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Message-ID: <31477asstr$995325003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "E.Z. Riter" <ezriter@pdq.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} rp Karen part 1 (MF Adul Relec)
Date: Mon, 16 Jul 2001 19:10:03 -0400
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The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
locations in which it is legal.  If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT
read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a  review or posted to free-access,
noncommercial archive sights.

Copyright 1999, 2001 by E. Z. Riter.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

Please!        Give me your comments!

Dear Reader: This is the story of a wife and mother who meets the man of her
dreams.  It's posted in two parts due to its size.  Thanks to Sara and Gail
for their input and other invaluable assistance. Please enjoy.  E.Z.


KAREN

Part One

Have you ever met a man you instantly feared?  Who made you quake deep down
inside?

I don't mean a physical fear.  I mean a sexual fear.

A fear he would possess you as his own.  A fear he would reach deep into
your woman's heart to seize your innermost feelings, making you eager to do
what he wished of you.

And a fear he might do nothing.  A fear the deep gut longing for him would
be unfulfilled, leaving you aching and wanting.

I'd heard other women speak of such fears.  They're referring to movie stars
or rock musicians they drool over in a fantasy.  In my life, my real life, I
'd never met such a man.

I was almost forty. My husband, George Phillips, and I had been married
twenty-one years. We have two wonderful daughters, Polly, 20, and Patty, 18.

For the past twelve years, George and I worked hard to build our business.
For ten of those years, the business grew and prospered.  But for the last
two years, the business suffered a steady and steep decline because George's
overly ambitious expansion plans exploded in our faces.  We were threatened
with bankruptcy.

George started to drink heavily.  Alcohol and stress turned his previously
kind disposition to a sour and depressed mania. Our children suffered with
us.  Seeing their parents depressed was hard on them.  We couldn't afford
for either of them to go to college.

George is fifteen years older than I.  In a way, our  relationship was
father and daughter.  We began dating when I was seventeen. He took my
virginity when I was eighteen.  When I became pregnant with Polly, we
married.  I'd never had another man. Our major marital disagreement had been
over the number of children.  I wanted four.  George insisted we have only
two.  He had a vasectomy to prevent additional children. I missed those
days.  I missed the feel of a baby, of the life in me, of nursing my child.
I missed the closeness with the man who made that baby with me. George and I
begin to drift apart after those early, baby days.

Sex with George was pleasant and sweet, but never exciting.  When I married
him, I knew it would never be the bomb bursts my friends gossiped of.  Our
sex was more passive than that.  When the business began its downturn, he
became impotent. It'd been two years since we made love. For the last year,
we slept in separate beds, not even touching during the night.

I'm five five and in good physical condition.  I'm told I'm pretty.  My
daughters inherited my dark blonde hair and green eyes, my smile with the
one dimple.  My breasts are still high and firm, but my bottom and legs are
my most attractive feature.

I never intended to attract men.  I dressed demurely, preferring loose
blouses and long, full skirts to hide myself from prying male eyes.   I
lived a life without carnal desires,  keeping myself chaste except for my
husband.   I was a modest and faithful wife.

During this siege of unhappiness, our bright spot was Polly.  She'd fallen
desperately in love with a man.  We hadn't met him yet, but she said he was
magnificent, very intelligent, well educated and successful in business.
His name was Eric Winston.

His only negative, from what she told me, was that he was thirty-two, twelve
years older than she was.  As Polly pointed out, George was fifteen years my
senior so I couldn't complain about the age difference.  Polly gushed about
him, revealing a depth of love and wanting beyond anything I'd experienced.

During the next month, the business continued its relentless slide toward
bankruptcy. George fought to survive, even if the hope of survival seemed
dim.  I knew if he failed after redoubling his efforts, the loss would be
much more devastating.  Too often it seems, a man's self worth is tied
inexorably to his company and his position. I worried constantly about his
mental and physical health.

George and I were home one Friday night about ten, getting ready to go to
bed.  We were exhausted from the demands of the business.  As usual, it had
been a long and difficult week.  Patty was already asleep.  The front door
burst open.  Polly, giggling and wiggling with happiness, charged into the
room with a man right behind her.

"Mother! Dad!  Eric asked me to marry him!  I said yes."

I saw Eric Winston for the first time. Hot, prickly fingers walked down my
spine. I flushed.  Lights dimmed except around him.  I was giddy and
nauseous. Every sense was overloaded.  I stared at him as he shook George's
hand in greeting.  He turned to me and smiled. His eyes held me.  Heat
flashed through me, like a heavy blush, leaving my nipples erect and a
wetness seeping between my legs.

