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Message-ID: <33708asstr$1006899012@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Margery Pinchwife <mpinchwife@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: mpinchwife@yahoo.com
Subject: {ASSM} EYES Margery P (MF wife mdom cons)
Date: Tue, 27 Nov 2001 17:10:12 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Some readers said that they did not get the entire
story on the first post.
For their benefit, it is reposted





<1st attachment, "mpeyes.txt" begin>

                       EYES

		by Margery Pinchwife
		mpinchwife@yahoo.com
		(c)Margery Pinchwife, 2001

		http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/margery/www/


 CHAPTER 1

         It started a few years ago.  We were at one of
 these "business parties" - my husband's company had a
 big party for people from all the different companies
 it dealt with - so I knew very few people.  After a
 little while my husband got involved with one of his
 clients about some business matter, so I drifted off
 to find someone to talk to about something other than
 business.

          As I moved around the room, I noticed a man
 seemed to be staring at me.  He was not particularly
 handsome (nor tall nor dark, for that matter), but he
 had striking eyes - the irises must have been very
 dark, so from across the room it looked like his eyes
 were all pupils - just black disks in the middle of
 his white eyeballs.  This made his staring somehow
 more penetrating.

      I tried to ignore him and eventually joined a
 small group talking about something I no longer
 remember.  A few moments later, the man joined the
 group, still staring at me with, what I now could see,
 were almost jet black eyes.  He said very little and
 eventually people drifted away, as these groups at a
 noisy party do, leaving just him and me.

      I tried to say something pleasant and he replied
 "It's too noisy to talk here.  There are quieter
 places."  With that, he turned his back and started
 walking toward the stairway.  There was something so
 strong and confident about his voice and his manner
 that made me feel it would be almost impolite not to
 follow him.

      We went up the stairs and through an open doorway
 into what turned out to be a bedroom.  There he
 turned, apparently thoroughly confident that I had
 followed him, and focused those eyes on mine.  I don't
 remember what we talked about then, probably
 continuing whatever had been the subject of
 conversation below.  All I know is that I was
 conscious mostly of his eyes, which continued to bore
 into me.

      At one point the conversation came to a stop, but
 he continued to stare at me, almost overpowering me
 with his look.  I couldn't ignore it any more, so I
 asked him why he kept staring at me and why he had
 been staring at me, even from across the room.  His
 reply shocked me:  "I'm trying to imagine what your
 breasts look like underneath your dress."

      This was not the sort of comment I was used to.
 I should have passed it off with some witty comment,
 or turned and left.  I did neither.  I just stood
 there powerless, looking back into his eyes, and,
 seemingly of their own volition, my hands moved up to
 the buttons on the front of my dress.  You can imagine
 what might have happened next, but in fact, it went no
 further.  With exquisite dramatic timing, my husband
 just then stuck his head in the room and said "Ah,
 there you are, I've been looking for you."

      Driving home, all I could think was that I'd been
 saved by the bell.  I thought then, and still believe,
 that had not my husband come in I would have then and
 there bared my breasts to this strange man, whose name
 I didn't even know.  I can't imagine why I would have
 done it, I'm normally very shy about my body, but
 there was something in those eyes, something in the
 strength of his voice, in his apparently rightful
 confidence, that I found compelling, that left me with
 little choice.  I don't know what it was.  It both
 frightened and excited me when I thought about it.
 But I certainly couldn't tell my husband that some
 strange man had that kind of power over me.

 CHAPTER 2

        I didn't see him again until the big spring
 party.

        The CEO of my husband's company has a large
 house at the beach and every spring he throws a big
 beach party for the families of the senior members of
 the company plus a variety of others that he does
 business with or just likes.  It's not a catered
 affair, everybody pitches in by bringing things,
 helping setting up, cooking, cleaning up, etc.  It's
 usually a lot of fun, especially if the weather is
 good.

