Carlotta Graham
The lap dog
CHAPTER ONE
They giggled all the way up the walk from the garage to the front door, leaning on one another and staggering a little. Then both quieted down as they stood before the door, faced with the problem of opening it and not quite remembering how. The man fumbled in his pocket for awhile and then fished out a key. For several seconds he tried to fit it into the lock, finally swearing good-naturedly: "If the damn hole had hair around it, wham, just like that!"
"Oh, Jack, don't say such things," the young woman giggled, looking around nervously. "The neighbors might hear."
"Fuck the neighbors," the man answered in a slightly slurred voice. All at once the key slid in the lock and he opened the door, starting inside, but then he halted and, giving an exaggerated bow, spoke grandly to his female companion.
"Would the lady care to enter?" he said with a little hiccup. And the lady did enter, sweeping majestically into the house, her entry marred only when she tripped a little on the doorsill. The man followed her in and shut the door.
"Oh, Christ, what a party," he said, collapsing into a chair.
"Yes, and I hope you don't remember a thing tomorrow. Do you know what you did? You were dancing on your knees on that funny old table with a lampshade…"
"Enough!" Jack ordered. "We got better things to do than talk about parties that've already happened. C'mere, wench." He reached his arms up commandingly, but the woman pirouetted coquettishly just out of his reach, pretending shyness. She was young, in her early twenties, of average height – but beyond that, there wasn't anything else average about her. Long heavy blonde hair cascaded down to frame a truly lovely fine-boned face, highlighted by a pair of huge blue eyes set like Alpine lakes against her creamy rose-tinted complexion. While her dress was cut fairly modestly, neither too low in the front nor too short, it could not entirely hide the lush ripe body underneath. Although she was a blonde, she was not a frosty blonde, but rather a warm soft combination of golds and rich creams and tender yellow rose petals. All in all she was a very desirable young woman, and the man called Jack was obviously aware of it, as he should have been. They were married – Jack and Angela Sims.
"Ah-ha, going to play hard to get," Jack teased, jumping up from the chair. For an instant he staggered and almost fell backward but, quickly regaining his balance, the obviously tipsy young man took out after his wife as she ran squealing and laughing toward the bedroom. Cornered near the bed, the lovely young blonde turned at bay, holding up her hands protectingly.
"Oh, please, sir, I beg of you, don't ravish an innocent young girl," she begged in a high falsetto.
"You're out of luck, baby. You'll never walk out of here a virgin," the man growled in mock threat. Reaching out, he circled the young beauty with his arms and pressed her violently to him. As their lips met, all pretense faded and they melted together in a long passionate kiss.