I'd met him - the man who could possess me. The man who could take me and
make me his.  Never before had I felt the intense, demanding, female need to
throw myself at a man.

"Mother, are you all right?" Polly asked, taking my hands.  "Why are you
crying?"

"Your mother's just happy for you, dear," Eric said.  "Let me help you,
Karen."

My right hand in his, his left hand at my waist, he guided me to a chair.
Was my robe on fire from the heat of his hand on me?  Could no one else
smell the scent I extruded?  When I sat, I looked up at him. He could feel
it.  He could smell it.  He knew.

Polly and George solicitously murmured around me.  Didn't they see the
sexual need in me? Didn't they feel my agony? Oh, god, what was I going to
do? I wanted him so much.

I must resist him! I must!  He was my daughter's fianc , her man not mine.
I took a deep breath and prayed.  Karen Phillips, wife and mother, pushed
her unbridled carnal desire to the background and smiled benignly. For the
first time since he arrived, I took a normal breath.

Physically, Eric was about six three.  He was lean and raw boned, with big
wrists and hands. His chest looked powerful, his arms strong. His hair was
black and cut short.  He was graying at the temples.  His face was ruggedly
masculine and handsome.

His most dominant feature was his eyes.  They were large and deep set in
large eyeholes, under thick, long black lashes and below heavy black
eyebrows.  Their color was a startling, deep, blue.  They were compelling
eyes, demanding eyes, eyes which might well be cruel.   Those eyes could be
soft and kind, too, as they were now.

He sat on the couch with Polly next to him, both her hands hidden by one of
his.  His voice was very pleasant, a well-modulated baritone.  Its
smoothness, the easy rhythm of his words, the timbre, all were pleasing and
reassuring. It was hypnotic.

I was dressed in a long flannel nightgown which covered me head to toe and
wore over it a thick and fleecy terry cloth bathrobe. But when he looked at
me, I felt naked.

Polly was ecstatic, beaming brightly in her joy.   She extended her hand to
flash a solitaire diamond engagement ring.  Her wriggling fingers distorted
our view, but its size and quality were self-evident.  I noticed a new
necklace around her lovely neck.  It was a gold choker with a small ring in
front.  From the ring dangled another diamond which matched the one on her
finger.

We visited about wedding plans and their future.  My eyes were constantly
drawn to his, requiring conscious effort on my part to look away. They were
as hypnotic as his voice.  He enjoyed our eye game and my distress from it.
Once a special smile flickered across his face.  It made me shiver.  It was
the smile a man gives a woman when he intends to have intercourse with her.

I don't know why Polly and George were oblivious to his flirting with me.
Couldn't they see what I saw?  Couldn't they see how he appealed to me, how
I wanted him?  Couldn't they see this seduction in progress? Couldn't they
see I was helpless?

Polly's exuberance invigorated us, but it was the presence of Eric Winston
which energized me.  We'd talked almost an hour when Eric changed the topic.

"Polly told me a few things about your business problems.  That's my area of
expertise.  I'll be happy to assist you anyway I can," he said.

We talked until two in the morning.  George and I unburdened ourselves,
releasing our business worries like a dam burst releasing the water of a
thousand brutal rains. Eric acted truly interested.  His knowledge, insight
and certainty impressed me. Every thing about him impressed me.

During those hours, our eye game continued. I saw that look again and again.
Its implications were constantly in my mind.  As a mother, I was angered  my
daughter's fianc  would look at me like that.  As a wife, I resented his
giving me that look in my own living room with my husband present. As a
woman, I was terrified.  He wanted me.  He'd stop at nothing to have me.  My
anxiety bubbled like a cauldron.

Karen, it's you that's flirting with him.  Stop it, a voice in my head said.
It's not me, I thought in reply.

"I think I can help," Eric said.  "When can I take a look at the books?"

"I've got a golf tournament with my biggest customer this weekend.  How
about Monday?" George answered anxiously.

"I'd like to do it tomorrow," Eric replied. "Karen's the accountant, isn't
she?"

"Of course! She can show you everything.  You two won't need me," George
said.

"No, I couldn't," escaped me.

"Sure you can, honey," George said emphatically.

