing.

"Please," she whispered softly, puckering her lips. They made a softly muted red bow, glossy in the bedroom's diffused light.

She turned, profiling before the mirror, and the effect was dramatic. At least, she hoped it was dramatic.

Melinda's negligee was a pale green silk, transparent as plastic cup, though the coloration kept it from being blatantly revealing. But the curves of her pink body showed through -- the full high roundness of her tits, the thrust of her hips, the sleekness of her thighs. Facing the mirror, she could see how the clinging silk emphasized her tits, allowed the dark nipple pads to show. She stroked her palms across her breasts, loving the feel of the fabric against them, and her nipples began to erect, punching their outlines into the silk. It was a sexy gown, she was certain. It had cost her ninety dollars and she hoped the expenditure would prove worthwhile.

"Not bad for twenty-nine," she smiled at herself, and the Melinda in the mirror smiled too. It was a pretty smile -- but was it pretty enough? Melinda threw back her shoulders, making her tits lift bravely. Alluring, she thought. Pretty isn't what you need.

She half closed her eyes, peering at herself through the slits, and she made her lips curl into an enigmatic smile. A smile that promised much, she thought critically. Oh, God, let it deliver too!

Melinda stole a peek out the door, just in time to see the bathroom light going out. She sucked in her breath, listening for the sound of Neil's feet down the hallway. In a moment he'd be here, ready for bed. And she...

He came into the bedroom, wearing the bottom half of his pajamas, and he stopped in the doorway. Melinda was lying gracefully on the bed, her legs stretching, and her body at a diagonal across the sheets. He couldn't get into bed without displacing her. Or accommodating her.

"Hello, darling," she said lightly, her heart beating like a blacksmith's anvil in her ears. "Are you ready for bed too?"

He nodded, taking a step toward her. "Uh, is that new?" he wondered, indicating the green negligee.

Melinda sat up, wishing this were an old fashioned bed, with a headboard she could prop herself against. But even as she rearranged herself, she made damned sure that her legs stretched across Neil's side of the marriage bed, reminding him that she was here, that she was available, that she... The aroma of perfume rose from the deep valley between her tits, and she drew fresh resolve from that heady fragrance.

"Come here," she said huskily, extending one hand toward her husband. He came closer but he didn't take her hand. He only stood there, looking at her. Melinda felt a lump in her throat and her vision seemed to blur. Was he rejecting the offer of her body too? He stood like a statue, only his eyes moving.

Melinda rose onto her knees and she leaned toward Neil. She felt the silk stretch tight across her breast and she knew that he could see her pink flesh through the green wisp of gown. Could he not smell the scent of her prepared body, too? Was he blind and deaf and sexless too? "Neil," she said. "Come to me. Touch me." And she seized his nearest, idle hand, drawing it to her breast. "Feel my nipple," she invited. "Feel how stiff it is? God, Neil, all of me is just as excited as that nipple! All of me wants you... now... here... oh, come here!"

He was a medium-tall man, athletically built, but he seemed pliable as jelly then. "Melinda..." he said as she pulled him onto the bed, as she twisted his face round so she could bruise it with the crushing, heated ferocity of her kisses. His fist tightened on her breast, and Melinda groaned into her husband's mouth as her nipple seemed to convulse against the heat of his palm, through the silky lasciviousness of her gown, and she felt her breast swelling, engorging, and hardening in his grip.

Ahhh, she thought in excitement, lying back. Neil moved with her but there was no enthusiasm. Her hand stroked up and down his back and she found only tension, reluctance. Damn you! She cursed silently, and her fingers stole beneath the waistband of his pajama pants.

She rubbed him, rubbed until she felt heat stirring in the cheeks of his ass, a moistness in the crack between those checks, and then she rubbed harder, Neil stirred, lifting one leg, and his mouth slipped from hers. "Honey," he said apologetically, "I don't think I can..."

"Don't think, don't talk!" she whispered, and her lips brushed a trail of licks and kisses down his neck, onto his chest. For a man of thirty he had precious little hair on his chest, she thought, just as her mouth homed in on one tiny nipple.

"Ohhhh..." He ovaled his mouth into a moan as Melinda began to lick and suck his erecting treat. Her lips pulled on his rubbery flesh, her teeth gnashed provocatively, as Neil's little tip stiffened in her mouth like a teeny, tiny cock.

A cock. Melinda's hand moved inside Neil's pajamas, switching attack from his rear to his front. If he had little hair on his chest, he had a forest of it in his groin, and she let her fingers slide teasingly through that forest, flirting with the root of his limp cock. Her fingers scissoring upon the base of Neil's pecker, squeezing the tool where it sprouted from his lower abdomen, sliding down around to tickle his nuts from above, and she made her mouth even more aggressive upon his extended nipple, praying that he'd show some response. Soon, God, soon! His prick felt so tiny and defenseless when it was limp. So tiny. So defenseless.

And so Goddamned fucking useless!

Melinda let her fingers slide down further, scissor-locking around the shaft of his prick. She tightened, loosened, tightened again, and panting as she fought to squeeze life into Neil's lazy pecker. He strained against her. "I don't think it's going to work," he said in a tight voice, his hand coming down to touch her. "Look, honey, I'm really knocked out. Why don't we just go to sleep and forget it?"

Melinda sniffed, catching the aroma of her sexy perfume. She looked down at her green silk negligee, the seductive gown she'd worn tonight specifically to seduce her husband. But how could you seduce a man whose cock wouldn't even stiffen for his perfumed, negligeed, seductive wife? And how did you know when a marriage was going sour, when divorce was inevitably waiting just around the bend?

Melinda pulled her hand out of Neil's pajamas.

She sat back, legs cutting beneath her, and she sighed heavily. Neil put his hand on her shoulder. "I've had a hard day," he told Melinda. "I'm just not in the mood."

She looked up, dark eyes flashing. "You're never in the mood lately! You work late almost every night. You come home, eat your supper, and fall into bed. Neil, what's happening to us? I think you care more for your job than you do for me."

"For Christ's sake, honey, it isn't like that at all!"

"Then why... why don't you want to make love to me?"

"Oh, damn it, Melinda!" He lifted the sheets and crawled under, sliding into comfortable sleeping position. His back was turned to Melinda and she stared at it, drawing no more comfort from his bare shoulders than she had gotten from the rest of him.

"I take it the discussion is over?" she sniffed.

"I suppose so."

"The hell you say!"

Melinda flung the sheets off him, quickly, surprisingly, and Neil turned over. "Oh, for..."

She grabbed the waistband of his pajamas and jerked them down. He didn't have time to protest or prevent and, since he wore nothing under his pajamas, his soft cock was bare in a twinkling sort of way.

