Wife and Ex-Wife Ch. 01

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He did as she ordered, and she managed to get her elbows over the lip of the pit. But she struggled to pull herself up any further, and so she said with increasing impatience, "Higher, Patrick!"

He felt he had no option but to slip his hands to her bottom and push her up. Forgive me! I don't mean to molest you on our first date! But she didn't seem to notice, as she tried valiantly to get at least one leg over the edge of the pit. Patrick modestly closed his eyes so that he wouldn't see any exposed underwear.

With a harsh grunt, Nina twisted her body in such a way that she rolled onto the surface and out of the pit. At once she turned and looked back down at Patrick. "What about you?" she cried. "How are you going to get out?"

"I'll manage," he muttered.

He jumped up so that he was able to get his elbows above the lip of the pit, then pulled his entire body up and over. She gaped as the muscles in his shoulders and biceps stretched the thin cloth of the polo shirt he was wearing.

"My God," she whispered, "you are strong."

He shrugged in that casual way of his. "How are you? Are you okay?"

By this time Nina was lying flat on her back, staring up at the sky. "I'm okay. Tired and dirty, but okay."

She seemed a lot better than okay. Although there was dirt, grass, and other debris in her tousled hair, and both her blouse and skirt were smudged and wrinkled, she looked temptingly waiflike. As Patrick lay next to her, half propped up on an elbow, he found himself unable to resist looking at her. Apparently without realizing it, she had raised and bent one knee, causing her skirt to slip down and reveal a substantial portion of her pink panties.

He pried his glance away from her thighs and looked her in the face, saying with quiet fervency, "You're so beautiful."

"Oh, Patrick, I'm not beautiful! I'm—"

He silenced her with a gentle but firm kiss on the mouth. He didn't touch her in any other way: only his lips against hers.

She mildly protested this possibly unwarranted incursion into her personal space, but his lips felt so soft and tender on her own that she unconsciously reached a hand up and laid it on his cheek, just as he had done in the coffee shop.

The kiss was so prolonged that, after a full minute, Nina pried her face away, gasping, "Patrick, I can't breathe!" But almost at once he took his own hand and held her face so that he could start another kiss that promised to be as long or longer.

He could hear her making inarticulate moaning or complaining sounds, which seemed to proceed directly from her throat to his; and she kicked that raised leg spasmodically, as if she had been electrocuted.

Without the least haste, Patrick released his hand from Nina's face and let it slide down the length of her body. Finding the skirt that had bunched up at her waist, he at first placed his head gently on her underwear and then, with ineffable delicacy, pushed the crotch of the panties aside and placed his hand on her sex.

Now her moans progressed to a kind of squeal, and she frantically reached her hand down to seize his wrist. But she seemed unable, or unwilling, to pull it away—and anyway, his fingers had now found not only her moistening labia but also her clitoris, and the feel of them on her most sensitive spot was so exquisite that she was frozen into inaction.

Meanwhile, Patrick was continuing to kiss her, his mouth slightly open. He made no attempt to insert his tongue into Nina's mouth—but, in a gesture whose rationale she utterly failed to understand, she herself sent her tongue into his mouth while continuing to make high-pitched mewing sounds from deep in her throat.

His fingers were becoming more active, stroking her sex with a circling motion while continuing to draw out the juices she was pouring out of her body. In a corner of her mind she became mortified at how wet his fingers were becoming, as if he had dipped his hand into a vat of warm oil; but he didn't seem to mind.

All at once he broke away from the kiss, and Nina gasped at the sudden absence of pressure on her mouth. He kept his face near hers, however, and as he looked down at her with a kind of quiet benevolence—neither smiling nor frowning, just gazing at her as if she were a hypnotic figure in a Rembrandt painting—his strokes became fractionally harder.

There was no doubt what would follow. Nina herself was hypnotized by his brown eyes as her tongue again forced itself out of her mouth and she let out a scream that she immediately covered with her hand. Meanwhile her hips were bucking tempestuously as he continued to apply those magic fingers to her sex, apparently knowing that the female orgasm can be prolonged almost indefinitely, once it has begun, by a light and gentle touch.