         It's been several months since the episode at
 the party and I thought about it from time to time.
 Although nothing actually happened, it was the closest
 I had come to a sexual adventure since I was married
 and the almost hypnotic effect that he had on me made
 it a major erotic episode in my life.  From time to
 time, I'd find myself caressing my body and thinking
 about him.

         So when the invitation to the spring beach
 party came, I wondered if he'd be there.  Just the
 possibility made me tingle.  When we got there, I
 looked around to see if he was there.  There were a
 lot of people already there, most standing around on
 the beach because the water was still rather cold, a
 few hardy souls swimming, but I didn't see him
 anywhere.  I didn't know whether to be disappointed or
 relieved.

         My husband and I made the rounds, saying hello
 to old friends and acquaintances, being introduced to
 people we didn't know and to families of those we did.
  It was getting on toward noon and my husband had
 promised to do some of the cooking, so I walked with
 him over to where they had set up the grills.  I
 wasn't hungry yet, so I told him I'd wait until his
 shift was over, in about an hour, and would eat with
 him then.  Leaving him there, I drifted off looking
 for somebody I wanted to talk with.

         It was then that I noticed him.  He was about
 15 yards away from me and there were people between
 us, but there was no mistaking his commanding presence
 and those eyes, which as at the party seemed focused
 on me.  I had a certain amount of ambivalence, whether
 to turn away and pretend I didn't notice him or to
 acknowledge him as someone I knew.  But before I could
 actually consider these alternatives, I found that I
 was walking towards him as if he were someone I had
 been looking for, which, whether I wished to admit it
 or not, he was.

         He didn't move or change his expression until
 I was halfway to him.  Then, he gestured with his chin
 over his shoulder toward the house, turned, and walked
 in the direction he had indicated, seemingly confident
 that I would follow him.

         And, indeed, that seemed to me to be the
 natural thing to do.  I didn't even consider any
 alternatives.  By the time I reached the house and
 entered it through the kitchen, he was nowhere in
 sight.  I looked around and saw a sign with an arrow
 pointing up stairs and the word "Bathrooms."  That
 seemed the obvious way to go.  It certainly gave me a
 good excuse to go upstairs.

         At the top of the stairs, I saw him standing
 in the doorway of one of the rooms.  As soon as he saw
 me, he turned and went in the room.  I followed him.

         Again, it was a bedroom.  He was standing by
 the door.  As I walked past him, heading for the
 window, I heard him close and lock the door.  This
 time we wouldn't be interrupted.   I stood staring out
 the window at the party on the beach.  I could see my
 husband at the grill and a line for hamburgers forming
 near him.

         In the room, he didn't say anything.  I turned
 and saw that he was standing in the middle of the
 room, next to the bed, his eyes locked on mine.  I
 took a step or two toward him.  Neither of us had said
 a word.

         Finally, he spoke.  It was as if the
 interruption at our previous encounter had only been
 for a minute or two and he was picking up where we had
 left off.

         "We were speaking of your breasts."

         His voice brought me back to that earlier time
 and to the same emotional state I had been in then.  I
 was wearing a modest one-piece bathing suit and it
 took just a moment to push the straps off my shoulders
 and roll the suit down to my waist.

         I stood there bare-breasted, looking into
 those dark, dark eyes.  They held my gaze for a long
 moment and than slowly moved down to focus on my
 breasts.  My nipples hardened.

         "Very good."

         His eyes then moved lower until they reached
 the base of my abdomen, where their downward passage
 stopped.

         I could feel their pull on my crotch as if it
 were a command, one that I had no power to ignore.  I
 continued to roll my suit down...over my hips...past
 my thighs...until it fell to my ankles.  I stepped out
 of it and stood there completely naked, only a few
 feet from this man whose name I didn't even know.

         He reached forward and with his fingertips
 touched the inside of my thigh, gently pressing it
 outward.  I obeyed the pressure of his fingers and
 spread my legs.

         Then, he brought his hand up and ever so
 lightly slid his fingertips along the edges of my
 labia from back to front.  It felt as gentle as a
 feather.  Waves of heat radiated outward from his
 point of contact.