Soft and tiny, curled like a little worm across the medium-sized bag of stones, a flash of skin in a curly sea of pubic hair. Melinda grabbed it in one hot palm and she squeezed viciously, gasping with the intensity of her attack. She felt him throb in her hand and she was positive that Neil's cock engorged ever so slightly.

He twisted his body, as if he meant to slip out of her possessive grip, but she had him firmly by the prick. "No," Melinda announced dictatorially. And then she yanked his tool as if she were milking a cow. He stretched in her fist, but did he harden?

A little, maybe. He felt stiffer, as if some life had finally begun to ooze stealthily into his penis. She looked at his face. His eyes were averted, resisting her fierce demanding stare. She pulled away, and this time she was certain. He was starting to get at least a semi-erection.

Well, a semi-erection was better than he'd been doing lately. Goddamn his job, if it was draining him of his manhood, destroying their sex life!

They'd been married four years and for three and a half of those years everything had been perfect. Absolutely perfect. She and Neil clicked. In bed. Out of bed. Everywhere. They couldn't have been a more congenial couple if they'd been born identical twins.

But six months ago Neil had gotten a promotion and they'd moved here from Pittsburgh, and the trouble had begun. It was a nice town, they'd bought a lovely house, and Neil was doing very well with the company, but at what cost? He worked late every night, often on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and when she saw him he always had some excuse. They had not made satisfactory love in so long, she'd almost forgotten how exciting it could be when his cock rammed and slammed her to pussy-erupting orgasm.

"It's not my fault," she'd told her mirror only this morning. "I try. I try very hard. I've never refused him, never pretended to have a headache at bedtime. I love him and I desire him. I try to show him that, every day. But he has no time for me. Is his job that important?"

Or was it possible that she simply wasn't trying hard enough? And so she'd gone shopping for the negligee, the sexy perfume. Tonight, she promised herself, when Neil came to bed, he'd find himself trapped in the bedroom with a hot-blooded, aggressive sex bomb. Melinda. And if sex still turned out to be a fizzle...

Like it was turning out right now?

"Please, honest," he sighed, "why don't you let me get some sleep? I have to be at the office a little early in the morning..."

"Why don't you just move to the fucking office?" she snapped angrily. "You think about it more than you think about me, it seems." He started to say something but she didn't give him the chance. Her hand yanked again on his cock and this time she was positive she felt the stirrings of life in her husband.

"There!" she said. "You can do it."

"Melinda, please..."

She wasn't listening. Her head dropped like a shot and she stuffed his limp penis into her mouth. Neil groaned audibly, but Melinda wasn't listening. She felt the peculiar, salty flavor of his cock against her tongue and she began to suck furiously, determined that if her hand couldn't get him hard enough to fuck, her mouth damned sure could.

"Ohhhh, baby," he moaned, and once that had meant that he was grooving on the way she ate him. Once, when their marriage had been perfect. Now it was a moan tinged with reluctance and it grated on Melinda's ears like a symptom of a life gone wrong. Be reluctant, she thought. And see if it stops me!

She pulled him with her mouth, grazing the sensitive tip of his rod with her sharp nibbling teeth. Her tongue sloshed back and forth across the soft pink stalk of Neil's dick, and her jaws sucked in to vacuum furiously all around him. In a moment she began to feel results.

Life was definitely flowing into her husband's prick. He was thicker than when she'd started sucking, and his cock not so limber and flexible. He touched the top of her head with his fingers but she didn't stop. Her jaws tightened on him and she made her tongue work harder, more wickedly around the lengthening barrel. Saliva filled Melinda's mouth, coating Neil as she worked on him, and it was thrilling as well as rewarding to feel the sudden tap-tap-a-tap of pulsation fluttering through Neil's prick.

"I can't keep it up," he warned. "I know I can't."

Yes you can! she thought. You can keep it up long enough to throw me a beautiful hot fuck, the way you used to! Melinda gobbled at the steadily-engorging tool, bathing it with her spit, loving it with her tongue as it swelled and bloomed and grew fat and thick and ponderous in her avid mouth.

Not all the magic had departed from their marriage, she reflected happily, just as Neil's cock attained its lull growth. He was nearly eight inches long, thick in proportion, with a magnificent coronal head that flared like the ace of spades.

When he was fully erect that pocket point glowed like a hot fire, red and inflamed and passionate, its skin texture smooth as velvet beneath her tongue and fingers.

She tested that velvet now with the tip of her tongue, steadying the cock with her hand while she licked its knob. A tiny dab of pre-cum formed in the slatted opening at his very pinnacle, and she sampled it appreciatively. Once upon a time she and Neil hid taken great delight in spilling their sex juices into one another's mouths. She had warm, beautiful memories of long nights spent trading oral sex back and forth, ending in hot sessions of sixty-nine that seemed to last orgasmically into the wee hours of the morning. Once, she recalled, she'd sucked five steamy gushes from his cock in a single evening while his tongue had flogged her cunt into a series of eruptions that brought Melinda moaning and screaming to the heights of full passion.

But that had been in Pittsburgh, before they'd pulled up stakes and moved, before their marriage had gone sour and stale? She supposed so. There was even a slight staleness to the taste of her husband's cock now, the kind of staleness Melinda associated with a used car and its aura of past owners. It made a good symbol of what their lives had become.

Still, he was up, bigger, harder, than he'd been in weeks, and there was a warmth in his flesh that felt marvelous against her tongue, promised delight, and stirred Melinda's own passions.

She lifted the hem of her gown. Beneath it she wore nothing, except the perfume dabbed onto her pink flesh. As she continued to suck Neil's cock Melinda sought for his hand. The fingers were stiff, the hand reluctant, but she dragged him to her crotch, applied his fingers to the hair-tufted lips of her pussy. She was wet there, and she steered him into that wetness.

"Nnnnnhhh," her moan rose as she tried to insert his stiff, unwilling fingers in her petal-like cunt, but despite the slight pain she persisted, and in a moment he had his middle finger jammed to the hilt in her pussy. More wetness flowed almost as soon as his finger penetrated her cuntal sphincter and the deeper he pierced, the wetter she became. In a moment her initial moan became a soft pulsating purr of pleasure, and she felt a tingle between the moist swollen lips of her snatch.

Her clit ached for the want of him. It had been such a long time since they'd gotten off reasonably well together. So many miserable nights of failure. Neil too tired even to try. His cock strangely impotent, struggling within her cuntal gate, shrinking wretchedly even as she writhed against him in search of the delight she was entitled to find in his arms. Oh, it was going to be good tonight, she promised herself, laying the head of his rod with her tongue, feeling a reassuring throb in the velvety flesh, a throb that promised... that virtually assured her...

Melinda squirmed against him, loving the feel of his finger in her twat. His fingers were long, not as thick, perhaps, as they could have been, but her pussy was glued fast around the probing intruder, sucking it up, milking it with eager, happy muscular twitches. And when he reamed about in her, the pressure excited and withdrawn upon her clit sent tingles of excited anticipation through Melinda's entire body.