After minutes, Nina finally pulled his hand away from herself, then rolled away from him. Covering her face with her hands, she murmured breathlessly through her fingers, "Oh, God! Omigod . . ."

Patrick calmly waited for her to regain her composure, saying nothing. At last, Nina rolled back in her direction and gazed up at his face. Her own countenance was a baffling mix of outrage, alarm, and deep-seated satisfaction. She knew she should say something—anything—that would express her formulaic disapproval of the liberties he had taken with her; but she found herself speechless.

Finally, tearing her eyes away from his, she said, almost to herself, "I—I think we should go home. I need to get out of these dirty clothes."

He nodded infinitesimally, got into a kneeling position, and then helped her to his feet while he also rose to a standing position. He gave her such an intense look that she couldn't endure it, directing her gaze anywhere but at him. He placed a hand lightly on her back—making sure not to touch the back of her bra—and led her in the direction of his car.

As they got in and he drove off, the silence that consumed them was making Nina more and more agitated. God! After what we've just done, why can't he say anything? Why can't I say anything? Patrick wasn't slow in noticing her discomfiture, as she was peering down at her hands as they rested in her lap. Taking one of those hands while maintaining control of the vehicle, he said:

"Are you all right, Nina?"

That was such an incredible inquiry that she turned to stare at him with disbelief. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Then at last, after swallowing painfully, she said as if berating herself:

"You know, I don't usually do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" he said, genuinely puzzled. He was looking alternately at her and at the road ahead.

She took several breaths before saying, "My God, Patrick! I've known you for, what, an hour? And I let you—let you touch me . . ."

"We've known each other longer than that."

"Not in person! I mean, I'm not one of these women who . . ." She couldn't finish the thought.

"What we did was . . . beautiful," he said evenly, but with a curious undertone of anger, as if he himself were outraged that she was questioning his motives—and hers. "You mustn't think that it was just . . ." Now he couldn't finish.

"I don't know what to think," she said in despair. And she lapsed into silence—a silence he didn't seem at all inclined to break.

I hope this guy isn't one of these strong, silent types. I need him to talk to me—to tell me what he wants from me, and what I can expect from him. Maybe he's right—but I still shouldn't have allowed him to do what he did.

As they pulled up in front of Nina's house, Patrick briskly got out of the car. Nina remained seated, apparently lost in thought. He seemed to misinterpret her inaction, and so he went around the car and opened her door for her.

That gesture broke her reverie, and she looked up at him as if she didn't know who he was or why he was there. Then, blushing, she stiffly got out of the car.

Patrick let her walk ahead of him to the front door. As she opened it, he lay back, not entirely sure she was truly inviting him in. But she looked back at him with a faint look of impatience, and that prompted him to enter, a few steps behind her.

As he walked in, he looked around at his surroundings. He found himself in a large living/dining area that he could see led back to a kitchen through a swing door. There was a flight of stairs to the right of the front door that must lead to several bedrooms on the second floor, and there were also at least one or two rooms down a corridor that led off from the living/dining area.

"You live here all by yourself?" Patrick said wonderingly.

"I do now," Nina said tartly. "I got the house in the settlement. I thought I'd told you that."

He flushed, embarrassed at his faux pas. "I'm sorry—I forgot about that." Trying to put the best face on things, he added with a kind of desperate enthusiasm, "It's a wonderful house."

"It's comfortable," she said indifferently. "I've gotten used to it."

She looked around as if she had come to someone else's house—one that was utterly unfamiliar to her. Then, as her eye fell on that corridor, she turned to face him.

With an expression that seemed at once solemn, excited, and strangely resigned, she said distinctly, "I think we need to shower and clean ourselves up."

There was just the faintest emphasis on that plural pronoun.

After a meaningful gaze, Nina retreated down the corridor, where Patrick assumed the bathroom on this floor lay. He followed her awkwardly. Sure enough, a door led off the corridor, and as she turned on the light, he saw that it was a quite small bathroom.

Once again, Nina looked at him, saying nothing. Then, with a curious spasm of modesty, she turned her back on him and began undressing.

