Fire and Ice

"I know. We can't rush into things. We're too mature to do that. We've got to take things as they come, but in the meantime we have each other, at least at times."

"And you have your weekends out. For the time being, it's not a bad arrangement at all. But tell me something, Brenda, and tell me truthfully -- do you enjoy the weekend blokes, or is it all just for some... well, companionship?"

She raised her eyebrows and said, "Do you mean, do I fuck them?"

"Well.... yes."

She began to laugh. She set her glass down on the nightstand and laughed so hard that he had to smile, too. She rolled over in her mirth, lay on her belly and laughed, while Sebastian looked at her big white buttocks, still framed in black, quivering with her laughter. She rolled back again, her legs farther apart now, and she slid her hand down to her fat, hairless sex mound and said, "You tell me something, Sebastian. Can you imagine another man's cock, all big and hard, pushing its way into me right here? Can you?"

It was all shadows there between her legs, but he could still see her hand moving softly, and he could also see in his mind's eye a great long penis, thick as her wrist, easing its way in and out of that very accommodating slit. He could see it clearly, and yet he moved closer. It was plainer than her hand to him, but still he had to move around for a better look at her big wide crotch, all white and smooth, opening up for a penis very much like his, very much like any man's.

He said, "No. No, I can honestly say I can't see you with another man besides me. I understand your need to go out and have some fun on the weekends just like you understand my need to stick with Victoria a little longer, but I can't see you giving yourself to another man."

Brenda smiled and shook her head. "I wouldn't do it. I have a part of you, and that's all I need. Just thinking about you, when you're miles away, I get all tingly all over and I get very wet, Sebastian, right down here."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, but not tonight."

"Call it flattery, but it's the truth. Good Lord, Sebastian, do you realize I've just been given the wildest going over I've ever had in my life, I've just been so satisfied that I could hardly walk, and now I'm getting all worked up again, just because of the way you're looking at me? Oh!"

"Easy, girl. Maybe I'd better go," he said, and finished his drink.

"Maybe you'd better, before it's too late. I think it already is, but I know what to do about that."

"Yes? What?"

"You'll laugh. it's childish."

"I won't laugh. What do you do about it when you get too worked up?"

"Sometimes I... Sebastian, don't laugh at me, please. But sometimes it gets so bad thinking about your hands on me and your lips on me and your big beautiful cock in my fanny and even just your eyes on me that I... I play with myself."

He inched closer. "Yes? How?"

"Sebastian, go home. Right now."

"No. No, I won't go home till you show me. What the hell, Brenda, everyone does it now and then. Even I used to do it when we first met and I was so discontented with Victoria. I've always wondered how a woman does it. Come on. No secrets between us. Show me. Just a little."

He was quite close to her now, the point of his chin just above the point of her toe. The buggering had been enough to give him in one night, and she was not about to put on a full-scale finger performance for him, especially when merely a trifle would do. And it would only take a trifle, for she could see the lust shining brightly in his eyes.

"I'm not about to show you," she said, "because that would be too embarrassing, but I will tell you a bit about it. What I do is touch myself here, Sebastian. You see?"

"Yes," he said, his breath warm against her calves, his eyes hot on her sex, as she spread the fat, wet labia and stretched the hood of her clitoris for him.

"I do it really slow at first. I lie back and pretend it's your fingers at first, and then when... Oh, Sebastian, do I have to?"

"I demand it," he said, looking directly up at her crotch and hand from less than two feet away. "Go on, Brenda."

"Well, then when I get going, I pretend it's your tongue. Sebastian, this is just too embarrassing, and... it's making me randy."

She started to close her legs, and at once his hands were on them, pushing them apart, holding them tightly at the knee, as he said, low and guttural, "Does it feel good? Tell me."

"Oh, darling," she crooned. "It feels marvelous. Sometimes I lie here for an hour, coming and coming and coming, playing with my fanny, rolling all around the bed, pretending it's you, your hand, your cock, your tongue. Once I came eleven times before I lost count, and I still kept going. The whole room smelled of sex when I was done, and you do know something, Sebastian?"

"What?"

