Stanley Redman
Mark_s wandering wife vol. II
CHAPTER ONE
It was noon, a warm Saturday in August; Phillip Gates sat at the desk in the den of his suburban split-level home with several law books opened before him, while he watched subconsciously through the window the provocative full contours of shapely Beth Tierney, their next-door neighbor, who, clad in the briefest of white bikinis, was pretending at puttering with her flower beds. He noted further that the wisps of cloth straining to cover her generous endowments were wet, offering an almost diaphanous quality that caused him to swallow tightly. She had evidently just climbed out of their pool and it occurred to him suddenly that her damned near naked presence right in front of his window might not be coincidental. She was aware that he studied there on Saturday afternoons; besides, she had mentioned something to that effect when she and Jack, her husband, were over last night.
All the same, she offered no sign of awareness to his being there, but kept her head down as if she were taken up with her task, while Phillip watched her full rounded buttocks move smoothly beneath the skintight, partially covering briefs, the rich cleft separating her buttocks obvious to him as she squatted teasingly, her back to him, then worked herself around on her haunches until he was gaping along her smooth white thighs to the vee of her crotch where the material inlaid snugly, suggestively, outlining the soft creased mound of her vaginal lips.
At first, when she appeared, he'd watched her rather idly, subliminally, he supposed, his mind too occupied with his studies, plus the Party Convention in the Capital come Monday, then, all of a sudden he'd sensed a stirring inside his shorts and realized that his neighbor was stimulating his erotic appetite. The genital reflex startled him first off; he'd never paid that much attention to their sensually attractive neighbor… no more than the standard niceties and raillery one expounds upon a friend, and certainly he'd seen her hustling around often enough in those skimpy, tantalizing outfits she chose to wear, and he'd spent enough time in her company to get a charge from her before this, it seemed… Then, a few of her not so casual pointed remarks, fetching smiles and enticing body contacts briefly filtered through his mind and he traced his tongue over his dry lips… Cripes, had he been so engrossed with his work, studies and politics that he was oblivious to the more earthy things going on right under his nose? Hell… he grinned bitterly to himself, face it, man. That gnawing in your belly is nothing more than a holdover from last night's botch with Laurie.
He swallowed distastefully at that recollection, just as he heard his lovely young wife descending the short flight of stairs from where she had been packing and preparing for their three-day stay at the coming convention, with all of the fuss one might expect necessary for a six-month cruise. She appeared in the doorway to his right and smiled beautifully.
"Like some coffee, darling?" she said, hands on hips, elbows back, causing her full, erect breasts to strain against the thin, green material of the scanty halter endeavoring to contain them.
"No, thanks," he replied, his vision leveling on the smooth white flesh of her naked midriff and the lush swelling contour of her rounded hips in the matching, tight green shorts she wore. Damn, he was engulfed by tantalizing female flesh… Look, but don't touch, he thought drily. "I'll settle for a bourbon-soda though." He forced a little smile. "If you don't mind…"
Laurie Gates returned his smile with a warm, green-eyed-like expression of her own, meant to disarm him. She knew what he was implying… last night still very vivid in her own memory.
"Sure… Why should I mind, Honey?"
She went off leaving him to catch another glance at Beth Tierney who was bent forward toward him, her lush white breasts, all but their tips, completely exposed to him, and momentarily, he swore that would happen in a burst of glory if she leaned over one more fraction of an inch. Then Laurie entered carrying an ice-tinkling, partially filled glass and his eyes locked on her once more.
She was wearing her shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair in thick braids wound cleverly up on top of her head. She looked like a child, her hair that way and with no sticky makeup to mar her natural cream-like complexion… those wide sea-green eyes, straight little nose and full, perpetually pouting lower lip… even younger than her nineteen years, he thought, remembering back a year when he'd met her and she was "Home Coming Queen". She set the drink on his desk then crossed the room to the little table where he had tossed the daily mail. He watched the rolling sway of her generous, spherical buttocks and the long, tapering ivory columns of her perfectly formed legs as she moved gracefully away from him.