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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "A Helpful Wife" (M+/F, WIFE) Chapter 3
Date: Fri, 12 Jan 2007 10:33:56 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/helpwife03.html
A Helpful Wife
Chapter 3
One month to the day after Tim Cartwright had flown to New
York City, his wife stood in the ladies room of the Dew
Drop Inn, primping her hair before a large oval mirror over
the wash basins. She was a little inebriated, although far
from being drunk, and a crystal stem-glass filled with a
Brandy Alexander stood beside her elbow on the ceramic
ledge of one sink.
Lord! she muttered under her breath as she reached for the
glass, she had eaten nothing since a quick lunch, and here
it was after midnight! The soothing warmth of the
Alexanderher third since she'd arrived at the Dew Drop
Innwas causing a slight tingling sensation to ripple
through her blood. She raised the glass to her lips and
finished the drink in one long sip. It tasted good; almost
too good, she warned herself, and then she giggled at the
idea of being in danger. What danger could she be in here,
surrounded by all the richest people of Greenridge and a
guest of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson? None, of course. The Dew
Drop Inn was where only the most prominent and civilized of
the local residents ate and drank and danced. Certainly
nothing wrong could happen to her, she was certain of that.
Why, she was as safe as if she was in her own home!
Home... the one word made her smile bitterly at her
reflection. Home and Tim were where the last real danger
had been. The thought of her long-gone husband made her
remember vividly the last night they'd been together, and
despite her promise not to dwell on the awful event, the
liquor eased her defenses enough so that once more she
reflected upon his savage attack. How could Tim have been
so cruel to her, she thought. Why had he been such a
raging animal.
She glanced around the ladies room and saw that she was
still alone, and in a moment of recklessness she ran her
hands over the sweater-enclosed tips of her round firm
breasts. They had been so sore and swollen, and her
nipples so raw, that she hadn't been able to wear the
softest brassiere without pain for a week. Her shoulders
trembled as she thought back to the horrible rape of her
body by her husband and the way he had used her as a tool
solely for his own gratification without even the slightest
consideration for her wants or needs. He had used her like
a slavehis own wifeand the memory sickened her even after
all the days which had passed since then. Tears brimmed in
her eyes as she recalled his last parting words just before
he'd angrily stormed out the door with his suitcase. She
could still hear his voice ringing in her ears as he'd
yelled at her:
"I don't think you could make any man happy. Maybe when
I'm in New York I'll go out and get myself some slut off
the street who'll give me the loving I need!"
Dear God, would he? Has he? His letters had been so
infrequent and vague, his answers to her own almost daily
letters sometimes ignoring the most important parts. This
was deeply distressing to Melanie, and she sometimes had
difficulty in sleeping at night, wondering if Tim still
cared for her and was being faithful to their marriage.
She looked again down her slim body, provocatively dressed
as it was in the short mini-skirt and thin pullover which
Mr. Anderson had said was her theater uniform. The rounded
peaks of her breasts stood out defiantly, and she could
almost see the taut curve of her buttocks where they flowed
gracefully into her firm legs, the hem-line of her skirt
being so daringly high. She was proud of her youthful,
curvaceous body, and yet it was the reason for all her
troubles. If she could have been a Plain-Jane, she would
probably have been settled down with children and happily
married to some average fellow. She would never have
attracted such a popular boy as Tim, but then she would
never have been cursed with being wanted just for her
striking beauty.
The hazy effect the brandy was producing seemed to simplify
things into an either-or kind of situation in her mind.
She turned around and started for the door of the restroom,
and as she stepped out into the dim warmth of the Dew Drop
Inn, she fleetingly wondered if there couldn't be a middle
ground somewhere in between where she could find true
happiness...
Melanie threaded her way unsteadily through the ring of
small, intimate tables which surrounded a polished dance
floor. Over in one corner was her table, the one she was
sharing with Amos and Sybil Anderson. This was the first
time that she had been with them socially, and though she
had been reluctant at first, she was now glad that she had
accepted their invitation and pleased that they had asked
her to join them.