Yes! she thought, Yes! This is the way it's supposed to be! She fed more of his cock into her mouth, swallowing about half his eight inches, and her hand squeezed passionately on the tight sac of his scrotum. Up and down her head raced, sucking, vacuuming. Stay hard, she radioed to Neil's prick. Stay hard so you can fuck my ass off, you beautiful piece of flesh!

His finger had begun to work with some activity in her pussy, and sticky juice oozed from her parted cunt lips. Melinda felt the hot wet drops collecting in her pubic hair, kept them on the base of Neil's finger when he plumbed her fully, and she squirmed into the angle of finger-thrusts, eagerly accepting him in her hot pussy. Oh, God, hadn't he thought of her once, all this time? Hadn't he realized that she craved him, desired him madly, that his poor performance in bed the past few months was driving her crazy?

Oh, maybe they were over it, finally! He was throbbing, at full hard-on now, and it was fantastic. Her mouth we crammed with him, and soon her pussy would be, too.

Melinda withdrew her head slowly, allowing his cock to ease from her mouth. Frothy beads of split coated him up and down, and he was glowing red at the tip again, the way she wanted to see him. Her fist tightened around the base of the penis, squeezing the shaft, the edge of her hand grinding down upon his nuts, and she tossed her head, shaking halt from her eyes. Melinda's skin tingled and she knew that her face and breasts were suffused with deep sexual blush. Oh, she wanted him to see it, to know how hot she was for him! They could restore the magic if they both tied!

"Look, darling," she panted, stroking his rigid erection. "Look how big and hard you are. Oh, it's so beautiful!"

"I..."

"Don't talk," she murmured, closing his lips with her index finger. She rose onto her knees, his finger falling out of her pussy, and Melinda hastily removed her green nightie. Her tits jiggled as she pulled off the gown, and she didn't have to look down to know that her nipples were stiff and pointing erected with the tremulous desire that, raged inside her body. "Look at me," she whispered. "Look at my body. It's all yours. Take it." She offered him a hand, and he took it. His palm was moist and cool, so cool, clutched in the heat of her own.

Melinda bent low, and she kissed the tip of her husband's cock. Good boy, she thought. You came through at just the right time. She ran a hand up and down the stiff barrel of the prick, and she rubbed the swollen knob against her cheek, lips slightly parted as she breathed across Neil's tool.

"UUUUGHHH!!" he cried suddenly, and she felt him twitch against her cheek. Melinda's head snapped back in alarm, but it was too late. She didn't even have time to close her eyes defensively. Neil's cock erupted, spitting gobs of cum into her face, her hair. It splattered her skin and hung there in thick, sticky drops.

"NO!!!" she screamed and, as he continued to squirt, she closed a fist around Neil's cock, and whipped him into her mouth. Twitching still, he emptied himself there, and as the last spurt gushed from him across her tongue, all the stiffness vanished. His cock seemed to melt in her mouth and, suck as she might, Melinda found herself nursing a limp, useless tool that tasted vividly of its premature explosion.

Neil patted her head, and she released him. There were tears in her eyes as she looked at the withered dick. He smiled weakly, shrugged in resignation. "I told you I couldn't," he said, but his eyes were averted, unwilling to look directly into hers.

Melinda touched her face, felt the sticky cum-drops that had begun to ooze down her smooth skin. She felt disappointment, and not a little disgust. Again her dreams had turned to shit at virtually the moment of fulfillment. "You told me," she agreed, her voice tight in her throat.

Neil pulled up the sheets she had cast aside, and he settled upon his side, away from her. "Well," he said, "I guess I'll go to sleep now."

Melinda picked up her discarded silk negligee. Ninety dollars wasted, she thought. But at least it had one use. She began to wipe the cum off her face with the sexy gown she'd hoped would remind her husband of his duties and pleasure. Still wiping, she got up from the bed and went down the hall to the bathroom. Even before she had left the mom she could hear Neil breathing softly, evenly, in his sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

First she washed her face, toweling away the dotted cum in her hair. Even so, she was a mess, and first thing in the morning she'd have to shampoo and rinse. Damn him! Squirting in her face like a high-school boy on his first hot date! He was no boy. He was a man. Or was he? Had his duties at the office perhaps turned her husband into some kind of pathetic frump, good only for sitting at a desk and looking very executive?

"I don't know," she told the Melinda in the mirror. "I've tried everything. Has... has he just lost interest in me?"

She didn't know, and neither did her mirror image. Both of them shook their heads simultaneously, one sad face staring back at the other. Even her tile looked sad, the nipples drooping like downcast eyes. She cupped her breasts from beneath and stared hopefully at the mirror. It didn't help.

She stepped back, surveying her naked body, intent on catching the slightest flaw in her appearance -- anything that might have turned off her husband, caused him to lose interest in her. She could see nothing. At twenty-nine, she looked almost as she had the day she married Neil, four years ago. Her hair was still lustrous and shimmering, her face smooth, her eyes bright but candid. And her figure? She hadn't put on a pound in years. She could still wear the clothes she'd worn in high school -- except that those styles were out of fashion now. Her tits were still full and high, nicely separated, capped in small dark nipples that were perky when she was perky, sorry when she was sorry. Her waist was trim and long, flaring out into a woman's hips and ass. Below, that proud butt long, slender legs carried her with a smooth-stepping gracefulness. She walked well, she danced. Well or at least she had, once. Neil hadn't take her dancing in a couple of years. Something else he'd lost interest in.

She was a brunette, tinged in natural highlights of red, and her hair was beautiful. Melinda scooped it up, swirled it around her face, hoping it would add a little note of gaiety to her somber features.

She looked down, sadly, at the small, almost perfect V of hair at her loins. It was brunette too, darker than the hair on top but tighter-curled. Right now it looked like the "before" of a shampoo commercial. The frizzies. Even her bush reflected the rest of Melinda.

She ran a hand down her body and it came to rest idly upon the slightly prominent mound of her pussy. Her fingers leafed through the dark thick curls of hair and she found herself touching the warm, still moist flesh. God, she'd come so close! Her cunt had been dripping impatiently as Neil's finger worked in and out, and in her mouth his cock had swelled and blossomed like a flowering orchid. And then -- just as she was ready to mount her man and ride their mutual passion to a tumultuous breaking -- he'd... he'd... oh, it made her sick to think of it! His hard-on, so carefully nurtured, so happily arrived, bursting in her face, spewing semen everywhere except where she most craved it -- in the churning depths of an orgasmic pussy. Melinda looked up. She really ought to take off her makeup. There was no need to be glamorous now. Not for a sleeping husband.

