grinding pelvis at her opening, crashing against her just as Martin's pelvic bone crushed into her.
The next came faster, snapping like a whip. She screamed, 'Aaarrrggghhhh! Now! God, I'm cummming now, oh, oh, I'm cummmmmmiiiiinnnnng! Aaarrgghh!!'
She jerked up as her entire being seemed to snap. Again and again the waves of orgasm crashed against the cliffs of her soul as she rebounded with them, jerking upward again and again. Her orgasmic juices filled her desperately sucking vaginal passage, lubricating it more and more.
Her flowing juices halfway through her climax brought Martin to his end. Like a giant Kodiak bear he rose up, throwing his head in circles to the side. 'Aaaarrrrgggghhhhhh!' he roared like an animal about to attack. The pressure in his balls burst as the hot fluids erupted out through his straining tubes and spurted from his reddened cock deep into her open cunt.
She was still cumming when she felt his juices hotly filling her belly, adding more wood to the fire. 'Oh. OOOOooh, perfect, oooooh!' she cried out, her head rolling helplessly from side to side on the squeaking car seat.
Completely spent, Martin fell on top of her. She was crushed by his weight. Her eyes were closed, but her attention was still focused on the furnace within her. They had finished, her legs dropping limply to her sides. The moment of remembrance, of savoring the entire act now occupied her.
She lay still, thinking of the pleasure she had experienced. Martin breathed heavily by her ear. But, also with the end of the climax had come the end of the aphrodisiac's effect and Janet's dazed mind began to focus on what she had done. It felt so good, yet it was so wrong, she thought through the rising guilt. Oh God, what am I going to do? I can't tell Greg, yet I don't know what to say to Martin. It was my fault, she thought, unaware that she had been drugged. All my fault!
'We had better go,' Martin said as he lifted himself from between her thighs. He handed her the white panties, still moist with the fluids of her earlier excitement and she said nothing as she dressed in the car. Small tears began to fill her eyes. She didn't want to hurt this man. He was so kind and yet the guilt and shame of her betrayal of her husband lay heavily within her.
Neither said anything as they drove toward her home. She decided that Martin might be thinking exactly what she was thinking, that it was a mistake, something that would not have happened if they had not been drunk. He would understand, of course, he would. After all, he had understood everything else when they had talked before. But, she vowed to herself, it also was something that would never ever happen again as long as she lived!
CHAPTER THREE
The white convertible turned into the alleyway that led to the Richards' suburban home. Martin turned off the lights as he guided the sleek '68 model car along the narrow roadway until they were behind her house. She lay half lifeless on the seat beside him.
Her tears had dried streaks of mascara on her cheeks. She had cried for most of the ride until finally no more tears would come. No matter what had been going wrong between she and Greg, it was no reason for infidelity. Her mind was made up. She would tell Martin that the mistake would not happen again. She would not tell Greg, and beg, if she had to, for Martin not to disclose what had happened. With this new understanding, perhaps both the Kelly's and the Richards could work out their marital problems. She had no fear. Firm in her convictions, she felt like Joan of Arc, ready to do battle for what she believed was right. There was no other course.
'Wake up,' Martin told her. He was unaware that she only feigned sleep. 'You're home now. Wake up, Janet.'
She turned and shook her head as if to thrust the sleep from her foggy mind. Rather than talk on the drive home, she had pretended to pass out. It saved unnecessary talking and had given her the time she needed to think.
'I'm awake, Martin,' she said as he got out of the car and walked to the other side to let her out. 'You don't have to walk me to the door. I'm fine. Besides, there is something I want to tell you now. If we can get this straight, then there will be no problems.'
'You can tell me inside,' he said as he opened the screen door, taking the key from her hand and unlocking the door. 'What we need is some hot coffee if we plan to talk.'
'No, Martin, really…'
'You're not going to say no to me now, are you?' he said, almost pushing her inside with his hand. He looked for a moment for the illuminated night switch, then flicked it up. The fluorescent lights flickered hesitantly before sharing their energy with the rest of the room.
Janet did not want him in the house. This was her refuge from Martin and the outside world. It belonged to her and to Greg. 'Martin, please, not tonight.'
'I like mine black,' he said curtly, walking through the swinging door to the living room as though he owned the house.
Janet stood in the glaring light for a moment, not knowing what to do. Perhaps, if she gave him the coffee, she could make him understand. She turned, looking for the coffee, but could not remember where she kept it in her own kitchen. Get a hold on yourself, she thought, as tears started to fill her weary eyes again. How am I going to do anything if I fall apart. Where is the coffee? The white canister stood where it always had on the counter next to the built-in range.
She walked to the counter and removed the wooden lid. Automatically she scooped six tablespoons of the freshly ground beans into the clean white pot. Staring at the percolator she became impatient that it would not perk immediately. This is ridiculous, she thought. I'm standing in my own kitchen making coffee for a man who has just screwed me in his hopped up automobile, a man who is supposed to be my husband's best friend, and now I've used him, and he is going to think it represents something more. Why must I have these problems? Not even the damn coffee pot will work right. What is becoming of me. Am I so rotten as to hurt Martin as well as Greg? Please hurry, coffee!
Her hair was tangled and she tried to straighten it. The image reflected in the glass door of the oven was one of a woman who did not deserve the good life she had, she thought. I look like a whore, and now I'm beginning to feel like one. But I'll find a way out, I just have to. The coffee started to boil over. It had been perking too long.
'Where's my coffee,' Martin shouted just before she swung open the kitchen door and entered the room. Martin was sitting on the overstuffed couch in front of the stone fireplace. He had built a fire that was already roaring. He was looking through a new woman's magazine that Janet had purchased the day before.
'These women's magazines are unbelievable,' he said smiling almost contemptuously at her as she crossed the room. 'There is more sex and sex problems in this single issue than anyone would ever suspect of finding in Lady Chatterly's Lover. It's no wonder that women can think of nothing else to talk about, except their sex lives, or the sex lives they wished they had. I probably would too if I read this kind of trash all the time.'
'That's not so,' she said, finding that she was defending herself. She wanted to get to the point and make things clear to Martin. Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. She wanted to tell him that she had used him. Perhaps, he would understand. He must understand, she thought. He's too kind, too intelligent not to.
'Those magazines have good advice, Martin. Maybe if more women read them, and maybe men, too, you and I wouldn't have the marriage problems we do,' she said, handing him a cup of hot black coffee. 'Thank you. Here, have some of this,' he said, pulling the leather covered flask from his pocket. 'I saved some for us.'
'No, Martin, I can't,' she protested as he poured a shot into her cup. 'That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Martin. What happened tonight was a horrible mistake. It just can't be allowed to happen again.'
'A mistake. Who the hell are you trying to kid. I'm not a school boy, young lady. You practically raped me on the dance floor, and certainly didn't object when we drove to Mulholland. Now you are going to try to tell me it was a mistake? What's the matter, didn't you like it? Say no to that and you take the cake as liar of the year.'
'Martin, we were drunk…'
'Oh, hell, who are you trying to kid. You were as horny as a Goddamn bitch in heat.'
'Please,' she said. 'Try to listen. I don't want you to misunderstand. You must believe me. I…'
