The Evil Within Ch. 01byjjsharshaw©
Yvette Harriman stood nude in front of the full length mirror in her walk-in closet and looked at her body. She didn't need to pull in her stomach; three times a week at the gym and 2 miles of running a day (spring, summer and fall) plus a simple diet kept her body proudly firm. She was self conscious about her hips; she barely had any she thought. But as she stood sideways and ran a hand over her ass she thought, Well, at least I have nice, tight, well- defined buns.
Her hand and gaze moved over her flat belly and up to her breasts. She cupped a breast and hefted it; Nice size, nice feel but they sloped a bit. Gravity? she wondered. She tsk'd. Hey, she was 37 years old, she didn't have anything to be ashamed of.
Well, there was her tan or lack thereof. Given her brown hair (cut razor close to her scalp) to match her richly deep brown eyes she tanned nicely; almost to the point of people mistaking her for a Creole mulatto in summer. But this was February in Milwaukee and she detested tanning salons. She looked a bit pasty, she thought, though in reality, she still had a nice dusky hue to her skin that still made her look quite exotic.
"Vette, you're gonna be late for your first procedure if you don't move that fine ass of yours," came the voice of her husband, Herbie, from the bedroom.
"Yes, dear, I'll hustle my ass. Sure you wouldn't want to make me a little later by abusing my body?"
"Christ woman! Like Cleavon Little said in Blazing Saddles I'm gonna need to get my hands on some vitamin E!"
"Don't say...Oh, hello there..."
Herbie came into the dressing room and hugged his wife gently from behind. She twisted in his arms, enjoying the warm, dry feel of his skin against hers. She went up on tip-toes, her hands on his shoulders, to kiss him. Yvette was not short. Herbie was six feet, eight inches tall and tipped the scales at 315 pounds. All of it muscle. And at 50 years old, he was proud of what he had too.
"You know how you hate for people to keep you waiting, babe. So, as appealing as the offer of your delights is, you need to get dressed and get going."
She kissed him again. "Well, okay, if you insist."
"You're taking me to that party tonight, right husband?"
"You still wanna go? You're sure?"
"Very," she said as she quickly pulled on her bra and panties.
"Well," he smiled a huge smile, "okay. Just remember I asked; you said yes. And, remember we can leave whenever you want."
She smiled her approval as she pulled her scrub top over her head. "I am going to close the place down. I've already decided."
"Riiight. Well," he reached down under his hanging clothes and pulled out a small gym bag, "here, hold this."
Yvette quickly pulled on her scrub pants and tied them then took the bag. Herbie reached for her clothes rack and took a short, satin green slip, the color of which complimented her dusky skin and brown eyes, and a pair of Italian leather shoes with ankle straps from the shoe tree and dropped them in the bag.
"After office hours, shower, douse yourself in my favorite scent and put these on; it's your party outfit. I'll meet you at the Pfister Hotel bar at about seven?"
Yvette looked in the bag. "Uh, Herb, I'm wearing my comfort underwear for the day. I don't think my gray cotton panties and running bra will go well with the slip."
"You are absolutely right, my pet. So don't wear them."
"But...This - in the Pfister?"
Herbie took the bag back from her, zipped it closed and handed it back to her. Yvette stared at the bag in her hands for a moment and then looked up at Herbie. He shrugged. "You wanted to go missy. I'm picking your wardrobe. And you know you'll turn many a head in the Pfister."
Yvette felt her face flush and then smiled coyly. "Okay. See ya tonight." She kissed him again and headed out, picking up a cup of coffee in the kitchen as she headed for her Hummer. It was 5:36 A.M.; Yvette Harriman was a cardiologist. She was headed for her hospital where she was scheduled to do six cardiac catheterizations.
"David," her voice pleading, "please don't be this way. Please. I'm sorry. We can have the light on. I, uh, just thought it would be sexier in the dark, that's all." She reached out and touched his back. He flinched ever so slightly. He was seething with anger, at his wife and himself. Why couldn't she be more spontaneous? Why did she have to have everything just her way - or not at all he wondered?
He felt Claire's hand go over his shoulder as he sat with his back to her on his side of the bed. Then he felt her press her breasts against his back and she breathed in his ear.
"Come on, David. Let's make love," she half whispered, half sighed into his ear. "I'll do anything you want, really."