George's tone of voice and expression were clear.  He wanted me to meet Eric
on Saturday.  Polly still hadn't noticed Eric's dance with me. And Eric
smiled at me in a way which drove me mad. I was horrified I would be
spending the better part of my Saturday alone with him, no matter the
reason.  I hid my reservations, warmly saying I'd be glad to meet him.  We
set a time and ended our evening.   After he left with Polly, George and I
went to bed.

"Karen, he's the answer to our prayers.  Don't hold anything back.  Give
Eric whatever he wants," George said intently.

I slipped out of my bed and walked to his. I knelt beside it and took his
hands in mine.

"I love you, George," I whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied. "Why are you crying?  You've sure been teary
this evening."

"It's been an emotional evening, what with Polly getting married and help in
the business," I lied.

"Can you believe it, Karen? Eric may help us.  He's the first person in two
years to give us hope.  Real hope.  We've got to make it work! There's
something about him that makes me trust him.  I know this will work, unless
we blow it.  We can't do that."

"What if he wants more than you're willing to give?"

"He can't," George said with a snicker. "I'd give anything. Damn it, Karen.
This may be our last chance."  George patted my hand.  "But I'm exhausted
now.  I'll sleep the sleep of the dead tonight."

"I hope I do," I replied.

"Get some sleep.  You need to be sharp for him tomorrow.  He'll probably run
you through the wringer."

"I'm sure he will," I said and kissed him on the cheek.

Sleep was long in coming.  I was dreading tomorrow.  When sleep finally
came, I had an erotic dream, a dream stronger than I had in years.  The
dream was of Eric Winston . . .  and me.  Agitated and fearful, I awoke in a
sweat.  George's snoring and my labored breathing were the only sounds in
the room.  I prayed for strength and fell asleep again.

I was tired and confused in the morning.  I selected my least appealing
outfit. I wore no makeup and old, scuffed, flat-heeled boots.

George greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss.  He was ready to walk out the
door to go to the golf course.

"Karen, you look frumpy.  Put on something nicer.  Something with some
oomph. We want Eric to think the best of us," he said.

I cried when I redressed. My husband had ordered me to make myself prettier
for a man who wanted me.  My emotions were overloaded just thinking about
Eric Winston.  As I looked at myself in my full length mirror, I felt like a
lamb being led to the slaughter.  No, you don't, the voice in my head said.
You're looking forward to it.  No, I wasn't. I wasn't.

As I drove to the plant to meet him, I reviewed my situation.  It was
surreal. I was eight years older, his mother-in-law to be, and married to
someone else.  He was considering assisting my husband and me in our
business.  For him to give me such sexual signals didn't make sense, not in
my experience, at least.

The drive to the office was slow.  I talked to myself the whole way, telling
me this was wrong. The last block of the drive I saw Eric in a blue Mercedes
in my rear view mirror.  He followed me into the driveway, parking beside
me. Apprehensively, I watched him walk toward me.  He was dressed in a
button down, Oxford cloth, blue shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers.  He
looked long and lanky and strong, like a modern day westerner.

"Mr. Winston," I said coolly.

"Mrs. Phillips," he replied, a twinkle in his eye.  "Shall we begin?"

Eric and I worked hard. Like a huge vacuum, he sucked up information I
struggled to feed him at the pace he demanded.  His clarity and precision of
thought, his quick mind, had me in awe.  However, I lived those six hours in
fear of what would happen later.  I was constantly aware of his maleness and
dominant air, even as we discussed such mundane and non-sexual things as
lease financing.  I felt the sexual tension the entire time.

It wasn't my imagination.   He touched me every chance he got. First, it was
finger tips on my hand when I passed a file to him. I didn't respond,
telling myself I didn't want to offend him.  The touches became bolder. When
he looked at me, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes.   I knew what he was
thinking. He was thinking about taking me.  He wanted me to think about it,
too. I could think of nothing else.

His toying with me was discreet except for one overt comment made after we'd
been there about four hours.  I'd finished telling him the relationship with
our largest customer.

"Do you have any questions?" I asked.

"Tell me, is your pussy wet from wanting to fuck me?"

The room reeled as I started to faint.  He grabbed me, his strong arms
around me, his body hot against mine as he guided me to a chair and eased me
into it. His hands slipped down my body, leaving a trail of fire.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"What?  What did you say?"

"I said, 'Tell me your percentage net on the Fulton contract'.  What did you
think I said?"

Was I going crazy?  He hadn't said that!  Had he?  Had he asked a question
so innocuous?  No.  No.  He was playing with me.  He must be. He must.  I
couldn't read his expression. Had he said it?

