Allan Chase
The straying wife
CHAPTER ONE
Nichole Parker's facial features alone were, in themselves, enough to excite most men. It was a thin, heart shaped face framed by long black hair that bobbed over her forehead. Her nose was long and delicate, thin as porcelain, and tipped upward, revealing her flaring nostrils. Her eyes were set wide apart and slightly tilted and her gaze was direct, frank, unabashed. Her chin could be described as pert, her mouth fleshy and broad, revealing dazzling white teeth whenever she smiled.
All of her teeth were capped and paid for by Web Hardman.
Hardman, dressed in his habitual trademark of all gray, stood behind her chair at that moment. Both he and Nichole were looking at a wall and a white projection screen that was silently and electrically lowering itself into position. It was lowering into position at Web's command. In another few seconds, he would flick a switch, and a panel in the opposite wall would slide open and a projectionist lens would focus itself. Web would turn a dial, the lights would lower, and a movie, in color, would be seen on the screen.
But, first, he had some other things on his mind. He wasn't worried about security; he had plenty of that. All the servants in the house could be trusted. He went to his ornately carved desk – imported from Italy and once was used by none other than the Medicis – and took something from the drawer.
Semi-concealing it in his hand, he walked back to Nichole and stood in front of her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Nichole sat, cool and poised, an attractive young woman in a slinky dress that exposed her long slender legs and most of her firm young thighs.
Web took her in for a moment, took in her beauty and her voluptuous body. Just turned twenty one, she was in the prime of her life. Her waist was long and thin, gradually tapering up into her rib cage then blossoming (there was no other word) into large, ripely jutting breasts… big as musk-melons, with provocative little shadows like half-moons, under them. Her hips were wide and liquid, telling you by the way she moved and walked that she had nothing on underneath other than panties. At the moment Web stood looking down at her, she didn't even wear panties.
Web knew this. Nichole never came to his home wearing any underwear. The young girl shuddered to think what he would do to her if she were to be so careless.
He stood smiling down at her, his face tanned, his features distinguished. His tan hid an alcoholic flush, for Web Hardman drank hard and long, and Nichole was truly afraid of him when he drank. Once past a certain point, he was capable of anything.
At the moment, he had yet to have a drink. It was still early afternoon. He looked down at Nichole sitting so sensually poised in the big leather chair and spoke quietly, with an easy authority, for he was used to being obeyed. 'Pull your dress up.'
Nichole obeyed immediately, hiking her dress high, almost exposing the 'V' of softly curling pubic hair that was half-buried up between her thighs.
'Pull it all the way up.'
His voice was still quiet, and Nichole again obeyed, pulling the dress up so that it was around her waist, completely exposing the softly fleshed flanks of her naked buttocks and her pubic hair. She sat, feeling the cool leather against her warm skin, staring up at Web with an attentive expression on her pert, Gaelic-looking face.
The middle-aged financier pointed with one long manicured finger. 'Put one leg over the arm of the chair.'
Nichole only hesitated a second, blinking, before she obeyed, swinging one long leg up and over the arm of the chair. With a barely audible sigh, she sunk back in the chair, her eyes almost glassy, looking up at Web with an expectant, almost depraved expression on her face.
Web looked down at her so obscenely posed. He saw her strong curving thigh and the smooth, milky white inside of it, and his eyes raced down to her loins with its sparse black pubic hair. He took in her roundly panting mound of Venus and the way her fluted vaginal lips – ragged and flushing under her pubic hair – were beginning to swell and form themselves in a lust-pucker already. Her entire cuntal slit was exposed, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of the pink lining of her pussy walls that were already beginning to glint with the hot moisture of sexual excitement. Near her mound of Venus, at the top of her slit, bulged the nub of her clitoris.
Web liked Nichole. Over the years, he had trained the young girl well, and she had been a good pupil, learning rapidly and eagerly. She knew that she would be well rewarded for whatever task he put her to. Besides, she had learned the joys of being bound, being subjected to humiliation, being forced to do lewd almost unspeakable acts with him or whomever he designated. Further, she had learned to submit her will to his and let him do what he wished. She learned the rewards in increased sensuality and molten, shattering, orgasms, and in the financial rewards he so lavishly bestowed after his whim was satisfied. She knew how to please him, and now she lounged back in the chair, jutting out her mound of Venus, acting sluttish, enjoying her lewd actions. Many a time he had reduced her to a verbal admittance of being nothing more than a whore, and she had to admit she enjoyed it herself. A wanton smile was on her beautiful face as he looked down at her nakedly exposed cunt, and he nodded. 'Good. Now, the other leg.'
Nichole obeyed immediately, swinging the knee over the opposite arm of the chair and letting her buttocks come to the edge of the cushion. She glanced down and saw with delight how her wide-spread and eagerly quivering little cunt glinted and glistened from moist excitement. More than anything, she wanted to reach down with her fingers and caress her wetly heated vagina – perhaps he would order her to do that – and assuage the itching hunger that was growing there. She wanted to rub her hands over her pussy and tease her clitoris, and then finger fuck herself into oblivion. But she didn't dare; not without Web telling her to do it.
He held his hand forward, revealing the thing he had taken out of the drawer and kept half-concealed from her. At first glance, she thought it was a new dildoe; it was made of plastic, was white, long, and thick, like a penis. Nichole looked puzzled. 'What is it?'
Web pushed a button on the bottom of it and the thing leaped to life in his hand, vibrating noiselessly. He pushed another button and it began sliding back and forth, like a white, rigidly erect penis in a sheath.
Nichole groaned and let her head roll back, her eyes half-closed. A lewd smile was on her lips.
Web smiled back and stepped closer, between her wide-spread legs. 'Battery operated,' he said as he held the vibrating sliding end on the inside of one sleek thigh, near her wetly gaping vagina. Nichole moaned again as she felt the pleasurable sensation. The vibrator was warm and rigid – just like a cock! 'I took the liberty of having it filled with warm oil,' Web explained.
'I love it,' Nichole admitted thickly. And she did! She wasn't talking just to please Web although it did, indeed, please him. The handsome millionaire had been such an evil influence on Nichole's life that she now looked at depravity as a way of life. Web was right and his pleasure was her task. If she submitted herself to his will, submerged her ego and allowed her lewdness and natural depravity to take over, her task would be full of an intense and searing pleasure seldom, if ever, experienced by other women.
She knew the vibrator was for her to use as Web handed it to her and stood back, leaning against the desk. His arms were folded, his eyes glittering, his hips twitching, as he watched Nichole turn the vibrator on and let it slide all over her stomach and down into her pubic hair.
Web observed it all with a detached, almost cynical look. He watched the way a scientist might observe an experiment he had set up or the way am amateur horticulturist might check the soil and temperature of his rare orchids. It was a thing that interested him, more than a hobby, more than a profession. With Web Hardman, sex was a way of life. He was a unique and fortunate man, for he was born wealthy and had grown up expecting the best that money could buy. He was educated abroad and was really much more European than American.
The last descendant of a rich old family, he was the sum result of almost incestuous in-breeding. Keenly intelligent, he had been, from childhood, too intense and too interested in sensuality and those pleasures which