But her hand was still clutching her pussy and she couldn't bear letting go. Instead, she clutched a little tighter, feeling her cunt swell slightly in her clasped hand. Man it-it felt nice! And lately she'd done so much masturbation. How else was she to release the need that built and festered inside her body? Neil was obviously little interested. God, how could a man get so caught up in his work that he would neglect the woman who loved him? Didn't he see what it was doing to her? Couldn't he guess? Tonight's getup -- the negligee, the perfume, the makeup -- it was a desperate effort to recapture his interest. Oh, why had they ever left Pittsburgh? They'd been happy there, their sex life dynamite. Six months in their new home and everything had gone to hell. She wished... she wished...

Melinda looked round the bathroom. Neil's clothes were where he'd left them, folded neatly, ready to go into the hamper and to the washing machine. "Your clothes," she said. "I see more of your clothes than I see of you, darling. I wish you were here now, with me, so I could tell you..."

Aaaahhh!! Her fingers dug into the puff of her snatch and she felt a throb of excited response shoot through her body. Melinda's eyes closed, her head spun. She clutched at the basin for support, but she didn't take her hand off her twat. Instead, if anything, she clutched it more despairingly.

"Oh, I need something," she whispered, "and if I can't get it from Neil..."

Her eyes still closed, she turned round and stumbled toward the john. She found it with a questing foot and sat down, more by instinct than anything else. The cloth cover of the lid warmed beneath her buttocks and she squirmed about, moving till her ass felt comfortable. Melinda opened her eyes and fixed her gaze upon Neil's clothing. His shirt, his tie, his trousers. The undershorts which held, all day long, the cock she couldn't even get at night. Oh, God!

She reached down, then, with both hands. One set of fingers spread back the lips of her pussy, baring the slick reddish flesh inside. Flesh red with desire, slick with lustful wetness. A milky ooze emerging from the hole of her cunt itself, a milky ooze that coated and further slickened her vulgar flesh, that stuck to her fingers in glue-like beads. "Aaaahhh," she moaned, peeling back her fuck-starved labia, running one fingertip across the revealed puss and its tingly folds and crevices, hungry for love. Any kind of love. Even the kind that came from her darting fingers.

She felt so degraded whenever she had to resort to this, but what choice had she? Tonight she'd built herself up, physically and mentally, and the passion still rolled in her belly. Until it was satiated, she could think of nothing else.

Melinda didn't have to rub her clit to stir up that eager nubbin. It was already up, lithe and hot, when her finger got into action, and she pressed her love button tensely. She rolled it against her. Pubic bone till she wanted to scream for the pleasure of it. Why couldn't Neil do at least that much for her? Why did he have to be so... so fucking dead? Had he fallen out of love with her? Didn't he care?

She cared. She had to care. It was her cunt, her clit. If she didn't take their needs into consideration apparently no one would. Her finger rubbed harder against her vulva, the tip gouging now and then into the splayed mouth of her cunt.

"There," Melinda congratulated herself. "There!!"

The hole of her twat seemed to open further, and it was a real mouth now, lacking only net of teeth. She could even feel a tongue of flesh inside, or so she thought, one which lapped and tickled the finger as it suddenly thrust deep into the chum of her buttery sex.

She stabbed deeply, passionately, her finger stiff and pecker-like inside her clinging, sucking cuntal walls. Ohhhh, she was so wet! She'd been hotter, even, than she thought. No wonder her disappointment at Neil's lack of performance was so strong. No wonder her cunt ached now, ached for the release she had to give it with her hands, with her hands, with her.

Two fingers in her pussy now, two fingers that dived and stabbed and reamed the tight-clutching walls. She was snug inside, as snug as a much younger Melinda had been the first time she allowed Neil to fuck her. Oh, God, it had been so fantastic! That cock, big and hard and horny. The balls that manufactured cum by the quart, not the spoonful. The sex drive that spurred him to fuck her again and again -- four times on the first night of their first date -- a date that had stretched by mutual consent into a rapturous weekend together. Friday night. All day Saturday. All day Sunday. He'd even balled her in bed on Monday morning, so delightfully she'd demanded another go-round and had been late for work.

They lived together for three months, then married. He wasn't the that man she'd ever fucked -- there had been two before him, one in high school, one in college -- but he was the first man she'd ever wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The rest of her life? They wouldn't celebrate their fifth anniversary until next year. If they lasted that long. God knew, something had gone sour in their relationship.

But for the moment she could make herself forget. Yes! Forget! Think only of the two fingers -- no! -- it was three now, and each of them a passion-mad beast roving in the sheath of her cunt, thrusting up her slick, dripping channel, burning her ecstatically with the friction of their in-out strokes.

She was twisting about on the john, her legs stretching, curling, and her lower body fucked furiously at the hand which fucked it. There was a throbbing in her body, a throbbing that originated in the swollen lump of her clit.

"You too, darling," she panted. Her other set of fingers planted themselves around the beacon of her clitoris and started to massage the aching flesh there. Two fingers pinched her sex trigger from the sides, causing a thin, tight whine to seep from Melinda's mouth, and she arched her back, screwing more and more of herself into the action of her masturbating hands. It wasn't as good as sex with Neil, but it was all she had.

"Ohhhh..." Four fingers in her snatch, the thumb of that hand tickling round and round the outer lips as its partners penetrated deeper and deeper. She felt as if she could thrust her entire hand up her cunt, catch hold of her uterus and pull herself inside out. Oh, what a beautiful idea! Then all her most sensitive parts would be right out in the open, where she could get to them whenever, wherever she wanted. Melinda giggled, and each time the sweet, silvery laugh rippled through her body, it met and collided with a spurt of physical ecstasy, radiating upward from her self-violated twat.

The onrush of orgasm was like a kick in the belly, but it wasn't a painful feeling. Quite the opposite. It was best of all when Neil's cock was in her balls-deep, tickling her womb, teasing her with the promise of his cum as her own sex organ exploded deliriously around his prick. But she couldn't have that. He wouldn't -- couldn't -- give it to her. And, the lump of her fingers made a substitute nearly acceptable. Oh, bunched up this way, her four fingers provided a thick barreling tool in her churning snatch, but it wasn't the same. Not at all. She missed the steady pulsation she could always feel in her husband's cock as he fucked her, the way his heart seemed to beat massively in the extension of his prick. She missed the telltale twitching that always heralded the bunting open of Neil's cum-ducts, the flood that would saturate her cunt in boiling milk. When had she last felt that?

This evening, as she rubbed his dick on her face. That same giveaway twitching, and she'd known, even as his cock began to spray her, wasting that delicious gooey load.

"Oh, Goddd!!" Melinda moaned, her heart twisting in pain inside her body. She didn't want to think about... couldn't think about... not now not when it was... when she was...

