pajamas, then hurried into the bathroom to shower and to be ready for her. A few minutes later, wearing just the pajama bottoms, he came out and went to the bed, took her by the shoulders, bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Rachel closed her eyes, linking her soft arms round his neck as she drew him down to her. 'My darling husband,' she breathed. 'It feels like ages since we were alone together. Do get in beside me, hurry, darling!'
He reached to turn out the little night lamp beside the bed, and then joined her. He turned, on his left side to her, his left arm under her shoulders, his right hand gently stroked her swelling breasts, then the supple contour of one lovely hip as their lips met in a long ardent kiss.
Rachel felt the flesh of her inner thighs twitching and prickling with a new desire. What had taken place last night came back into her senses now, but with a new and singular meaning. She still believed that it was the male's traditional prerogative to take the initiative. And until now, he always had, even though they hadn't yet achieved the successful union she had dreamed of. But she felt that it was terribly vital that he continue in his right until at last their magical moment would come upon them both, and then there would be no problems left in this household.
Certainly he was proceeding satisfactorily. Without haste, his right hand squeezing each of her swelling breasts in turn, plying her with long hot kisses, delicately probing the tip of his tongue just between her eagerly parted lips, Tim Woodling wooed his beautiful brunette wife. She had turned on her left side to be closer to him, till their bellies pressed together and till she could feel the hard structure of his legs against the soft, round yielding columns of her quivering thighs. His right hand moved now to her buttocks, kneading them, and she caught her breath with a little gasp and pressed herself ardently against him. Her eyes widened with joy to feel the significant turgidity of his maleness against the filmy crotch of the nightie. Oh, let it be right for them both tonight, she prayed.
Her hands stroked his back, and she could feel the muscular tension of his body as he strained against her. Now his penis was gloriously hard, prodding against the plumb mound of her vulva, and she turned scarlet in the darkness with the knowledge of her desire for him, an almost shameless and eager desire. With it came the knowledge, too, that she was remembering how his own son had used her, and as she tried frantically to examine her feelings about what had taken place last night, she was almost shocked to feel that she had not the slightest inclination to reveal that usage to the father of that boy who had actually made her the medium of his first successful act of intercourse. That awareness made her squirm and arch against her husband now with a kind of subconscious longing that was not far from incestuous anticipation.
And when at last she felt her husband's hand lofting the fragile sheath above her waist and baring her loins and buttocks and thighs, she whimpered, 'Yes, now, my sweetest darling, oh yes, Tim, please!' With a fervent exultance that made her blush all the more in this welcoming privacy which the darkness procured.
His fingertips glided over her quivering belly, and thence to the thick bush of her mount, tickling the soft lips of her vulva, then moving quickly to stroke the insides of her willingly parted thighs. She felt herself moist there, and knew that she was ready for him. There was a throbbing between her thighs, a longing that was as concrete and specific as her love for him and her determination to withstand the storm of hostility which his two children had brought down upon her.
She felt him move away for a moment, while he fumbled with the buttons of the pajama bottoms to emerge his turgid penis, and then he came back to her, and she felt the velvety yet hard head of his organ rubbing against her moistened cleft. With a groan of delight, digging her fingernails into his back, she pressed her mouth avidly against his, telling him of her complete surrender. She felt him slip his hands under her buttocks as he rolled her onto her back and mounted in a deft maneuver, entering her almost at once, drawing a gasp of exquisite anticipation from her darted lips. Her bare feet locked over his sinewy calves as she prepared herself. She could feel the twitching contractions of her vaginal scabbard, preparing to welcome the deepest housing of his manhood to the very roots within her.
'Rachel, oh my Cod, you sweet darling, Rachel!' he hoarsely panted as he pressed forward into her.
'Oh, Tim-yes-oh, Tim, it's so good-Tim!' she moaned.
And suddenly with an agonized cry, he wrenched himself away from her, and she felt the bubbling drench of his semen, sticking the lips of her vulva and her thighs and belly as he twisted over onto his side and cursed aloud: 'Oh, Christ not again! Oh what the hell is the matter with me, Rachel, I'm no husband for you after all!'
Chapter 5
Exactly a week had passed since Tom Woodling's trip to New York, and it had been a difficult one for both him and his brunette wife. Deeply mortified at his failure to achieve successful union with beautiful Rachel on the night of his return, he had occupied himself with many an hour of overtime at the office to prepare the preliminary campaign for the newly acquired New York account, and as a consequence he hadn't come to bed with Rachel at all.
Meanwhile, seeing their father's preoccupied behavior, both young Tim and Heather took every opportunity on the sly to remind the mature brunette of the infamous bargain to which they had compelled her. Just this last Thursday night, as Rachel was doing the dishes in the kitchen, Heather had slipped in on the pretext of wanting to help wipe. And as she did so, she had cattily whispered, 'Dad's sure been looking down in the dumps all week, Rachel. You've got just three weeks left, and don't you ever forget it. And from what he said, he has to go back to New York next week to see that new account, so you can expect another visit from little brother and me, remember!'
Rachel had turned scarlet, bent her head and then meekly nodded. 'I'll keep my word, Heather,' she had finally managed to say after regaining her self-control. 'Just you keep yours.'
'Okay, okay, but it's down to three weeks, Mummy. Come on, you're slowing me down,' the taunting redhead had mocked her crestfallen stepmother…
This Friday night, Tim Woodling had determined to try again. He just couldn't understand what was happening between himself and Rachel. There wasn't any question about his not desiring her; she had a beautiful body and such a lovely face, and she was so sympathetic and gentle and understanding. Lots of women would have laughed at him for all these signs of impotence so early in the marriage. Damn it all, it wasn't as if he couldn't get it up at all; with that girl Eleanor, he had felt like an adolescent full of endless sap and juice, wanting to set a record. And even the next night, even in bed with lovely Rachel, he'd had an erection and a very satisfying one and there was still plenty of juice left in him to satisfy her. Only everything had gone wrong and it was beginning to worry him.
He'd thought half a dozen times of having a private chat with young Tim and Heather, trying to make them understand that he loved their new mother very dearly and that he wanted them to try to show a little more affection even if they had to force it for the time being. But of course with sophisticated kids of this generation, such an appeal would be much too square and it might only make them lose respect for him and deride Rachel all the more.
Tonight, he had watched TV with Heather and his son, Rachel having excused himself about an hour ago on the grounds of a headache. He'd tried to look pointedly at Heather, because she was the older and the one who could probably control young Tim, but every time he'd done that, she'd just smiled and looked back at the TV set. At last the movie ended, and he yawned and walked over to the set and turned it off. 'I'd better hit the sack, you kids, because I've got to get down to the office tomorrow. I'll be going to New York probably right from the office on Tuesday, looks like. But I ought to be back by Friday night anyway, so maybe the four of us can plan a weekend together. How'd that be, Tim, Heather?'
'Sure, fine, Dad,' the gangling blond teenager had nodded, glancing at his red-haired sister with a curious little smirk in his face that made his father want to slap him. 'Maybe we can go to the zoo or something.'
'I can think up something better than that for both of you,' he forced back his impulse to rebuke the boy for his sarcasm. 'Well, good-night. There's just one thing-I wish you both would be a little nicer to Rachel.'
'Did she complain about us or something, Dad?' Heather quickly asked, rising from the couch and eyeing him with watchful interest.
'Of course she didn't. She's a lady, Heather. The sort of lady I'm hoping you're going to be one of these days. You know, it's sort of strange that with your good looks and your quick mind you aren't out dating tonight instead