She tweaked his nose, wrinkled hers, and said, "That was the same day I called you at work and convinced you to meet me in Hyde Park. Do you remember? When you sucked me in the bushes? That fifteen minutes in the park did me more good than an hour of playing with myself here. And if that isn't some kind of love, then... Oh, Sebastian," she purred, and she did not have to help him at all to come those last few inches until his lips were on her puffy sex.

"Oh, sweet Sebastian," she said, and settled comfortably back while he held her legs apart and licked her clitoris, right on it and nothing else, exactly the way she liked it.

The good feelings in her hot sex rose swiftly and steadily. She lay back, perfectly relaxed, and let them flow. No more teasing. It was the end of a long day, and she deserved some total relaxation, some of the luxury she would be living in soon. A million silver electrodes were attached to her body, all being controlled by the big electrode on her clitoris. That one was a soft, pliable, 200-carat diamond, larger than the Maharajah of Rampur's diamond, and it was hers, all hers. She closed her eyes, compressed her lips over her moving tongue, and trembled and felt moist all over her skin as the lovely, lovely orgasm came to her.

"It was good for you, wasn't it, Brenda?"

"Hmm? So good. Must sleep now. Throw the spread over me. Goodnight," she said, letting herself sink into sleep, trying to keep that big diamond between her legs.

The spread was thrown over her, and the man kissed her and chuckled. and said, "Now you've made me want to stay the rest of the night. But don't worry, I won't. You're too tired and it's too late. You had a lovely little come, Brenda. Not exactly the usual volcano that you -- or Victoria, for that matter -- have, but a lovely one. Good-night, pet."

Brenda thought: It's the best I can do, you bastard, and plenty good enough for me and none of your bloody business. And by the time he was out of her house, she was wide awake.

She lay there trying to get back to sleep by thinking about the good things of the night -- he had come over of his own accord; she had introduced him successfully to a bit more interesting sex; he had sucked her well; he had gone away with an erection, and that was always good for return business. But the bad things kept cropping up -- he was still married to Victoria; he had gone home to her; he was very likely to continue to do so for just as long as he could get away with it.

Something had to be done. Brenda wanted that handsome, respectable, money-wise man, and her campaign to get him was bogged down. She made up her mind to take a new approach, and once Brenda's mind was made up, she moved.

She dialed a number and waited, and when the voice came on the line, she said, "Margie? This is Brenda. How do I get hold of Jack Farrell? No, not for me, I hate the sod, it's for a friend, and not a very good one. Out of town? Bloody hell. What about Kenny Harwell? Is he about? Good. Give me his number, I'll call him first thing in the morning... What? He's there now? I hope you and your girls aren't wearing him out. Of course, I know better than that. Let me talk to him. Oh... I see. Well, listen, love, tell him to call me at home as soon as he's out of the saddle, and do me a favor, will you? See that he gets a bit of rest between now and about ten in the morning. Will you do that for me? There's a hundred quid in it for him, and fifty for you, of course, and if he does what he's supposed to do, I'll buy you a lovely fat lunch with all the champagne you can drink. Do you like that? Yes, I mean it, dear. Ta ta, Marge. Keep plugging."

Brenda plumped up her pillow and settled down. Let Marge and the girls like her keep right on plugging; it would not be long now before she herself was sliding in silk, and not stretching her fanny to do it.

Chapter 8.

Victoria found her husband still sleeping in his chair in the morning. She showered and dressed quickly, putting on a pair of hip-hugging, bell-bottom, pale-blue jeans and a striped red and white tank top that was one of his favorites. Still moving fast, she brushed out her golden hair and applied light, bright makeup, in keeping with the sunny winter day outside. She fixed bacon and eggs and a pot of coffee in the kitchen and woke him up with it in his chair.

He grumbled that he wasn't hungry, hadn't slept well at all, and couldn't be late for work that day. She laid out his clothes for him while he showered and shaved, and, leaning prettily against the door jamb, she tried to draw him into a conversation about his work while he dressed. In the past, Sebastian had always been eager to talk about the fluctuations of the prices of coffee and copper, rubber and silver, and all the other marketable commodities in the investment world, but this morning his only comments were that things looked good at work and he did not want to be late.