She poured out heart and soul, not to mention her pussy and all its seething bubbling juices, and her head rocked, long hair swirling across her face and back again. She could smell his cum in her hair, where stray gobs had squirted, and it helped. A little. But this orgasm was nearly all her on doing. Her fingers. Her memories. Melinda's ass bobbed up and down on the john's seat cover, and by now the cloth was scorching hot, set afire by the heat of her quivering body.

She wrapped her legs around the hands in her cunt, and she squeezed herself up into a seated knot, pressuring her pussy even as it shuddered and convulsed with its juicy release. Her toes curled and uncurled in mid-air, clenching, grasping. Her pussy was clenching and grasping too, and it sucked at the fingers inside it as if the sly little snatch never meant to let them go. Melinda threw her head back, shaking hair from her face, and she gave her snatch full rein. Do what you will, she thought. You deserve what little pleasure you can get.

She rocked and rippled and came, and she leaked pussy milk until the entire bathroom seemed to be suffused with the aroma of her climax. The flutter of her cuntal muscles finally relaxed, and she was able to extract her wet aching fingers.

"Ohhh," she sighed, "it seems to get better each time I do it. Practice makes perfect? God, how much longer will I have to reply on my hands? Neil, what is wrong with you? What is wrong with me?"

She raised her hands, stared at the sticky cream which covered them, and then, as she had done before, as she knew she'd do again she began to suck her fingers dry. The taste of her orgasmic juice was delicious, but she already knew that. She'd kissed her cum from Neil's mouth, she'd sucked his cock greedily after it had spent several minutes reaming and fucking inside her cunt. Once upon a time. When their marriage was good. When they were good. Together.

"I just don't know," she lamented. "I just don't know."

When she could stand, she went to the sink and took off her makeup. The face that reflected from the mirror was plainer, with lipstick and eye shadow and rouge removed, but it was by no means a plain face. She had good bone structure, good coloration. She was not an unattractive woman, neither in her face nor in her body. So why did her husband now choose to devote ninety-five percent of his time and attention to his work and none to her?

"This," she said aloud, "is what happens after 'They all lived happily ever after'. The Prince gets bored with Snow White and..." Tears glistened in her eyes, tears of self-pity perhaps, but if she didn't feel sorry for herself, who would? Certainly not Neil. He was too busy at the office.

"Maybe I'll call his boss," she said. "Tell him he's working my husband too hard, that it's ruining our marriage."

Oh, God, what a fantastic idea! It would screw up everything that isn't already screwed up. Little as that may be.

Melinda shook her head sadly. She went to the closet, found a robe, and sheathed her body in it. An old robe, terry-cloth, floor-length, frowsy, the kind of thing any housewife might wear around the house. Especially a housewife who no longer had anything to be glamorous for.

Neil's clothes. She might as well carry them down to the hamper. Tomorrow was washday. And she didn't feel like going to bed quite yet.

Better check first, see if he'd left anything in his pockets. Neil was pretty good about cleaning his pockets, but once he'd forgotten to remove a half of important notes and Melinda had sent them through the washer along with his clothes.

Nothing in his shirt. It smelled of tobacco. Neil didn't smoke, but everyone else at the office did, and he came home reeking of the foul stuff. Well, the wash would take it out. Until the next time he wore his shirt to work.

She picked up his trousers, rummaged through the pockets, and then nodded sagely. Good thing she'd looked. Melinda extracted a rolled-up piece of paper. Probably something highly important. Neil had a habit of writing things down on tiny scraps of paper, scraps he was always losing. Well, she'd saved this one. Wonder what it might be? The outline for an important contract? Melinda unrolled the paper.

Darling Neil,

I feel like a schoolgirl passing you a love note, but, that's what this is. Oh darling I don't think I can wait till tonight. Why don't you call me out of the typing pool and we'll lock ourselves into your office and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck... And then well fuck some more. Mmmm! I'm getting all wet and creamy, thinking about you, and me.

Oh, call me, or I'll just volunteer myself to your office, door. Who said you couldn't trust anyone over thirty? You're thirty and I trust you. To give me enough hot hard cock for three women. Please call me, darling, please. My pussy is pouting for you. It's hungry. Feed it your cream.

Melinda dropped the note and it fluttered to the floor. "Good God," she said aloud, then knelt and retrieved the note. It was typed and, she recognized from her own secretarial days, typed on an IBM Electric with Courier Italic font. The "K" was handwritten, in black ink, and she was certain that it was a female hand. "Oh, Jesus," she said, shuddering. Of course a woman had written that "K". If her husband was fucking around with anyone on the side, it wouldn't be with a man. Fucking around? On the aide? Her vision, went black for a moment and she didn't know if she were still standing. Melinda had a flash of the floor making up to meet her but it was a delusion. When her eyesight returned to normal she was on her feet, the piece of incriminating paper quivering in her fingers.

Not for a moment had she even suspected that there might be another woman in Neil's life. But... could it... could it be?

The note was explicit, full of X-rated language. A woman wouldn't send a note like this one to a man. Not unless -- K. Had Neil ever mentioned a "K" from work?

She didn't remember. Someone in the typing pool, apparently. Melinda rubbed her fingers and mouth, wanting to burst into tears or fall into a coma. But she couldn't. She needed all her energy, all her concentration. Had he come to her tonight -- and how many other nights -- fresh from another woman? Instead of working late at the office, instead of working weekends in a natural junior executive's passion to get ahead, had Neil been gripped by another kind of pension? An adulterous relationship?

She read the note again, though she knew she could never forgot a single word of it, as long as she lived. And then she wiled it, carefully, into the same thin twist it had been when she found it. He mustn't know she'd seen his pornographic love letter. Not until she was ready to tell him. And when she was... Anger blazed in Melinda. She was glad she couldn't see her face in a mirror now, for it would not be an attractive face. It would be the face of a woman outraged, a woman determined to fight for what belonged to her. This bitch "K" could not take Neil away from Melinda. No matter what Neil thought, no matter what "K" thought.

She replaced his clothes, just as he'd left them. As far as Neil was concerned, she hadn't touched anything. Melinda tied the robe tightly about her and went into the living room. The thought of going back to bed, of lying down beside a man who had cheated her, betrayed her -- she couldn't handle that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"But first," she told herself, "I have to find out. Who she is. How long this has been going on. I can't fight until I know the details."

She wanted to sit down, but her feet would not cooperate. They carried her past the couch, into the kitchen. She drank a glass of milk but it curdled on its way down her digestive tact. Something I can do, she thought, but what?

The next morning, after Neil had kissed her cold lips goodbye and started for the office, Melinda was drinking her third cup of black coffee, trying to read the morning paper. But not even Peanuts seemed funny. Not today.

She flipped past the comic page, into the Want Ads. And there, glaring in bold print three-quarters down a column of advertisements, she saw it.

Concerned? Anxious? Do you have to know what someone is doing? QUALIFIED, discreet investigation services are available for your peace of mind. D. Hammett Agency. Call 892-1713 for appointment.