         Then he stepped back.

         "I'm going to get some of that meat your
 husband has prepared."

         He turned and left.

         I don't know how long I stood there, alone and
 on the brink of orgasm, breathing heavily.  Eventually
 I seemed to snap out of it.  I found my bathing suit,
 quickly pulled it on, raced downstairs, out of the
 house, and down to the beach, where I ran into the
 frigid water until it was deep enough to swim.

         When I came shivering out of the water, he was
 nowhere to be seen.


  CHAPTER 3

          The next time I saw him was at a dinner
 party.

         My husband's company had hired a woman at the
 senior management level for the first time and the CEO
 had thought a nice dinner party would be a good way to
 welcome her.  He had invited all the managers in the
 company and a number of people not in the company so
 the dinner wouldn't result in just a lot of shop talk.
  Because he didn't want the guest of honor to be the
 only woman, he had strongly encouraged everyone to
 bring his wife.  What with a couple of divorces and
 illnesses there still would be a shortage of women,
 but at least she'd not be the only one.

         The day of the party, around noon, my husband
 called me from work.  There was some sort of a
 disaster in one of the branch offices and he'd have to
 fly out there that evening to do damage control and
 hold a lot of hands.  He still wanted me to go to the
 dinner because of the shortage of women.  He could
 drop me off on his way to the airport and he'd spoken
 to the CEO who had agreed to make sure I was driven
 home, so I wouldn't have to drive in the dark.

         Well, I recognized my wifely duty and,
 besides, I knew we'd have fantastic food and excellent
 wines.  That and the fact that I had bought a new
 dress for the occasion made me agree to go.  Of
 course, I considered the idea that he might be there.
 But I felt the intimacy of a dinner party (as opposed
 to the two previous occasions) meant that we couldn't
 go off by ourselves without drawing attention to us,
 and I was pretty sure that in the presence of other
 people I'd be able control myself no matter how
 penetrating his eyes were.

         I didn't see him at first.  I was greeted by
 the host, introduced to the guest of honor, and was
 into a discussion with her of the local culture,
 particularly for good music, before I felt his
 presence.  But then, there it was.  The dark,
 confident eyes staring at me from across the room. And
 I knew I had been wrong.

         I was hooked.

         I was a fish that, having bitten on the hook,
 was swimming around freely only until the line was
 pulled taut and I was reeled in.  I waited for the tug
 on the line.

         But he didn't reel me in.  He just looked at
 me from across the room while we had cocktails.
 During dinner, as I tried to concentrate on what truly
 was a wonderful meal and on the conversations with my
 table mates, I'd occasionally glance toward the other
 end of the table and there would be those eyes,
 looking right into mine, reminding me that he still
 had the hook in me.  It was like that during coffee as
 well.  But he never made the slightest move or gesture
 beyond that look.

         Since people had to work the next day, the
 party broke up reasonably early.  I went to thank my
 host and remind him of my need for a ride home.  "Oh,
 here's the man who kindly agreed to drive you," and I
 suddenly felt the line pull.  Of course, he was the
 one who would drive me.  He had known that all along
 and had patiently waited for this moment before
 beginning to reel me in.

         I walked out the his car with him in a mild
 daze of anticipation, not having any idea what was in
 store for me.  It wasn't until we had driven for a
 while that I realized he had never asked me where I
 lived.  Where was he taking me?  He could take me
 anyplace he wanted.  I felt a touch of fear.  Was he
 driving me home or was it only coincidence that at
 every intersection he made the choice that took us
 toward my home?  It was only when he stopped in my
 driveway that I was confident he was taking me home.

         Relieved, I turned to thank him for the ride,
 but he was already getting out of his side of the car.
  I got out and fumbled in my purse for the key as he
 accompanied me to the front door.  When I finally
 managed to get the key out, he took it from my
 trembling hand, unlocked the door, and held it open
 for me.  He returned the key as I passed him into the
 hallway.  When I turned to thank him, he was closing
 the door and throwing the lock.  Then, as if he knew
 my house, as if he had been there before, he
 confidently walked past me toward our bedroom.

