expectation of something lewd happening.
Hank compounded the problem. Although from a proper WASP (White, Anglo Saxon, Protestant) family, he was more Latin in bed than anything. In fact, when he had too much to drink, he was positively brutal and lewd in bed.
Kim wasn't sensual or didn't think she was. She had been raised in a strictly religious home and sex was always something dirty and sinful to her. On top of her natural reticence, there was her determination to show his family that she was worthy. She kept imagining the day when they would finally invite Hank and her to their house. When that day came, Kim was going to be able to look Hank's mother in the eye, and Mrs. Stewart was going to see that Kim was a decent girl, not some cheap slot. His mother was going to see it in her face because Kim was determined to live that way.
She knew Hank was frustrated, but she felt he would understand. She felt that deep down he didn't want her to behave in a lewd way. Not really! If she behaved in that way he would eventually lose respect for her. No, Kim was firm and stuck to her guns.
The situation worsened with the coming of the South American job. It was a big job and an important one and Hank felt he was lucky to have landed it. The rain forests of the upper Amazon basin was no place for a bride. It was a wilderness, and none of the men were taking their wives. Besides, there would be no time for women, only time for carving a camp out of the jungle and building a bridge.
At first, Hank wasn't going to take the job. Then he began to feel that time apart might help their marriage. He had never dreamed that his wife would be such a cold fish in bed. Everything about her led one to believe the opposite. Kim would let him have sex with her while she lay underneath him, stiff and unresponsive eager to have it over.
Now, tonight, while Nichole was in the Pebble Beach home of Web Hardman and uttering Kim Stewart's name, she was having a farewell drink with Hank. He would be leaving early in the morning and she wouldn't see him again for six months. Half a year! Hank was being polite and grim and, to Kim's concern, he was drinking too much.
So far, their parting had been tender. They left the Matador late, saying good bye to domino playing friends at the bar. Hank shook hands with the bartender and told him to keep an eye on Kim. He was polite and careful, the way he always got when drunk. Kim knew – and dreaded – what the next step would be.
Hank drove home along Scenic Avenue, above the beach of white sand that seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. Long white breakers came out of the night and broke on the shore. Far out at sea, mysterious off-shore lights winked and moved steadily along. Hank didn't have much to say on the drive home. Nor did he say anything when they went to the bedroom and Kim fled into the bathroom, closing the door and changing into her negligee. Hank slumped down on the bottom of the bed, staring at the floor, his lower lips thrust petulantly out. She, Kim, carried the modesty thing just a little too far to suit him. She wouldn't wear a brassiere because she thought the undergarment made her breasts stick out too much. As a result, her taut little nipples poked against her sweaters and blouses and drove men nuts.
He clenched his fists as he thought of her getting up in the Matador and slinking to the ladies room with every stud in the place drooling and looking at him with that 'You-sure-are-getting-yours' kind of envious look. And watching her come back to the table with that wild hair and cool look and her hips twitching and her breasts cargo-shifting, rubbing together, under the sweater. It's a wonder she wasn't raped.
A drunken leer came across his face, and he gunned at the closed bathroom door. Rape! She was carrying it just a bit far, changing in there. After all, it wasn't against the law for a husband and wife to be naked together. He snorted, realizing how long it had been and knowing that she was shortly to come through the bathroom door clad in an ultra-respectable nightie – probably something made out of flannel and real itsy-poo.
He was right. Seeing things distorted through a prism of too much Scotch, he lurched to his feet as she came into the room. To him it seemed she was playing the little girl with an ugly nightie up to her Adam's apple, wearing a gown with ribbons and bows on it and only her bare toes peeking out from underneath.
Essentially, he was right. The negligee was demure and she did have a polite smile on her face, hoping he would respond in kind. She yawned in front of him as he stood swaying before her, breathing heavily through his nose. 'We'd better get to bed. We've got to be up early, so you can catch that plane,' she said, trying to calm him.