She carefully unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor. Then she turned her attention to her skirt, which she simply pulled down over her hips so that it too fell to the floor. With the slightest hesitation she reached her hands around her back and unclasped her bra and shimmied out of it. Then she peeled off her panties and let them join her other clothes.

She was aware that there was something of a holy ritual in what she had just done; and as she turned around and calmly faced the man in her presence, her expression was almost blank.

There wasn't enough space in the bathroom for Patrick even to enter, so he disrobed with quiet efficiency in the corridor. Shirt, pants, socks, and underwear were doffed quickly, and he too stood silently in front of Nina, exposing his own vulnerability as she had exposed hers. Her eyes flickered only fleetingly on his groin, where his member had already become so engorged that it was quivering.

She went to the bathtub, turned on the water for the shower, and, once the temperature was suitably hot, she stepped into it. Extending an arm, she urged him to join her.

He did so without haste, and at first the two of them did nothing but let the hot water cascade all over them, from head to toe. Then he took up the bar of soap in the soap dish and, lathering his hands, began to wash her, starting with the shoulders and stomach. He himself hesitated before taking a hefty dollop of soap and washing her breasts. They were not large, but they were superbly firm and shapely. Bending down in front of her, he lathered up her thighs and calves. He did not touch her sex this time, although he did give a strange little kiss to her abundant pubic hair. Silently requesting her to raise first one foot, then the other, he made sure to wash them thoroughly. Then he turned her around and washed her neck and back. Again bending down, he devoted keen attention to her bottom and the back of her thighs and calves.

When he was finished, Nina knew that it was her turn. She covered her hands with soap and began with Patrick's broad shoulders. When he had stripped, she had already found the thin coating of jet-black hair on his chest inexorably fascinating, and she had to resist the urge to rub her face in it while she washed it. She now knelt down—and they were so close to each other that his erect member almost struck her in the face. She smiled and gave the tip a peck with her lips before lathering it up. Then she copied his motions and soaped up his thighs, calves, feet, and back.

The cleansing done, the couple now embraced tightly while the hot water continued to cover them with its invigorating spray. Because they were practically the same height, even if Patrick outweighed her by a good thirty or even fifty pounds, they were able to rest their heads in the crook of each other's shoulder; and while Nina threw her arms around his neck, Patrick held her close by the waist. But he could ill resist straying down to stroke the heavenly curves of her bottom. She was tempted to do likewise—for he had a bottom that, in its masculine way, was also deliciously curved—but she continued to hold on to his neck and shoulders while he explored her with his hands.

His member had slipped between her slightly open legs, and she relished the feel of it next to her thighs. But without warning, as she let out a gasp of surprise, it slipped wetly into her.

Nina recognized, however, that this was the inevitable culmination of the whole afternoon's unexpected intimacy; and as he pumped her gently, she stood a little on her tiptoes to allow him deeper access into her cleft. The rhythm of his thrusts was ineffably soothing in conjunction with the hot water that continued to douse them, and she felt transported into another world as his organ—seven inches at least, perhaps a tad longer—plunged into her innermost recesses. He kissed her cheeks, mouth, jaw, temple, and even her ear as he now pounded her more forcefully; she was content to be the largely passive vessel for his passion. And when his climax came, perhaps a little sooner than he expected, he only uttered a few soft groans to signal the pinnacle of his desire.

He stayed in her for minutes, not becoming appreciably softer. They had now been in the shower for at least fifteen minutes, and Nina irrelevantly worried about how much water they were wasting. Gently prying herself out of his grasp—which at last resulted in his cock slipping out of her—she reached around him to turn the water off.

They both stepped out of the shower. The space between the bathtub and the sink was quite small, but they managed to stand facing each other. Patrick grabbed a towel at random and dried Nina thoroughly, front and back. She performed the same service to him. Then both of them dried their hair as best they could.