         I put my purse down and followed him.  When I
 got to the bedroom, he was sitting in the reading
 chair with his jacket off, thrown over an arm of the
 chair.

         He looked at me, holding my eyes with his,
 and, without a word from him, I knew exactly what I
 had to do.  Very deliberately, I stepped out of my
 heels and kicked them over towards my closet.  I
 unzipped my new dress, pulled it over my head, and
 carefully hung it in the closet.  My half slip I
 folded and put on top of the dresser.  I had to sit
 down to take off my panty hose; I put them next to the
 slip.  I put my bra and panties on top of the slip.

         Then I stood naked and exposed in front of him
 again, with my nipples already erect, waiting.

         His eyes studied me, roaming over my body, up
 and down.  It felt as if he was carressing me.  He
 hadn't said a word.  Finally his eyes locked on mine
 and with a gesture he indicated the bed. I lay on my
 back on the bed, my legs slightly spread, and waited,
 almost twitching with anticipation of whatever he
 might do next.

         He stood at my right side and began to run his
 fingers over me.  Down and up my thighs, then around
 my neck, my shoulders and arms, then down my chest
 between my breasts, around my navel, and back and
 forth across my abdomen.  All the time carefully
 avoiding the principle erotic zones, and being all the
 more erotic for it.

         It felt so good, lying there at his mercy,
 feeling the sensation of his fingertips on my skin.
 But I wanted more, I wanted his fingers on those
 places.

         Eventually he turned his attention to my right
 breast.  His fingers circled it several times,
 outlining it, before they began a slow, tight spiral
 toward the hard nipple in the center of his circles.
 He moved closer and closer to it, but never touching
 it, until he was at the edge of the hard and bumpy
 aureola.  I tried to will him onto the nipple itself,
 but he got no closer.  I looked at him, begging like a
 hungry puppy, but still he moved no closer, just round
 and round.

         Finally, he reach across me, took my left arm
 and, holding it by the wrist, first pulled my fingers
 across his palm, and then placed them on my nipple.
 The need was so strong by then that I immediately
 began to role the nipple between my thumb and
 forefinger, giving myself some relief from the agony
 of suspense that he had induced.

         He watched for a while, then took my right arm
 by the wrist, again pulled my fingers across his palm,
 and this time place the tip of my fingers on my
 clitoris.

         I had never masturbated in front of someone
 before, but the strength of his power over me combined
 with the urges of my body were too much.  My fingers
 stroked and fondled and caressed as, now from the foot
 of the bed, he focused his eyes on their activity.
 Seeing him there between my legs while I was rubbing
 so furiously brought me to a higher pitch of
 excitement than I had ever reached by myself.  I was
 almost at my peak when he suddenly shifted his eyes
 and fixed them on mine.  He seemed to pull me into
 their dark centers, and as I reached my climax, I felt
 I was sinking into their black depths, giving my
 orgasm to him, as I exploded.  I lost sight of
 everything during the aftershocks.

         I was wrung out, motionless and exhausted.  I
 heard him open and then close the front door, get into
 his car, and drive away.  I lay there sobbing.

 CHAPTER 4

          Over the next several months, I saw him on
 three occasions.  At each of them he simply ignored
 me.  He didn't avoid me, rather he simply acted as if
 I wasn't there.  If he happened to glance in my
 direction, his eyes looked through me.  I was
 invisible to him.

         I couldn't understand it.  I had revealed
 myself to him in an incredibly intimate manner and now
 I didn't exist for him anymore.  The injustice of it
 gnawed on me.  Was I no longer of interest to him?
 Had I done something wrong?  What was the matter with
 me that caused this sudden change in his behavior?