"A sign from heaven," Melinda said hoarsely.

She finished her coffee and went to the telephone. Her fingers trembled so nervously she had to dial it with a pencil, and then, holding her breath, she waited for an answer at 892-1713.

CHAPTER THREE

"Are you sure you want to see these?" Dave Hammett asked.

"Why? I paid for them, didn't I?"

"Well, the money hasn't changed hands yet. Mrs. Stillman. But this is pretty graphic tape footage. I mean, it's hardcore. You might not want to see it..."

Melinda sighed. She sipped at the coffee the detective had poured for her, but it was such a strong bitter brew she didn't think she could drink it. "I have to know," she said. "Everything."

Two days ago at this time she'd been blissfully unaware, unsuspecting. Innocent? Innocent. And today, not thirty hours after she'd first talked to Dave Hammett, she was in his office and brutally enlightened.

Neil was indeed having an affair. He had not been working late nights at the office. He'd been lying to her, and his sexual torpor at home? Chalk that up to one Kathy McDonald.

Hammett had shown Melinda a picture of Kathy and a sample of her handwriting. She was definitely the "K" of Neil's pocketed note. Nosing around the company's offices, Hammett had learned that Mr. Stillman seemed to make a lot of specific requests for Miss McDonald when he rang up the typing pool. Perhaps it was only her speed and accuracy on the Electric?

The photograph was then from a distance, with telephoto lens. It showed Neil and a young girl, no more than nineteen or twenty, Melinda guessed. Kathy. She had a perfect heart-shaped face, and it was achingly beautiful. Her figure appeared to be neat, not overstuffed, and she looked up at Neil with something more than a typist's regard for her employer.

But that wasn't all. Hammett was a competent, thorough investigator. He'd managed to bug Miss McDonald's apartment and now, set up and ready, were the videotapes he had made. Did Melinda want to see them? Of course she did. Graphic footage, he'd said. She supposed that he meant the tapes showed her husband fucking Kathy. Weil, she had to know. She had to know it all. Down to the last detail. No matter how much it hurt. "GO ahead," she told Dave Hammett. "I'm paying for them. I want to see the evidence."

"Okay," he said. "So. I got into her place yesterday, while she was at work. I figured the bedroom would be the best bet, and I fixed up a circuit which activated the camera when the bedroom door was opened, then shut. This is silent footage, but I don't think it really needs a soundtrack. It can't be introduced into court as evidence in a divorce case, but with it as leverage, your lawyer can get whatever you want out of court." He pointed to a medium-sized television set. "Just watch there."

Melinda settled in her chair, heart pumping at the base of her throat. She heard clicks and then a color picture appeared on the TV. There was no sound, but Hammett was right. Sound wasn't necessary.

Kathy McDonald, bright blonde, rosy-cheeked, fresh as the cover of a teenage girls' magazine, stood in the center of the screen. She was wearing a clinging halter top which molded the apple-sized perfection of her small round tits. Her flat stomach was bare and creamy-skinned, all the way down to a pair of low-riding denim cutoffs. She had legs to her ears, or so it looked, and they were sleek, shapely legs. They must look quite fetching to a junior executive thrusting from beneath the hem of a short, sexy miniskirt.

Kathy said something and then a hand came into the picture. It touched her bare shoulder, fingers walking across the rounded flesh, and then more of Neil appeared. Oh, it was Neil all right. He looked very attractive on color television, Melinda decided. Of course he looked very nice in the flesh, too, and she felt a pang in her guts to see him onscreen with another woman, to see the way he touched Kathy, the way he stared at her, his eyes devouring her young lovely body.

His hand moved behind her neck. Kathy laughed, and then the top of her halter dropped, revealing bare breasts. Melinda winced. Perfect breasts. Round, coming to delicate pink points. Very good color adjustment, she thought. The pink of Kathy's nipples was so Goddamned natural, yet somehow more than natural, too. Small B-cups, Melinda decided. No sag. No droop. They must look very sweet, braless under a tight sweater or a silk shirt. Who could blame Neil for getting ga-ga over them?

They melted together in a kiss, and Kathy rubbed her bare titties all over Neil's chest. She was short and so Neil had to lift her against him, his hands possessive as hell clutching the denim covered moons of her ass. Short-cut denims, Melinda noticed. Half of Kathy's pink ass showed beneath the frayed shorts. Neil seemed to notice too. At least his flagon did. As he pawed the young girl's butt, his fingertips slid around the exposed buttock flesh, slipping inside. Must have been ticklish, for Kathy began to squirm and wiggle against Neil, her crotch moving up and down his front. When she finally settled onto her feet, there was a large noticeable lump in the front of Neil's pants. Kathy touched it, her lips pursing into an obvious "Ooooohhh" of delight.

Neil's mouth opened. He was speaking. Melinda couldn't read lips, but somehow it didn't seem necessary. Kathy cupped her hands over the bulge and she fondled it, smiling, and her eyes large and limpid-blue. She tiptoed and kissed the tip of Neil's nose. Her nipples were very stiff now, sticking out a mile. Their pink had deepened to a rosy reddish color as they engorged, and Melinda saw her husband's fingers affix themselves to those stiff swollen rosebuds. He rolled his fingers on them, and Kathy's body swayed in a dance like manner.

"They seem to be very good friends," she told Dave Hammett. The detective didn't say anything. There was an angry bite in Melinda's voice. If he'd answered at all, she'd have flown at him in amp, expressing her bitterness toward Neil. And if Neil had been here, she'd have killed him. My God, she thought. The movie's just beginning! How will I foci before it's over?

Neil undressed Kathy. Apparently she wasn't fond of underwear, for she had nothing beneath the halter and cutoffs. Nothing except creamy, peachy skin, and a little puff of golden hair between her legs. Her beaver was small, and her pussy appeared to be a tiny one as well. There wasn't enough hair to mask her slit, but it was only a slit, very neat, very tight-looking. Pale sleek thighs flanked that puff of gold and its slashed contents, and Melinda's groin ached when she saw her husband's hand stroke time and again across that blonde crotch. Damn him, she thought. Damn him.

Undressing Kathy was a slow, sensuous process. Neil spent a long time mouthing and nuzzling hers breasts and even from, the camera's distance Melinda could see tooth marks on Kathy's skin, bubbles of frothy spit decorating the stiff pink nipples. And there was something horrible about the way Kathy ran her fingers through Neil's hair as he licked and kissed and sucked his way down her body. Melinda's hands clenched into fists and she rapped softly but sharply on the arm of her chair.

