'Yes, in fact, I filmed the entire thing on video tape and I want you to come over to my house to see it,' he said.
'Dear God, no!' she cried and flung herself down on the couch, her dress rising with her movement to reveal her long, smoothly tapering legs to the lustful gaze of Clay Marsdale.
He allowed her to stay that way for a few moments, then went to sit beside her on the couch to soothe her with words of sympathy.
'Now, now, Mrs. Frampton. I know how you must feel. How shocking it is to find out that your husband has been unfaithful.'
Then, gently, he raised her up, continuing. 'But you must remember that I've been cuckolded too. My own wife was with your husband!'
'Of course, you're right,' she murmured, 'I'd almost forgotten.'
'Now, Mrs. Frampton, I don't know what you propose to do about your husband, but I assure you that I am going to take some kind of action and soon!' he said, almost frightening her with the force of his words.
Uncertainty and confusion were swirling through her. She did not want to have to make decisions at a time like this. 'I just don't know. I need some time to think…'
Marsdale continued on. 'I've had a little more time to think about it. I'm not at all sure that I want to divorce my wife for her… uh… indiscretion. I don't want to go through that at this time. But, I must say that the need for revenge is strong in me…'
Alyce stared at him, wide-eyed, not understanding what he was driving at. 'What do you mean?' she asked.
'I think that we should pay them back. I think that they should know what it's like to have the same thing done to them!' He smiled at her suggestively, lewdly, his voice taking on a seductive tone.
Alyce turned crimson, fully understanding his proposal now. 'Why, Mr. Marsdale, that's absolutely outrageous. I'm not interested in pursuing that line at all.'
'But that's the only way that we can make them see the light. Make them confront themselves to know if they really care. It's the only way of getting back our partners,' he purred.
His reasoning escaped her, but his smooth convincing presentation of the idea seemed somewhat of a solution. She couldn't agree with him, but neither could she really have any way of knowing what to do in a situation like this where she had no experience. After all, Eddie had certainly broken their marriage vows. But two wrongs do not make a right.
'Oh, Mr. Marsdale, maybe what you say is right. I don't know,' she said doubtfully.
'Of course, I'm right,' he stated firmly. 'Now, let's have a little drink. I feel so uptight, I need something to relax.'
'I don't think so…' she began.
'Oh come on, Mrs. Frampton. You do have a drink every once in a while don't you?' he asked, his gaze penetrating her.
He knows. He can smell the scotch I had before he came.
'Okay, what'll be?' he asked, automatically going for the bar and then stopping, 'with your permission, of course.'
'Go ahead, Mr. Marsdale,' she said, her voice disinterested, lifeless, now all thoughts on her husband's adultery.
'Maybe we can get a little less formal. My name's Clay. May I call you Alyce? I hope if we are contemplating some plan of action we are at least going to be on a first name basis.'
The young blonde wife was really shocked now. 'You don't really mean that you're considering… what you suggested… intimated… before…?'
'I don't see why not?' he leered. 'What's sauce for the goose is…'
She was visibly disturbed. She had no intention of pretending or otherwise to be an adulteress.
Marsdale poured some stiff drinks and brought one over to her.
They sat and chatted while Alyce nervously sipped the glass of straight scotch, and before she knew it the glass was empty. Clay watched her closely.
He moved in quickly. 'Another drink, my dear?' he asked.
'No, thanks. I rarely drink. Well, all right, but just a small one this time, it's still afternoon.'
The scotch was beginning to make her feel a little reckless; additionally a small bolt of electrical energy had balled itself, racing through her body, along her nerve endings to unleash its force in a gigantic stab at her genitals. The pleasant, though unusual, sensations produced in her naked loins beneath her dress signaled that she was feeling the effects of the alcohol. She recognized the sensual sensations, but she was sure that she was in complete possession of her mind and senses.
While Clay was pouring her another drink, she tried not to let the image of her husband copulating with Nina Marsdale take shape. How awful! How could Eddie do this to me?
The more she thought about it the more she became aware of the insistent, seething, sensations in her, and thought for a fleeting second that it would serve Eddie right if she were to play at the same game. She soon pushed that thought from her mind. No! I just can't do it!
Clay returned to her, handing her the tall glass of scotch. She looked up at him, seeing him for the first time. She saw a stocky, powerfully built man with dark hair, heavy features, and she noted the satisfied leer on his face as he resumed the seat opposite her, lounging back in it to wait.
That's it! He's waiting like a cat waiting for a canary!
Suddenly Alyce had had enough.
'Mr. Marsdale, I'm not going to have any part of this,' she said with determination.
Calmly he said. 'It's already been decided. You and I are going to bed and I'm going to fuck you!'
'No!' she gasped. 'I won't do it!'
'Let's put it another way then. If you don't then your husband will be out of a job.'
'You wouldn't…'
Marsdale remained as cool as a cucumber. 'Just finish your drink, Alyce. You're going to enjoy this,' he said soothingly.
His words and the alcohol were beginning to have their effect on the confused wife. She slumped back on the cushions of the couch, sliding down dejectedly, her dress riding up to show the smoothness of her thighs. She didn't care now. She was trapped. Everything seemed hopeless. Let him ogle her legs if that's what he wanted.
Clay waited for a few moments before he reached for her, his hand going out to rest gently on her inner thigh, above the knee, feeling the silky, smooth warmth of her as his hand moved upward, slowly, massaging the creamy flesh until he had reached the hem of her dress; then her legs parted almost imperceptibly, involuntarily, and he moved on upward confidently, the fingers of his hand exploring her searchingly.
Now he was up to the pubic hair, unconfined, the blonde down of her softly curling crotch inciting him, inflaming him with hot passion.
Alyce sat, unmoving, except for the involuntary relaxing of her thigh muscles to allow him access to the juncture of her thighs, but she was a mass of rolling sensations. Her body had reacted to him against her will, the sensitive nerve endings, inflamed by the liquor, had a mind of their own. She dimly realized that whether or not she wanted it, her reasoning mind was no longer in command. Her body was betraying her. She couldn't help herself.
His voice came in a fog. 'Let's go to your bedroom!'
He pulled her, zombie-like, from the sofa and guided her firmly toward the bedroom.
'Get undressed!' he ordered.
Trance-like, Alyce turned her back on him and pulled the dress over her head, then in grim acceptance, she lay down naked on the bed, her legs held tight together, her arms folded over her naked breasts and daring not to look at him.
'Turn over on your stomach!' His voice was getting raspy.
Clay Marsdale, still fully clothed, sat down on the bed. Reaching out stubby fingers, he began to trace the outlines of her loveliness, lightly drawing his hand over her back and down across the swelling protuberances of the twin orbs of her smooth-skinned buttocks; then, down over her legs, allowing the fingers to drift up in the