"Anything?" he asked, a little anger still in his voice - but it was more filled with anticipation.
"Anything," she breathed as she gently bit his earlobe.
He drew her around him and kissed her deeply. They fenced with their tongues and bit each other's lower lips. David, who'd lost most of his erection when Claire insisted on having the bedroom lights off before they made love, was hard again. In between kisses he pulled back from her face ever so slightly and breathed, "I want you on your knees on the floor and I want you to suck me. Now."
She did not reveal her disappointment or her queasy feeling to him; she used every ounce of her self control not to flinch, let her smile change or change her body tension or posture. She hated giving oral sex with a passion but she made the peace overture and so she was going to do it. As sensually as she could she slithered to the floor, took his cock in her hand and started slowly to blow him.
He hummed his appreciation, the fingers of one hand sliding into her page boy cut, soft chestnut brown hair while he leaned back slightly on the bed and supported himself with his other hand. He looked down at her and then closed his eyes and imagined her older sister, Lisa, between his legs, licking and sucking his cock with her warm tongue and mouth.
Claire's performance was satisfactory, David thought. He felt his orgasm coming. She'd been good but he knew how badly she hated blowing him and that flash of knowledge dampened his pleasure somewhat.
Will she swallow or spit? he wondered with some resentment. Resentment filled him. He had dated both Claire and Lisa and for some reason he couldn't remember now, he married Claire instead of Lisa. Lisa, now divorced, was getting quite a reputation in their small suburban New Jersey town. Lisa was quite the whore and a great one too, now that she dumped her husband; that was the word on the street. One of David's coworkers told him that at the end of his date with Lisa she had blown him and then let him fuck her in the ass on the trunk of his car! "Wildest damn sex I have ever had!" boasted David's friend. And in his mind's eye David wanted to see Claire spread like a whore on her belly on the back of their car, his cock painfully stretching her ass and she begging and grunting for him to fuck her harder, because she craved it and not because she was doing her wifely duty.
He looked down at Claire, her head bobbing, fist pumping and her other hand fondling his balls. She must have read that article in one of her women's magazines about how to suck cock he thought. Could he pull her up on the bed, get her to kneel, doggy style, and fuck her ass without having to stop and let her get her KY or wash 'back there' or turn off the bedside lamp or... David came with a groan, his cum flooding Claire's mouth.
He savagely pushed her head down on his cock and she choked once but to David's surprise, she swallowed it all once she got accustomed to his length.
As she felt him start to go soft she fell back on the floor, pressing her back against the wall. She proudly smiled up at him, her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, her chin coated in saliva and a small amount of his cum oozing from the corner of her mouth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, whorishly David thought. He was quite pleased and momentarily forgot about Lisa.
David smiled down at her, "Not bad, baby. Not bad at all."
She was so happy inside; she had really impressed her husband. He had praised her for her blow job. But then David drew his legs up and lay down in bed. "'Night, babe. Thanks! That was great."
He was going to sleep! Claire didn't say a word. Her smile flagged only for a second and he never noticed. She wanted to come too. But she didn't want to masturbate; she wanted his cock inside her and not one of the sex toys he bought her. But, playing the peacemaker she slowly got to her feet. "Good night, David. I love you," she managed to say completely disguising the disappointment in her voice.
David sort of hummed his agreement, his expected response to "I love you" without opening his eyes to look at her.
Claire looked at him for a few seconds and then, fighting off bitterness and disappointment, she went to the bathroom, peed, rinsed her mouth out and lay down in bed on her side, her back facing David's back.
Sometime later in the night, Claire awoke with a start as David roughly pulled her panties down and pushed her t-shirt over up over her breasts. He was between her legs and ready to mount her when she came fully awake, "David! No! What are you doing?!" She pushed him off; he did not resist.
With a disgusted grunt he pushed off her and heaved his body back to his side of the bed. "David...I'm sorry. You just surprised me." She reached out and touched his back, trying to make up.
"Don't touch me!" David grumbled angrily.
Claire withdrew her hand, found her panties around her ankles, pulled them back on, rolled over, tears welling up in her eyes, and went back to sleep. She just didn't understand why David had to be this way.
Claire's alarm went off - too soon. She rubbed her eyes, got up, pulled her robe on and went to the girls' room.
"Time to get ready for school, girls," she said, sticking her head in their room on her way to the kitchen.