Neil unbuttoned the cutoffs and pulled them down Kathy's long, undulating thighs as his tongue raced toward the freshly exposed area. He speared into her navel, rimming it while Kathy laughed above him, her fingers curling through his hair. The camera's angle was such that Melinda couldn't really see what Neil was doing when he put his face into the girl's crotch, but she didn't have to see. Kathy's smile broadened, her blue eyes closed, and she eased her head back with an expression of nirvana taking over her face. Neil's head stayed in place a long time indeed, and Melinda crossed her legs, painfully aware of how sweetly her husband could use his lips and tongue on a hot, juicy pussy.

When Kathy was fully nude, she pulled Neil's ears and he stood, grinning like a shit-eating dog. Kathy wrapped her arms around his waist and oozed herself against him, rubbing him up and down with her ripe young figure. She leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. Neil threw it off while Kathy stooped and let down his pants. Next his shorts. He moved obediently as she denuded him, and his cock lanced up, red and stiff, so throbbingly erect that even the videotaped image made Melinda's saliva start to pool inside her mouth.

"Do you want to see any more?" Dave Hammett suggested. Melinda turned and glared at him, her brown eyes blazing. He shrugged.

When she looked once more at the TV screen, Kathy was on her knees sucking Neil's dick. She had a deep well of a mouth indeed. Nearly all eight inches were firmly trapped between her lips, and her head moved in quick gobbling plunges that sank Neil into her mouth almost to the balls. Melinda felt a lump in her throat as she watched that. She'd never been able to take her husband so deeply, though God knew she'd tried. Kathy seemed to have no trouble whatsoever.

Neil was grinning, even more broadly than before. He had the blonde girl by the head, guiding her, directing her, feeding her his meat stick with a frenzied eagerness. He rocked on his heels, riding high, slamming his dick into Kathy, whose eyes were closed in an expression of almost religious intensity as her cheeks worked in and out on the barreling cock.

Melinda miffed. Smoke. "Please," she told Hammett. "Tobacco nauseates me."

"Sorry." She heard the rubbing as he pound out his cigarette. Distractions like tobacco smoke fouling the air were the best thing she needed right now, when she was viewing the videotaped record of her husband's infidelity.

The picture on the office TV screen was as sharp and precise as anything Melinda had ever seen on television, but she'd never seen anything quite like this. Kathy was still on her knees, sucking Neil's cock greedily. It kept thrusting into her bottomless well of a mouth, thrusting till the balls pressed against Kathy's chin. The blonde girl appeared to be in seventh heaven. Her eyes rolled beneath the lightly-shut lids, her checks pulled in so far it was amazing that Neil's would even fit between their suctioning walls, and her hands slid languidly, erotically, up and down Neil's flanks and thighs.

She let his prick slip out -- it was glistening from her saliva -- and she opened her eyes, bright eyes, sparkling eyes, laughing what must have been a silvery laugh indeed as her index finger stroked the spit-covered penis' blazing rigidity. She touched it from beneath, making the cock lift at an even sharper angle, and she started to lick its underside, dropping her tongue back every few swipes to bounce and jiggle Neil's scrotum. Neil's face was in the camera's frame too, and Melinda could see that her husband was fully as ecstatic as his paramour. Especially when Kathy's pink tongue laved endlessly, friskily, around and across the bulging, swollen tip of his dick. He groaned, open-mouthed, and Kathy was open-mouthed for a moment, too.

But only for a moment. In the blinking of an eye she had reinserted Neil's dick in her mouth and was sucking as if her life depended on it. Her head moved swiftly, unerringly, and her arms wrapped around Neil's hips, anchoring him in place.

"I don't see why she's wasting her time in a typing pool," Hammett commented from behind Melinda. "She could really make a name for herself in porno movies."

"Perhaps," Melinda said acidly, "but what would you do for a job?"

"Sorry," he replied. "I've gotten a little callous in this racket. For you, it isn't time for jokes."

He was right, all the same. Kathy was a born cocksucker. Or were cocksucker made, rather than born? She's better than I am, Melinda thought. At least, she appears to be. Damn her.

It was Neil's face that gave it away. Melinda had seen that look many times before. He looked toward the ceiling, then at Kathy, and then his eyes snapped shut. His mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grimace, and his head quivered slightly. Melinda saw his stomach began to heave, and almost at once Kathy's eyes opened, very big. Neil was shooting his cum into her sucking mouth.

The videotaped picture was instructive, to say the least. Kathy gulped as she swallowed the offering, but it was a big, rich load, and plenty of it dripped from her mouth as she sucked. She pulled Neil's prick from her mouth and teased it with her hand until another large gob of sperm fell from the cum slit onto her tongue where it thrust out in pink, creamy readiness, and she rubbed the empty cock across her lips and checks, kissing it lavishly, lovingly.

Neil offered Kathy his hands and she stood up, her face a textbook example of simpering. Neil seized her head in his hands and kissed her madly, while Kathy locked her legs around him like a vine and clung to his body. Melinda hadn't seen a kiss as long as that one since that movie with Steve McQueen and Faye Dunaway -- what was the name of it? Must have been eight or nine years ago. McQueen was a debonair thief in Boston.

The effort to remember ceased abruptly. Neil and Kathy had separated, at last, and they looked into one another's faces, and Melinda saw her husband's lips move. There was no sound on the tape but she didn't need sound. She could read lips well enough to understand at once that he was telling his blonde mistress "I love you." And if she knew her husband, after four years of marriage, his facial expression was literally reeking with sincerity.

"Goddamn you," she said softly. "Goddamn you, Neil Stillman."

Naked, they piled onto Kathy's bed. It was an old-fashioned bed, polished brass, and the brass work jiggled as Neil and Kathy settled onto the mattress. There was a moment of joyous kissing and fondling, and Kathy got her fist full of Neil's cock. It erected magnificently, eight inches of throbbing gristle clutched in her hand, and almost immediately she had reversed her mouth once again with the penis that had just furnished her supper. Neil appeared to enjoy it. He put his hand on Kathy's ass, stroking the slim, curvy shape from spine to upper thighs, and his fingers seemed magnetically drawn to the crack dividing Kathy's pert buttocks. He slithered up and down her anal cleavage, dropping lower each time he played with her, and in a moment or two his face set happily and Melinda could just make out that her husband's middle finger was slipping in and out of Kathy's pussy from the rear.

Kathy squirmed friskily, her mouth still gobbling dick, but she was laughing and giggling so energetically she could hardly concentrate much longer on eating him, so it was only to be expected that she and Neil would swiftly change position.

Kathy lay on her side facing Neil, one leg thrown across him as he scooted close. He had his hand between their crotches, adjusting something, it appeared -- and Melinda knew what he was adjusting, damn him! Kathy reached in too, her hand active beside his. Her eyes got very large and round. So did her mouth. She slammed her groin against Neil's, her leg shot around him, and the brass frame of the bed began to shake uncontrollably.

Melinda turned round. "I don't think I need to see any more, Mr. Hammett," she said icily. "Please turn it off."