         At the end of the third occasion, a cocktail
 party, I had gathered my purse and gone to the
 bathroom to redo my lipstick and straighten my hair
 before my husband and I left for dinner.  As I stepped
 out of the bathroom, he was standing there in an
 otherwise empty hallway.  At first I thought that
 finally he was going to acknowledge my existence, but
 it immediately became apparent that he was only
 waiting to get into the bathroom.  I could stand it no
 longer.

         "Is it over then?  You no longer want to see
 me?"

         "I'll see you when you're ready," he said in a
 matter-of-fact tone.

         "When I'm ready?  What does that mean?"  I was
 incredulous.

         He took a small piece of paper and a pen from
 his pocket, wrote something, tucked the paper in my
 purse, and finally grabbed my eyes with the depths of
 his.

         "You'll be ready when you call me at the
 number and say the words on the paper."

         He disappeared into the bathroom just as
 several other people came looking for that facility.
 I didn't want to read what he had written in front of
 other people.  In fact, I decided that I should be
 alone and in a better frame of mind before I looked at
 the paper.  So I left it in my purse and went to
 dinner with my husband.

         It wasn't until the next morning, after my
 husband left for work, that I finally got around to
 looking at the paper.  On it were written a phone
 number and the words "Take me any way you want."

         Without him there, without those eyes locked
 on mine, I found those words unbelievable.  Why the
 arrogant bastard, I thought.  After the way I had
 responded to his looks and his mere gestures, to now
 demand that I put myself completely at his disposal
 seemed pushing his luck.  Where did he get off acting
 like this?

         I threw the piece of paper in the trash....and
 then immediately pulled it out.  I can't say why I did
 this.  Was it because I was afraid my husband might
 find it there?  Or because I was afraid of the
 finality of cutting off all contact with him?  Or
 because I wanted to call him and tell him what I
 thought of it?  Or, perhaps, just perhaps, because I
 suddenly saw the image of those eyes in front of me?


         All I know is that I stood there trembling,
 with the rescued piece of paper in my hand, when the
 phone rang.

         It was my friend Cheryl asking me what I would
 be wearing that day to the luncheon I had completely
 forgot about.  I looked at the time and realized I'd
 just barely have time to get dressed if I wanted to
 get there on time.  So I got rid of Cheryl as quickly
 as I politely could, stuffed the piece of paper in the
 back of my drawer, and proceeded to get ready for the
 luncheon.

         At least several times every day over the next
 couple of weeks I would think about the paper.  The
 words, "Take me any way you want," were burned into my
 memory.  I vacillated between thinking, on the one
 hand, that I should simply destroy the paper and
 forget the whole thing, and, on the other, that I
 should call him up and tell him the I was no longer
 interested in him; let him know.  A couple of times I
 briefly even considered calling him and reciting the
 words he had written, but each time I immediately
 dismissed that idea.

         Eventually, I decided to call him up and end
 it.  All I needed was the nerve.  I prepared my words
 in advance.  "I want to tell you that you can forget
 about me.  I'm no longer interested in you."  I
 recited these words over and over to myself so I
 wouldn't forget them.  They became my mantra.  I found
 myself repeating them as I reached for the phone, but
 each time I found some reason why it wasn't the right
 time to call or why I had to do something else first.
 For some reason, I was afraid to make the call.

         One bright, sunny morning I finally decided it
 was the perfect time to call him.  I had nothing
 planned for the day.  I felt full of confidence.  I
 had taken a leisurely shower and had not yet bothered
 to get dressed.  I was wearing my terrycloth bathrobe,
 enjoying the feel of its texture against my skin, and
 drinking my second cup of coffee when I decided that
 this was the time to call.  I repeated to myself the
 words, "I want to tell you that you can forget about
 me.  I'm no longer interested in you," as I went to
 the bedroom to get the piece of paper with his phone
 number on it.

         I panicked when I couldn't find it.

         It wasn't in the drawer.  What had I done with
 it?  Had my husband gone through my drawer and found
 it?  I frantically began emptying the drawer of all
 the odds and ends that I had put in it over the years.
  And then, thank God, I found it.