"Oh.  I thought you said something else."

His hands were on my knees.  The pressure was gentle but increasing.  He was
trying to pull my knees apart! No.  Was he trying to hold them together? Oh,
god, what was happening? I started to cry again, burying my head in my hands
as I sobbed.  He disappeared and returned with a Coke. He took my hand and
wrapped it around the cold can.  I shivered from the coldness.  Or was it
from his touch?

"It's going to be all right, Karen," he said softly. His hand stroked my
hair.

Stop! Stop! Don't touch me! I wanted to scream.  I'm a wife, not a slut.  I'
m a mother.  My daughter is your fiancee. This is wrong. It's wrong for me
to want you so much.

I fought for composure.  Eric waited patiently.  When I was ready, we
started the business review again.  He continued his game of cat and mouse,
leaving the mouse exhausted and her feelings raw and exposed.

After six hours, he said we were through with the business review and
excused himself.  I collapsed in the chair at my desk as I tried to sort
through my confused mind the reason behind Eric's treatment of me and my
acceptance of it. Acceptance? No. Desire.  Why was I silent when he touched
me? That's the reason his touches became bolder.  The last time his hand
slid down my back to stroke my bottom before pulling away.

When I looked up, he was sitting in the straight chair across from me.  One
leg was bent, his foot on the edge of my desk; the other was splayed
straight, foot on the desk.  He was displaying his crotch to me.

The bastard was teasing me!  I felt the blush rise.  My face was beet red.
My hands trembled.  I took several deep breaths, trying to control myself. I
could feel his eyes burning into me, see him rocking gently back and forth
as he leaned back in the chair.  Finally, I looked him in the eye.

"What do you want?" I asked.  My voice was tense, forced.

"I know what I want," he replied quietly. "I know what you want. We both
want the same thing.  The question is how do we start."

No. Not now.  I'm not ready to resist.  I'm too weak right now. Please god,
give me strength.

"What do you think of the business?" I asked.

"Don't change the subject," he said.  There was a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe he means something else.

"What do you think I want?"

Why did I say that? Why?

"You want to be hot and sweaty and naked, writhing in desire on my bed,
begging me to fuck you."

"You disgust me, you perverted bastard!" I spit out at him without thinking.

I was in a rage! Every muscle and sinew tightened.   I shook in anger at
this overbearing male.  My fists were clenched, my jaw set.  In my mind, my
own mother stood over me.  Was that what my resistance was about?  My mother
's mores?  My mother's prejudices?

"I'll tell my daughter!  And my husband!  How dare you treat me like this!"

He laughed.  The sonofabitch laughed at me.

"I'm glad you're resisting, Karen.  I love playing the taking game with a
woman, particularly a woman who desperately wants to be taken."

"Touch me and I'll charge you with rape!"

He didn't respond as I glared at him.  His expression was inscrutable.  His
eyes held mine.  The emotion drained from me.  Anger ebbed; frustration and
helplessness flowed.  I looked away as I started crying again.  I couldn't
stifle my sobs.  He waited, letting me stew in my own juices.  I was unable
to get away.  A prisoner in my own office, I sat awaiting his next comment.
It seemed hours before he spoke.

"Karen, look at me."

He spoke so quietly I had to struggle to hear, but there was no doubt it was
a command.  Once again, I looked at him.  Those eyes.  They held me as if he
held me in his arms.

"Karen, if I'm wrong, get up and walk out. Walk out the door and leave. I
won't stop you."

Stand up, my mind screamed.  Stand up and run from him.  Run.  Get away.
Hide. Don't look in his eyes.  Fight for control of your emotions, Karen,
Polly's mother in me said. Oh, please god, help me. The tension's killing
me.

"Eric, I can't leave."

"Yes, you can.  Go ahead."

"I can't.  Our company needs you."

"I'll assist the company no matter what happens between us.  This is between
us, you know.  I want you and you want me.  You're afraid to admit it, that'
s all."

"I can't trust you to help us if I don't give myself  to you," I gasped out.
Of course you can trust him, you stupid woman, the voice said. You've told
him how to take you.  Isn't that what you want?  Eric Winston to take you?
Yes! No, no! I don't know.

He looked puzzled. Then a big grin crossed his face and a devilish gleam
appeared in his eyes.

"Ah. I understand. I'll build a box around you so you'll have no choice."