But he didn't let her leave the room. Placing himself behind her, he seized her around the waist and made her look at the two of them in the mirror over the sink. That mirror, affixed to the wall, was so large that they could see their bodies from head to mid-thigh, and Nina thrilled to see Patrick's hands reach up and take a breast in each hand and squeeze gently while he nuzzled at her neck. She could feel his member already hardening as it rubbed up against her bottom. Their wild, uncombed hair made them seem like dissipated participants of some orgy whose main action was elsewhere.

Then Patrick noticed something on the sink's countertop. As if struck by an inspiration, he reached over to what had struck his notice—a dispenser of hand lotion. He squeezed a portion of the thick liquid onto his fingers.

Nina watched his actions in bafflement. For some reason she was unable to speak. What they had just done in the shower had been so transcendently moving that she was still unable to believe it had actually happened to her—but the pulsing muscles in her pussy left no doubt on that score.

Now, she watched in fascination as Patrick reached his hand behind her and applied that lotion to a part of her body that had never been exposed to it before. It took some seconds for her to realize Patrick's intent—but by then he had already inserted his member into her anus.

She let out an enormous gasp—and continued to gasp and moan as, inch by inch, he proceeded deep into that orifice. The sense of being filled and expanded was extraordinary; and as she watched herself in the mirror, Patrick seizing her breasts with his strong hands, she almost felt as if she were witnessing this unusual act being performed on someone else. But the relentless progress of his member into her was not to be gainsaid; and when he began pumping, her mouth dropped open as the strange and not entirely welcome sensation overwhelmed her.

The expression on his own face was peculiarly tranquil as he pummeled her. They both began grunting in rhythm to his thrusts, Nina's louder and more agitated as she felt a kind of burning sensation in her bottom while also feeling as if Patrick's entire body had somehow entered her. One of his hands continued to clutch a breast while the other slid down her body and, in front of Nina's eyes, took hold of her sex and massaged her labia and clitoris far more forcefully than he had done in the park. And as his own climax was clearly approaching, he entered her more and more deeply while continuing to stroke her. Whether by accident or design, he sent his seed deep into her at nearly the exact moment when his fingers elicited a shuddering and almost painful orgasm out of her.

As before, he remained firmly embedded in her long after his orgasm was over. Nina, dizzy and light-headed from the ministrations of his fingers, felt like a butterfly pinned to a piece of cork. She looked shyly at the reflection of their paired and entwined forms in the mirror, both of their bodies bright pink from exertion. Now that this latest and most unorthodox invasion of her body was over, she was becoming acutely uncomfortable.

Between ragged breaths, she managed to say, "Patrick . . . please, can you come out now?"

Patrick made no movement for several seconds, and Nina was about to repeat her plea; but then he grudgingly pulled out, slowly, inch by inch. The process caused Nina more pain, and a long-continued moan was forced out of her until he finally withdrew entirely. The sudden sensation of vacancy took her by surprise and filled her with a strange sadness. She felt like a little girl whose favorite teddy bear had been cruelly and unjustly been taken from her.

She was now hardly able to stand, and if Patrick himself hadn't continued to hold her tightly, she might have fallen to the floor. But then she forced him to release her and, with a whispered "I have to go lie down," she staggered out of the room.

She dimly heard Patrick turning on the tap on the sink, presumably to wash his member, as she proceeded farther down the corridor. She was heading to the guest bedroom, since she doubted her ability to climb the stairs and head to her own bedroom up there. She had just enough energy to pull back the sheet and blanket and fall into the bed.

Patrick stolidly strode in a minute or two later. At first he just stood over her, silently appraising her. Then he slipped into bed next to her.

But she was in no mood to cuddle. Glaring at him angrily, she said, "You shouldn't have done that without permission!"

"Why?" he said ingenuously, not even looking at her but gazing at the ceiling.

She almost spluttered in rage. "Because—because I hadn't done that before!"

"You hadn't?"

"No!" Now she was furious. What do you take me for? Some whore who lets a man have her every which way without a by-your-leave? And the suggestion that she was somehow sexually deficient in not experiencing anal sex before added to her rage. "It's not something a lot of women do—or have done to them. Is it?"

In a non sequitur Patrick said, "I thought you'd like it."

"Well, I'm not sure I did!"

"But you came, didn't you?"