         It was, more or less, right where I had put
 it, but tucked under a small box.  I held it in my
 hand, sat down on the end of the bed, and breathed
 deeply until I calmed down.  I glanced at the words he
 had written and then repeated my mantra, "I want to
 tell you that you can forget about me.  I'm no longer
 interested in you."

         I had lost a bit of my confidence but I was
 again ready to make the call.

         I placed the paper next to the bedside phone
 so I could see it as I dialed, and dialed the number.
 As the phone rang, I looked back at all the junk I had
 pulled out of my drawer and decided that I needed to
 clean it up as soon as the I finished the call.

         The phone rang two times, three times, four
 times.  Maybe he's not there.  Was I disappointed or
 relieved?  Perhaps both.

         Two more rings.  I was about to hang up when
 he answered.

         "Yes."  Thoroughly disinterested, as if he
 expected a telemarketer.

         "This is Diane."

         "Yes."  The exact same intonation.  No sign of
 recognition or sense that he cared at all.

         "I want to tell you...."  I could suddenly see
 those eyes in front of me.

         "I want to tell you that you can..."  Could
 his eyes actually reach through the telephone wires
 into my bedroom?

         "Yes."  No change in intonation.

         "...you can..."  The words caught in my
 throat.

         "...you can take me any way you want."

         My God!  What had I said?  That isn't what I
 meant to say!  No, no, I wanted to take it back, to
 unsay it.

         "At exactly eleven this morning I'll be there.
  The front door should be unlocked.  You should be
 waiting for me, kneeling naked on your bed, your knees
 at the foot edge of the bed and spread," and he hung
 up.

         I looked at the digital clock by the bed.  It
 was 10:44.  It took me a moment to figure out that I
 had 16 minutes before he would be there.

         I would lock the front door (which we normally
 left open during the day), I thought.  I started
 toward it.  But then he might make a scene.  Pound on
 the door.  Try a window.  The neighbors would hear.
 No, no, that wouldn't do.  I'd have to let him in,
 face him, and tell him I made a mistake.  If he got
 upset, better he should do it inside, away from
 curious neighbors.

         But the time was slipping by.  I saw the clock
 shift to 10:46.  I had to straighten things out.  I
 rushed to the drawer and stuffed all the junk back in
 any old way, forcing the drawer shut.  I caught sight
 of my hair in the mirror - it was a mess, completely
 out of control.  I grabbed my hairbrush and furiously
 brushed my hair, trying to bring some semblance of
 order to it.

         10:49.

         This was crazy.  I wasn't dressed yet.  Why
 was I doing these silly things?  What should I wear?
 Jeans and a sweatshirt to show him I didn't feel that
 I had to dress up for him.  No, a tight t-shirt and
 short shorts to show him what he wasn't going to get.
 No, no, a business suit so he'd think I was just about
 to leave and didn't have much time for him.  I didn't
 know what I wanted to do.  I only knew that time was
 flying and I had to make up my mind.

         Underwear.  No matter what, I'd need
 underwear.  It was 10:53 and I still didn't have any
 underwear on.  Panties.  I looked in my panty drawer
 and remembered that I had put the last of my panties
 in the laundry last night, but that I hadn't yet put
 them in the dryer.  They were undoubtedly still damp
 in the washer.   Did I need panties?  Not with jeans
 or a longer skirt.  But I'd definitely need a bra.
 10:56 and where's my damn bra?  I had thrown it into
 the closet somewhere.

         But what was I going to wear?  I looked
 frantically for my gray suit.  No, my jeans.  No, my
 blue suit.  Oh, God, what time is it.  10:58.  It was
 hopeless.  I stood there frozen in indecision.  10:59.
  Oh, no!...

         I heard the dining room chime begin to sound
 the hour.  A car drove up.  A car door slammed.

         Shit!

         No longer thinking, I quickly took off my
 robe, threw it in the closet, and, breathing heavily,
 knelt on the edge of the bed as I heard the front door
 open.