David got up, the anger and resentment he felt last night, coupled with the humiliation of trying to fuck Claire in the night and her rejection of him, were all in his head with a vengeance. As he stepped into the shower he thought maybe he'd dump Claire and pursue Lisa. But Claire and Lisa were extremely close; the whole family was. If he hurt Claire by divorcing her he wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell with Lisa. Lisa would never have anything to do with him.
Claire and Lisa's old man would likely come over and try to beat the shit out of him. Hell, David mused bitterly; Claire's old man wouldn't try to beat the shit out of him. He would easily succeed. Charlie Nelson was a mean son-of-a-bitch, who, at age 67, waded into a bar brawl of Lisa's creation once last year just before Christmas, with a number 8 Louisville Slugger and sent Lisa's four competing drunken, biker paramours to the hospital before dragging his drunk, whoring daughter home. He'd given her a couple of whacks with the bat as well "just for good measure."
He'd have to think of another way of having Lisa David concluded as he turned the shower off.
Claire brushed her mop of wild hair back from eyes and sat at the breakfast bar, waiting for David to get his breakfast. She sipped her coffee, reflected on the events of the night, felt badly and knew she'd have to make things right. David was a good man, a great man, husband and father. She wanted to be an equally great wife for him. Maybe she could get some bedroom pointers from Lisa though Claire didn't think herself a prude.
29 years old, the mother of two beautiful little girls and a senior administrative assistant for a Trenton law firm, Claire Benton felt her life was good with the minor exception of her husband's recent increase in libido and her problem in keeping up. She was a member of her daughters' PTA, taught her daughters' Sunday school class at church, sang in the choir and helped with baptisms. Everyone who met Claire instantly liked her; she was kind, thoughtful, considerate and polite to a fault. She was bright eyed and pretty in a very proper way and extremely modest in the way she dressed and how she presented her body in public and private. In short, she was exactly the polar opposite of her beloved older sister, Lisa. Lisa was the black sheep and Claire was the good sheep of the Nelson family.
She never knew the depths of David's dissatisfaction with her as a lover; never knew the depth of his sexual desires until it was too late.
Roxanne Sommers, an orthopedic surgeon who lived in a small bungalow in the Hollywood Hills, popped the ammonia capsule under the nose of the 19 year old UCLA co-ed who was unconscious in her bed. "Time to rise and shine, whore," Roxanne said firmly. She couldn't remember the girl's name. She had picked her up in a lesbian bar near the campus the night before.
The girl reacted to the ammonia capsule by coughing and quickly pulling away from it but Roxanne kept it under the girl's nose until the girl sat up. The girl sat up, clutching the sheet to her naked breasts, and moaned. The girl couldn't remember where she was or how she got there; she just felt like Hell.
The girl's first question was, "Where am I?"
"My place, you came home with me from the bar last night, remember?"
The girl's voice was small with a bit of a whine in it, "No. Did, uh, did we have sex?"
Roxanne smiled, "Yes we did. You were very good. Did you like it? Was I your first?"
"Uh, did we practice safe sex and uh, 'first what'?"
"Woman, was I your first woman? And safe sex, you gotta be kidding me!" Roxanne laughed. I wanted to taste your tangy little pussy and not some mint flavored goddamn dental latex! And I wanted your tongue - that long, golden tongue of yours babe, as far up my cunt as you could get it and you were a champ!
The girl looked at Roxanne, still trying to focus on her clearly and trying desperately to understand what Roxanne was saying. She stammered quietly, "Uh, yeah."
"Yeah you liked it or yeah I was your first?"
The girl brushed her blond hair from her eyes and briefly looked around the bedroom. She was disoriented and didn't know what to do or say. Finally, "Uh, I really can't remember what we did but uh, you were my first."
"That's too bad you don't remember the sex; you were great for a virgin. Hey, I've got time, now that you're awake, let's fuck some more."
The girl finally was able to focus her gaze on Roxanne for the first time and took in the big woman. Roxanne was tall; her legs beneath her short robe were long and tanned but thickly muscled. It looked like she had large breasts and was a bit overweight. Her hips were broad. Her hair was dirty ash-blonde and cut boyishly short. Roxanne took her robe off as she approached the bed confirming that she had a bit of a belly and medium-large, breasts with big areolas and nipples that hung low and swayed as she walked.