She maintained a cheery, bright outward demeanor as she drove him to the station, and she was rewarded for her morning's efforts with a brief peck on the cheek before Sebastian was out of the motorcar and gone.

Though her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, she was still smiling as she drove home. She took a different route than she normally did, even though it was far too early for her nameless student to be waiting at the bus stop. She made plans to go shopping that day, to start making a new dress, and to do what work she could in the muddy garden, anything to keep busy. Activity -- that was the right medicine for her. No more weeping on Brenda's shoulder over coffee and brandy, no more unproductive arguments with Sebastian, no more solitary brooding about her situation. Just keep busy and productive, and Sebastian's interest in her would slowly but surely return.

Back straight and chin held high, she entered her house to do a few routine chores before plunging into her planned activities, but she was stopped before she began by the sight of Sebastian's untouched breakfast lying cold on the tea table.

A little thing, but it stopped her in her tracks. She had heated the plate in preparation for what she was cooking. She had brewed strong, stimulating coffee. The eggs, the bacon, the buttered toast and the homemade preserves, she had prepared them all exactly to his tastes, and now there they lay, bone-cold, congealed with grease. That plate of food was all so very much like her courtship and marriage with Sebastian that she simply could not stand it, and there in the middle of the living room that had been a dream room at one time, she began to weep.

Sobs racked her body, and the tears flowed copiously. There was apparently nothing, no act of servitude or love that would bring Sebastian back to her. The years with him were wasted. She was not enough of a woman to hold a man who had once loved her so dearly. Where other women nonchalantly succeeded in keeping their men in love with them, she had failed miserably despite all her efforts. It was all her fault, and there was no way to begin anew.

Still weeping, she stumbled into the bathroom, stood before the mirror, tore at her hair and screamed, "I hate you! You're ugly! You can't even get your husband to sleep with you, and you have to fuck little boys! You ought to be ashamed! You ought to kill yourself!"

She wandered out with her makeup running and her hair a mess, still sobbing violently in her hands. She was at the door before she realized she was headed for Brenda's house to inflict her best friend with troubles she could do nothing about. Her tragedy was her own. If there was any way out of it, she had to find that way herself. But first she had to stop her maudlin hysteria.

Victoria went into the kitchen to make herself a Coffee Royal, and instead took the coffee pot, the bottle, and a cup to the sitting room where she sat down in Sebastian's chair to calm down, to think things over. The hot drink bolstered her spirits, but it did not calm her down. The telly remote control was right there, and so she picked it up and lit up the tube. Children's programs. Cartoons. An American cowboy movie. A stupid housewife's game show. She sat there staring at the telly, sipping her drink, intending to clear her mind completely before she put it to work on the solution to her problem. Animals in funny clothes did cruel things to one another, women much like herself made fools of themselves, men in big hats shot guns at one another, animated numerals danced and spun. It was a crazy, pointless world, as real and meaningless as the world she lived in. By nine o'clock the coffee was cold and by ten o'clock it was gone, but the brandy and the electronic pictures were still there to help her along. And they were helping. She really needed this period of forgetfulness. She had to get her mind off her problems so she could stand back and look at them objectively. With a clear head, anything could be worked out. The plate of bacon and eggs, however, remained as a constant reminder that even a person's best efforts could fail, and so she dispatched that flaw in an otherwise perfect morning by placing her foot against the edge of the tea table and kicking it over.

Problem solved. Reminder out of the way, strewn across the green shag carpet in a way that no one would want it, done in an easy manner that made Victoria feel much much better. She toasted herself with another ounce of brandy in the coffee cup; and then had to sit there frowning, trying to decide if the sound of the chimes was coming from the telly or her front door. She decided the sound was real, and that she would not answer it.

But then it might be Sebastian, returning from his office so fast that he had forgotten to take his coat and keys. She went quickly to the door and was just as quickly disappointed

"Yes? What is it you want?" It was a tanned, stocky man of about Sebastian's age, dressed in a shiny gray suit, carrying a long box in his hand, and talking so smoothly and positively that before she knew it, she had let him into her house. The door had closed behind him before she knew she had made a mistake. "I'm sorry. No, I'm sorry, I don't want to buy anything today. I was just taking a nap. I've been ill. Come back another time."