No choice?  I already had no choice.  I wanted him so much I was dying
inside.  Couldn't he see that?  A storm rose on his face, but the sunlight
glimmered through the clouds in his eyes.

"Don't fight me.  I'll leave you and George homeless and penniless unless
you do exactly as I want. Karen, I want you on your knees.  I want your
obedience. I want your surrender."

"George would rather lose everything then have me give myself to you," I
said weakly. George's words rang in my ears. 'Give Eric whatever he wants,'
he'd said.  Did George know that meant me?  Was he trading me for his
financial future? No.  He couldn't mean that. Could he see I wanted Eric?
Was he giving me permission to have an affair? Why had he told me to dress
in something nicer?  Did he know?

I wanted five minutes.  That's all.  Just five minutes alone someplace quiet
where I could think. I couldn't think. The world was spinning in wild,
erotic gyrations.  I wanted it to stop so I could think.

"Undress, Karen.  Let me see your body."

I shook my head no. Quickly he stood, towering over me like an implacable
giant. My tears started anew.  I staggered to my feet and stumbled to the
plate glass window overlooking the plant floor.  It was a magnificent
overview, letting me see the product of so many years of hard work. George
and I would have nothing to show for those years if we lost it.

I sagged against the air-conditioning unit that extended from the wall at
desk height.  I sensed him behind me. I started to turn.  He drove his body
against mine.  The timing and force of his assault drove my legs apart, his
knees inside my thighs. His height and strength trapped me with only my toes
touching the floor.  He crossed my wrists in front of me.  The long,
powerful fingers of his left hand wrapped around my wrists and forced them
downward.

"No! Goddamn you! No!" I screamed.

"Sshh.  It's okay, Karen.  It's all right for you to surrender to me," he
whispered soothingly.

I slammed my head back, hoping to hit him in the face. He trapped my head
with his right hand and held it there. Trapped, unable to get leverage with
my legs, his strong arms wrapped around me, I screamed and cursed, fought
and struggled, using every ounce of energy and power in me. When my
struggles slowed, he relaxed his grip, giving me false hope of escape.  I
struggled harder which exhausted me more quickly.

Like an insect in a spider web, I futilely struggled against an unavoidable
fate.  Like the insect, I was ultimately exhausted. I collapsed against him,
lying still and helpless in his arms.

Somewhere in my bifurcated mind, the woman who was me watched us from above.
She saw me in his arms. She felt his strength and my struggles and futility.
She felt his cock hardening against my bottom as I rubbed against him.  She
felt our muscles war.  She smelled our sweat, mine made pungent by my fear.
She heard our sounds, the gasps and grunting, the words spewed mindlessly by
me. She felt the heat.

The woman knew the outcome before it occurred.  She relished the delicious
male/female battle she observed. She tingled in anticipation of the female's
surrender to the male who entrapped her.

His erection laying against the crack of my bottom and his arms around me
dominated my thoughts. My bottom moved against the bulge in his trousers.
Stop rubbing against him like some wanton hussy, the voice said.  I can't, I
cried.

I didn't feel him unbutton the two lower buttons of my blouse. I first felt
his fingers on the wet, hot skin of my belly.  His fingers moved over my rib
cage.  I groaned as they unsnapped my front attaching bra.  Gently, those
fingers wrapped around my breast, squeezing, testing, evaluating, and, yes,
tantalizing.  Thumb and forefinger closed on my nipple and rolled it back
and forth. Desire raced through me.

"Please.  For God's sake," I whimpered.

"You've lovely breasts, Karen.  I'm going to enjoy them," he whispered in my
ear. "I'm going to enjoy all of you.  You're a very sexual woman.  Why you'
ve repressed it, I'll never know.  But you'll repress it no more.  You're my
woman now and I expect unbridled sexuality from my women."

His woman? How could that be?

His voice was soothing and reassuring.  It was warm, the kind of warmth a
man's voice has when he has bedded a woman who has pleased him, or when he
is pleased with the woman he'll soon bed.  I didn't misconstrue warmth as
weakness.  He intended for me to fully comply with his demands.

"You have a lovely neck, too," he murmured as he nuzzled the side of my neck
under my hair.

His lips, his tongue nibbled and caressed my neck. Electricity flickered
through me. Chills went down my spine.  He pulled my head back and kissed
me, nibbling at my lips, tongue caressing mine, his breath hot and sweet in
my nose. He kissed me again.