He nodded, flipped a couple of buttons on his playback deck. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you must have expected it would turn out like this, even before you hired me."

She nodded. That tape had been made yesterday evening. Another of Neil's "late nights at the office". He'd come home just after nine, too tired, as always, to do more than kiss his wife goodnight. And now she knew why. "How many times?" she asked Hammett. He lifted his eyebrows. "How many times did my husband fuck this young woman last evening?"

Hammett smiled. He was perhaps a few years older than Melinda's twenty-nine, and he had a pleasant though not a distinguished face. Nose a little too large, chin perhaps too prominent. His eyes were a washed-out blue and his hair was thin and starting to recede. Why, not too tall, wearing a casual suit that had seen its best days circa 1973. He didn't look the kind of man who made his living as a confidential investigator, but perhaps that was the best way to look in his racket.

"Well, I had an hour's worth of tape in the camera. When it ran out, Mr. Stillman and Ms. McDonald were in their fourth encounter. The evidence is pretty sufficient, I believe... I really am sorry. I can see this has been a shock for you. Would you like a drink, maybe? Something to help settle your nerves?"

"Is it showing on my face?" Melinda asked. She supposed it was. There was an ashy, foul taste in her mouth and she wondered how she could crawl into bed with Neil tonight, trio wing what she now knew about how he spent his evenings. "Yes," she said. "I think I would. Some dry sherry, if you..."

He went to his desk, opened a drawer. "This is all I have," he said, holding up a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Besides... I've been through this scene with other ladies. What you need is a shot of Old Jack." He pulled a pair of glasses from the desk drawer and filled them with amber whiskey. Melinda took the one he offered, and she sipped until her mouth was warm and the rotten taste was gone. Hammett came around and sat on the edge of his desk, swirling whiskey in his own glass.

"Why?" Melinda asked, astonished to hear herself addressing the question to a stranger. "Why would my husband do something like that?"

Hammett shrugged, that poured down his whiskey. He filled his glass again. Melinda shook her head, thou nodded, and he refilled hers as well. "It happens," he said. "A guy works all day in an office, he sees this cute young thing from the secretarial pool, she sees him. Next time he needs some dictation or something, he asks for her. I gather that your husband is a mw on his way up with the company. She might figure he's a good catch. Or maybe he just wants some strange..."

"I mean," he went on, "it happens. Men are like that. Somebody said once that women are basically monogamous while men incline to polygamy. Hell, I go through this, two or three times a month. I've gotta admit, though, the wives who come in here wanting the lowdown on hubby usually aren't in your class, Mrs. Stills... They're usually fat and gone to seed. Half the time I can't blame the old man for chasing after a fresher -- I'm not being very professional, am I? Well, if I was in your husband's shoes I don't think..."

Dave Hammett finished his second helping of Jack Daniel's, then put down the empty shot glass, shaking his head. "I'd better shut up while I'm ahead. So. Do you want me to deliver the videotape to your lawyer, or would you rather take it yourself? The fee entitles you to a signed deposition from me, as to the facts I've turned up. If I should have to testify in court, there'd be an extra charge..."

Melinda wasn't really listening. Lawyers? Court? Did she want that? "I don't know," she said. "I don't know what I want to do." She stood up. "How much do I owe you?"

Hammett picked up a file folder and extracted a sheet of paper. "Two days' work at one-fifty per comes to three hundred, plus expenses. Rental on the camera was twenty-eight-fifty. Gasoline and meal is eight-twenty-five. And I had to pay the doorman at Ms. McDonald's building fifty bucks to get into her apartment, to set up the camera, and seventy-five to get in this morning and get it out. Doormen's bribe scales are inflationary as hell. Last year I could have gotten by for twenty bucks flat, but... the grand total is $461.75."

Melinda took her checkbook from her purse. "Is a check all right?" she asked. Hammett nodded. She set it on the desk beside his thigh and began to fill out a blank. This was the household expense account. She'd have to come up with a good story when the account ran short before the end of the month. Unless she simply laid it out in front of Neil and told him that she knew about his secret life, that she'd spent four hundred dollars to unravel the lies he'd spun for her. Oh, she didn't know. She just didn't know.

She signed the check and handed it to Dave Hammett. His pale blue eyes seemed to fix upon hers and she couldn't break her own out of the interlock. She felt his fingers brushing her hand as he took the check, and there was a tingly sensation in her skin. Suddenly, instinctively, she knew that he was going to put his other arm around her, that he was going to pull her to him, that he was going to... Just as his lips touched hers and her eyes went shut, Melinda remembered. The name of that movie was The Thomas Crown Affair. As if it mattered.

CHAPTER FOUR

He slipped off the edge of the desk as he kissed her, so that he was standing up too, and Melinda felt herself leaning against his limber wiry frame. Her first impulse had been to push him away, but her second impulse was to fold her arms around him, and her second impulse was by far the stranger. Dave embraced her too, both his arms encircling Melinda, and she felt one hand cupping her shoulder, the other planted just above the generous swell of her ass.

His mouth was hot and wet upon hers, his tongue sucking across her lips. In another moment she'd opened her lips and his tongue was inside, finding hers awaiting him in clever ambush. She hadn't been kissed this passionately in a long time -- not since Neil had begun to play around, she realized -- and a warmth began to spread through her body, a warmth that smoldered from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She pressed against him, wanting only to make that smoldering burst into flame.

"Mmmmm..." Melinda purred, as his lips ground upon hers, and she made her crotch do a little grinding, too, a sensuous bumping, pressing. Dave's hand slid lower, clutching one buttock, dragging her into him.

He wasn't a tall man. She had only to tip her head back slightly to make her mouth available, and her cunt was almost on a direct line with his loins. She worked her cunt on him, too, until she felt a response stirring inside his pants. A hard-on, she thought. He's hot and horny. He'd fuck me. If I would let him.

They came apart, and she stepped back, her eyes going down to examine the growing bugle in his pants. Even though she wasn't touching him now, he was still hardening as blood rushed down to engorge his pecker. A pleasant-looking bulge, she decided, her lips curling slightly.

He laughed, and she looked up. "You know," he said, "the main reason I got my private investigator's license? All those books and movies and TV shows. Bogart, mostly. Sam Spade. Philip Marlow. Figured I'd be solving murders and having women crawling all over me, just like Bogie or Joe Mannix or whoever. But I never put the make on a client before, Mrs. Stillman. I guess I never wanted to before. If I offended you, I'm sorry, but I'm glad as hell I did. You taste like fresh honey." Melinda rubbed her lips with the backs of her fingers. They tingled. So did she. Everywhere. Her tit felt heavier, swollen, the nipples itchy inside her brassiere. There was a wetness in her crotch, too, as if he'd already stabbed his cock into her pussy and filled it so full of his cream that the hot stic

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