"As I said, Mrs. Spence, I'm not selling anything. My company is offering this 50 pound electrical appliance entirely free for promotional reasons. It's just the thing for a sickbed, although I must say you look extremely healthy to me. If you'll sit down in this chair, I'll give you a fast demonstration of this no- obligation gift my company is offering you, and I'll be gone in five minutes and you can go back to your nap. It's the Wellington Deep Therapy Home Sauna, Mrs. Spence, and I can show you how it works in no time at all. Just sit right down here."

Before she knew it, she was in the straight-backed chair facing the big beveled mirror in her sitting-room wall, and the salesman was moving a large, vibrating, pencil-shaped device over her shoulders. He was much larger than he had first appeared. He was well over six feet tall, and it was the thickness of his body that gave him the appearance of being shorter. His hands were very large, his hair blond and thick, and his smiling face was as handsome as a film star's. Her reflection, on the other hand, was that of a droopy-eyed drunk with badly tousled hair and smeared makeup. She tried to sit up straighter, tried to appear to be alert to his sales pitch, while the vibrator buzzed warmly and deeply over her shoulders.

"...all tensed up here in these lateral shoulder muscles and down here in the latissimus dorsi. This demonstration massage will relax you and then I'll leave you with the unit and go. I meet many housewives every day, Mrs. Spence, and it's amazing how many of them are hypertensive. A good, deep massage -- that's all it takes to get your mind off your troubles, to ease all the cares away. Relax. Let your neck go limp. I'll support your head while the Wellington does the work. Just relax."

The thing was amazingly effective. In less than a minute, Victoria could not hold her head up if she had tried. It lolled in utter relaxation, while he supported it with one hand under her chin and used the other to move the large soft rubber suction cup of the vibrator all around her neck and shoulders, down over her upper arms, across her back, across her chest. His hands were very hard but very gentle. All of him seemed to be very hard, even his abdomen was hard when he eased her head back, massaged her throat and the upper reaches of her chest. Her eyes were barely open, and the last thing she saw before she closed them was her face in the mirror, smiling dreamily, but not unattractively.

"Yes, Mrs. Spence, I have just what you've needed. The ladies' home companion, the bored housewives' delight. Lord knows how you could be bored. As I said, I meet many housewives every day, but not many are as attractive as you are. A woman like you could have her house full of men every day, if she could ever get her husband out of the place. You have a beautiful mouth. You're really a beautiful woman, Mrs. Spence, and I mean all over. Incredible skin. Warm. Soft. But that mouth... Victoria, you've a mouth I'd like to taste, you've a mouth I'd like to feel sucking my cock. Would you like that? Do you like doing that?"

His words stunned her, but her induced languor was so deep that she could not move for a moment. And in that moment she realized that he was massaging her with his hand, not with the vibrator, and that the massage was encompassing both her breasts. Also, in that same moment, she realized that the hardness she felt with the back of her head was his penis, not his abdomen.

She felt dizzy suddenly. The liquor she had been drinking, her astonishment at this man, all of it was too much. Everything went black and she fainted.

* * *

She was only out a few minutes. She could hear the same television program merrily blaring away as she lay there on the carpet with her eyes closed.

Then she opened her eyes. She was on her back, the salesman was lying next to her on his side. He had removed all her clothes and his, and he was moving his hand over her nude body in a rather sensuous manner. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was Sebastian. No, it was not Sebastian, this hand was too big and strong. She lay there as still as she could, aware of a cold piece of breakfast bacon under her, and she let him touch her as he pleased. Then she felt the thing lying across her belly, and she became frightened.

At first she thought -- or hoped -- it was the vibrator. It was long and cylindrical, hard and warm, and much too big to be anything else. The warmth, she hoped, came from its having been working just a few minutes before. But inside her she knew that was a false hope, for this warmth was a living warmth, pulsing with life, throbbing with lust. She lay there as still as she could, feeling the thing on her belly making its searing brand on her, feeling this strange man's hand touch her wherever it chose to. As huge as it was, his hand seemed so gentle. She dared not stir.