Strange, isn't it? Cursing and weeping, I'd struggled until exhaustion. Now
I lay passively in his arms as he kissed me and fondled my breasts. I felt
secure and warm. I was weightless, his body still supporting mine as my toes
brushed the ground. His hardness throbbed against me. Heat was rising again
and sweat oozed from me. Heat from a different source; heat of a different
kind.

My resistance ceased.  Limply my hands lay before me.  Eagerly his hands
sought the button and zipper at my waist.  Resistance flared.  I grunted and
pushed against him. He jerked me hard against him, knocking the wind from
me. His teeth dug into the muscles of my neck, like a stallion holding a
mare in place as he mounts her. Something happened: maybe release of
hormones from primordial urges.  A warm tingling sensation overcame me.  I
resisted no more.

He slipped my blouse and bra off, lay me back on the soft carpet and
finished removing my clothes. I watched as he dropped his trousers and
boxers. When I saw his cock, I gasped. It was so red and hard.  I wanted it
so much.  He knelt between my legs. My wrists were crossed and pinned over
my head. My legs were doubled and trapped under his arms.  His cock nestled
between my lower lips. Our eyes were open.  His face was a picture of male
pride and conquest. I felt every millimeter of his skin as he slowly entered
me.  I juiced to ease his way.  I spasmed around him, expanding for him. He
stopped, only partially in me.

I lifted my hips to hurry him.  "Please don't stop." I whimpered.

A victor's smile on his face, he slammed against me, driving me into the
floor.  His cockhead hit my cervix.

"Oh, God.  I'm cumming," I murmured.

Large, hard, demanding, his cock plundered me again and again, drawing from
me orgasms I didn't believe possible. I, who'd never experienced more than
one orgasm, felt the power of multiple ones crashing over me. Sweat covered
us. Heat radiated.   I whimpered and mewed under him, rewarding his taking
of me with my pleasure at having been taken.

"Look at me!" he demanded. Buried in me to the hilt, he stopped.  His face
contorted.  He began to shake as he pumped his seed into me.  Ecstacy
covered his face as he emptied himself. He released his hold on my legs and
slumped on me.

I should've pushed him away.  Instead, I put my arms around him and held his
hard body tightly against mine. His cock softened in me as our bodies
cooled. My hands stroked his back.  My lips nuzzled his neck. He raised up
to look in my eyes.  I saw a gentleness in him.  I saw pride: pride of
bringing a woman to sexual nirvana; pride of ownership.  What did he see in
me?  Happiness? Satisfaction? Joy? They were there.

"Now Karen, we'll always end the same way.  Use your mouth to clean me," he
said after he rolled to lay beside me.

I had no urge to resist or disobey.  I took him in my mouth, tasting our
juices coating him.  He stroked my sweat soaked hair as I eagerly complied.
His hand was gentle, his touch reassuring.

"Well done," he said softly.

I stopped to gaze into his eyes.

"Take your hand and gather my cum from your pussy.  Lick your fingers clean.
No, Karen.  Always look at me when you do it so I can share your joy at
tasting me."

My eyes were locked to his as my fingers sought the nectar he left.  The
tingling urge to again open myself for him crept over me. As I licked my
fingers, I saw his cock jump and swell.  He wanted me again. Me! I was
thrilled and eager for him.

"I'm sorry to end this," he whispered in my ear, "but we need to go to
dinner.  Polly's cooking. We're all eating together."

I cringed at the mention of my daughters and husband.  Shame filled me.  A
cold, sick dampness crept across my skin. Even my tears seemed cold on my
face.  With my back to him, I sought my clothes and quickly redressed. When
I turned to face him, he had a soft smile.

"Why are you doing this to me, Eric?" I asked timidly.

"Does it matter?  It's happening."

"Please tell me.  I need to know."

"You shouldn't feel guilty about this, Karen.  You resisted, but I was too
strong.  I took you.  All you need to know is that you're mine now.  Mine.
And I'll do with you as I wish."

Guilty?  My guilt was an albatross around my neck. It devastated me. I was
crushed by the weight of it . . .  but, oh god, why did I feel this way? Why
did I feel warm and happy?  Why did I enjoy him so much?  He extended his
hand to me.  He helped me to my feet and pulled me against him.

"You're a good lover, Karen," he said softly.  "You'll be better when you
surrender. You'll be a sexual animal. My animal."  He kissed me.  "I'll see
you at my house."

He kissed me again and left me in the quiet of my own office.


To be concluded

Please!  Give me your comments.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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