'Nuts. Bull! The hell with the plane,' he growled as he lurched toward her. His big hands seized her by the shoulders.
'Hank! You're hurting me!'
'So what? Take it off, baby!'
'Hank, stop this instant!'
Her tone only served to annoy him. He was too far gone in alcohol and frustration to bother to listen. He saw her walking, slinky and sexy, a real prick-tease, across the floor of the Matador with her ripely rounded buttocks twitching and her big beautiful breasts shifting, quivering and wiggling under her sweater. He saw all the bar-rail studs looking at her with one thing on their minds. Mentally they had all fucked her… and what was there for him – her husband? Now, this… this Shirley Temple nightie! He hooked his fingers in the collar of the gown and pulled, tearing the negligee down the front to her slender, ripely flaring hips. He caught glimpses of her voluptuously naked flesh beneath; her protruding musk-melon breasts so round and full, so quivering with softness and fleshy promise; her firm stomach that was curved out of ivory in subtle undulations and the 'V' of her lush pubic mound. Everything – her stomach, her sleek young thighs that were as smooth and warm as a baby's skin – everything seemed to swoop and rush head-long to her loins where her plumply rounded mound of Venus was licked with a tongue of softly curling flame from her sparse red pubic hair!
The drunken engineer's breath came faster as he lurched after her. Kim backed against the wall, her hands and arms trying to hide her breasts that jellied in fright and her naked loins. 'Hank, don't you dare!'
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her arm to one side with a brutal ease and her firm young breasts leaped free and quivered in front of his face and he half grunted, half-growled as be stared at her softly fleshed globes. Consistent with her flame-tousled complexion, her nipples were the palest of pink, delicate and finely formed.
It was with an animal savagery that he stepped forward and locked one burly arm around the terrified young wife's slender waist and squeezed, forcing her to bend over backward. Kim tried to protest, but his other hand was clamped over her mouth with a sudden force… and her head was forced back to where it crashed against the wall, causing her to see stars. She was pinned between his hard body and the wall, bent over backward from the waist while her lovely harvest moon breasts were nakedly free and tilting up to where his hot, moistly hungry mouth ravished them. He was close to going berserk as he greedily licked the distended little nipples. Clamping his voracious mouth over them he sucked hard and then bit down on them, feeling their berry-like buds respond, grow taut and buffeted as he rolled them around with his tongue and teeth.
The red-headed wife struggled with all her might, but her frantic squirming seemed only to excite the drunken engineer to more brutality and worsen her position. His powerful hips were being savagely ground into hers, and she could feel the growing hardness of his long thick cock under his pants. Her head was forced back and the negligee had slipped down, exposing her smoothly rounded feminine shoulders and breasts and at the same time, effectively pinning her arms at her sides. Kim's breasts were completely naked now and tilted toward the ceiling; they moistly glistened in the bedroom lamplight… wettened with hot saliva as his hungrily sucking mouth darted from one nipple to the other.
Finally the struggling young girl was able to turn her head to one side, freeing her mouth. 'Hank, stop, it's me, Kim!' She knew he was drunk and didn't know what he was doing; she had to bring him to his senses! 'It's me, Kim!'
'KIM!' He roared out her name and let go of her, stepping back and standing in a savage semi-crouch, looking at her and letting out a wild laugh, a laugh utterly devoid of humor and full of violence and ugly contempt.
Kim stood against the wall completely naked to her waist, her twin fleshy moons heaving for breath. She tried not to move… not to startle him. My God, he was beyond reason! His eyes were glassy and wild, glazed over with lust and alcohol. She had to get through to him. 'Hank, wait a minute. Take it easy. It's me, Kim.' She spoke softly, as if to a child or a growling dog she was trying to reassure. 'It's Kim. Your wife. Remember? Take it easy. Wait a min…'
She never got a chance to finish her sentence, for she screamed, involuntarily, as he brutally seized her by the wrist and, with a strength she never dreamed he possessed, pulled her to him and then snapped her out, across