"Well, uh, no. I really think I should go. I," the girl was clearly nervous as Roxanne sat on the bed and, putting her arm around the girl's shoulders, kissed the girl tenderly on the forehead, Really I need to go. Please?"
"Nonsense, you sweet little whore; you get me off one more time. Maybe I get you off and then when I go to have a late lunch you can take off. Besides, it would be rude of me to let you, a freshly deflowered virgin, to go before fucking you again."
The girl drew her legs up to her chest and clutched the sheet tighter to her breasts. Roxanne didn't seem to be paying attention; she had an odd smile fixed on her face as she idly played with the girl's hair and caressed the girl's face.
"Wha-what do you mean fucking?" The girl was on the verge of crying, her eyes welling with tears and her voice sounded even smaller with a slight quiver in it; the plaintive whine gone replaced with the voice of a frightened girl.
"I have a big dildo and you have such a sweet, tight cunt. You're going to be a big hit with the big girls on campus. You will be very popular as a dildo slut."
Roxanne's words echoed in the girl's ears and she felt sick. She wasn't completely clear on what Roxanne had just told her but she didn't think she liked it. She didn't think true lesbians fucked; that was the way the male animal copulated. It was crude. She thought lesbians were refined and their lovemaking was always sweet and tender, never crude and male like fucking!
Roxanne got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. The girl stayed put, not seeing her clothes anywhere and self conscious about bolting out of the house with just the sheet around her. She heard water fill a glass and then Roxanne came to her with the glass of water and a pill.
Oh, God! the girl thought. She's going to drug me! They'd covered this situation both in the official UCLA Freshman Orientation and in her dorm too. It suddenly dawned on the girl that she thought she was only in danger of being date raped by men; it hadn't occurred to her that lesbians could be sexual predators too. She was from Sioux City, Iowa and had only decided on her high school graduation night when one of the football jocks tried to rape her that she thought her true sexual orientation was lesbian; that she was a proudly defiant, sophisticated lesbian - from a dairy farm in Iowa. Lesbians, she fantasized, were refined and made love slowly and gently she thought again. Fucking? No. How could this be possible?.
"Take this, whore," Roxanne said gently, "because you really don't want me to force you to take this little pill. It'll make you relax and feel better. We'll be able to enjoy our time together more."
The girl's eyes widened in terror, her upper lip was quivering and shiny with snot from her tears and runny nose.
"Come on baby, take the pill and let's play."
The girl opened her mouth, her eyes locked on Roxanne's. Roxanne put the pill on the girl's tongue and held the glass of water to her lips. "That's it," Roxanne gently encouraged as the girl drank.
"Please don't hurt me. Please," the girl pleaded in barely a whisper.
Roxanne smiled an evil smile, "Oh, baby, I'm going to enjoy working you, you have a sweet slut body; I'm going to fuck you up, bitch. You'll hurt - I'll mark you - and I'll enjoy it but you won't remember it. I like to hear little girls like you scream."
Nothing in the girl's limited sexual exposure had even remotely touched upon S&M.
The girl swallowed then whimpered as Roxanne put her long fingers around the girl's throat and pushed her on her back while stripping the sheet (that the girl clasped like armor) from her prey. Roxanne pressed the girl to the mattress, shushed her whimpering, and kissed her tenderly. This quieted the girl.
Roxanne ran her fingers through the girl's fine blond hair and smiled, this time, like a lover, "You stay put for just a minute, whore. Don't move."
The girl lay still in the bed, her long, slim legs spread, her arms akimbo and her eyes still wide, watching every movement of the big dyke. Roxanne thought the girl looked like such a sweet morsel as she stepped into the harness of her strapon and snugged it tightly inside her and against her clit.
This is where the drug took the girl; Roxanne saw the girl's eyes glaze over and chuckled to herself. She held out her hand to the girl, "Come on baby, and let's go to the bathroom." The girl reached out with her small, delicate hand and took Roxanne's hand. Roxanne pulled her off the bed and helped her into the bathroom and then into Roxanne's shower stall. "Here," she said to the girl, "put these on." Roxanne held a pair of handcuffs out. In her drug induced dream the girl looked at them like they were foreign objects and then took them, holding them while Roxanne snapped each cuff around the girl's slim wrists.