         He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.  I
 could feel his eyes examining me inch by inch.  In the
 mirror, I could see my body from the shoulders down,
 my buttocks sticking up and pointing toward the
 doorway, my breasts hanging loosely down from me - an
 entirely obscene headless body.  I visualized the dark
 eyes probing my body, penetrating the openings offered
 up to him.

         He walked up beside me and ran his hands over
 my flank, as if I were a cow.  I felt thrillingly
 degraded and the feeling of degradation sent a shiver
 of excitement through me.  My blood was pulsing and I
 knew that the state of my nipples would let him know
 how terribly erotic I found this.

         With the palm of his hand he stroked my back,
 my sides, my thighs.  Innocent acts that somehow drove
 me to a higher pitch of excitement.  When he cupped
 one buttock and passed his fingers within a hair's
 breadth of my anus, I nearly went wild.

         Then he held his hand out flat beneath my
 breast and brought it up until my nipple just barely
 touched his palm.  He moved his hand in a circular
 horizontal motion, pulling my nipple round with it, as
 he ever so slightly increased the upward pressure.
 Pulses of electricity radiated throughout my body,
 upward from my nipple, and focused down to the
 juncture of my legs.  I was breathing harder now.  I
 could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

         He might have brought me to a climax with just
 the palm of his hand that way, I was that close, but
 he stopped.  I caught my breath.  In the mirror I saw
 him remove his pants, walk to the foot end of the bed,
 and stand there between my projecting feet.  His
 erection protruded between his shirttails, aimed
 directly at my rear.  I felt fingers on my vaginal
 lips, spreading my liquid around them, then sliding up
 to and around my anus, getting everything wet with the
 fluid that I was exuding.  I could feel his fingers
 moving back and forth, between my labia, around my
 anus, with the lightest of pressure on both my
 openings.  I found myself pressing backward, trying to
 increase the pressure, trying to capture his fingers.
 One finger slipped between my labia, shallowly probing
 into me.  I caught my breath in anticipation.

         Then suddenly, all at once, a thumb delved
 into the depths of my vagina, a finger into my rectum,
 and his other hand reached around my thigh and pressed
 hard on my clitoris.  He was rubbing his fingers and
 hands together, back and forth, with me in between.
 All my sensations were concentrated between his hands
 and fingers, where he had captured me.  Their motion
 was rubbing at the very core of my universe.  Oh, God!
  Yes!

      This was pure sex.  There was no love involved,
 no intimacy, no union of souls.  I didn't even know
 his name and I couldn't care less.  It was primitive,
 raw, animal sex at its most basic.  I was conscious
 only of my body and the sensations he was eliciting in
 it.

      His fingers and hand moved faster and faster.
 Oh, God, he was pushing me closer and closer.  I was
 almost there, my breath became ragged, my pulse
 quicker, my eyes lost their focus.  And then it wasn't
 his finger anymore in my vagina.  It was his smooth,
 thick, hard erection pumping into me, driving into me,
 deeper and deeper.  I was now completely gone.  He had
 driven me over the edge and I was coming wildly,
 grunting like an animal, as he thrust his pelvis back
 and forth, slamming his body against mine, all the
 while his hand pressing against my clitoris in rhythm
 with his thrusting.  Tears ran down my distorted face.
  I heard sounds coming out of my throat, shrieks, a
 loud, piercing cry.  Wave after wave shook my body,
 wrenching it, distorting it, tearing it apart.

         ...And then I heard no more.  I saw no more.
 Nothing.  Utter exhaustion.  Lying there.  Damp
 between my legs.  My face wet with tears.  Breathing.
 Just breathing.

         It was a while before my eyes finally focused.
  I saw him coming out of the bathroom, his pants back
 on.  He walked to the phone beside the bed, picked up
 the little piece of paper with his phone number and
 those words I had so fatefully recited, and put it in
 his pocket.

         "You won't be needing this any more.  I'll
 call you when it's time."

         And he left.

                         THE END

Please write to me at    mpinchwife@yahoo.com
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