Both the Andersons, especially Amos, were so understanding
and nice to talk to, and Melanie couldn't help feeling that
her new employer had a real interest in her welfare. When
she had gone to work that evening, Amos had invited her to
a party at his house, which, he said, was being held after
the theater closed for the night. She had made excuses at
first, declining the invitation because she had never liked
to drink much and would have preferred a quiet time at home
alone. But Amos had persisted in his genial and persuasive
way, saying that he was meeting Sybil for a cocktail after
work, and the least Melanie could do was have one with
them. She realized then that his invitation was really a
good-natured attempt to get her out of the shell of
self-pity into which she had withdrawn. For this, the
lonely young wife was grateful to him, and had then
accepted for both the cocktail and the party, suddenly
wanting a few gay hours to help take her mind off of Tim's
absence and seeming neglect.
At first she had been very nervous in the Dew Drop Inn,
feeling improperly dressed in her scanty skirt and sweater,
but there'd been no chance to rush home and change, and
Amos had laughingly told her that it was too dark for
anybody to be that inquisitive anyway. She had also felt
unsettled at just being out like this, alone and without
her husband, even though Amos and Sybil were only good
friends. But, after a drink had calmed her nerves a
little, she had mused that if Tim didn't think enough of
her to return her daily reminders of love, then perhaps she
deserved an innocent diversion like this.
"Well," Amos Anderson said expansively as she approached,
"I thought for a minute you'd gotten lost. I was about to
send a Saint Bernard out looking for you with a cask of
Brandy Alexanders. Female Saint Bernard, of course."
"No, no," Melanie giggled, sitting down. "You know how
long it takes women to freshen up."
"Ah, how well I do," the handsome man sighed with
exaggeration, and then winked broadly at his wife. "But
you're back, my dear, and just in time for another round of
drinks."
"But really, I don't think"
"Nonsense!" Amos boomed, signaling for a waiter. "Sybil
has to leave in a few moments to drive some of the guests
to our house, so we'll just have time for one more quick
one. Waiter, bring us two scotch-and-waters and one Brandy
Alexander."
"You like the Alexanders, Melanie?" Sybil asked.
"Oh yes, very much. I... don't like the taste of liquor
very much, but these are very smooth and refreshing. I
should have discovered them before. Thank you for
suggesting them, Mrs. Anderson."
"Do call me Sybil," the older woman purred.
"That's for sure," Amos chimed in, a slight red flush of
alcohol covering his cheeks. "We're out for a good time
tonight. Let's eat, drink, and be merry as the saying
goes, because we're all good friends together. Melanie,
Sybil and Amos. One-Two-Three. Yes, siree."
The new round of drinks appeared, and after she had sipped
almost half of her brandy, Melanie noticed that the lack of
food was finally making a difference. She was really
beginning to feel the liquor, but in a most pleasant manner
as she relaxed and some of her mental caution disappeared.
She soon found herself having a very animated conversation
with both the Andersons. Amos was witty and could converse
artfully on a dozen different subjects, and even his
slightly naughty risque jokes didn't offend her, but set
her laughing delightfully. He was a very nice, very
handsome, very urbane man whom she was finding herself
liking more and more. A rapport with Sybil also developed
easily, and they were soon discussing the latest fashions
and what it would be like to take a round-the-world cruise.
Melanie was enjoying herself more with every passing
minute, feeling giddy and light-headed and almost carefree
for the first time since Tim had departed. She was
extremely happy that she'd agreed to go along tonight, and
was looking forward to the rest of the night up at the
Anderson house.
"Why don't you ask Melanie to dance, Amos?" Sybil
suggested as the conversation hit a momentary lull. "I
have to leave in just a moment and want to finish my drink,
but you shouldn't let such good music go to waste."
"An excellent suggestion," her husband agreed with a smile,
and rose from his chair to offer Melanie his arm. "Shall
we, my dear?"
"Well..." She hesitated, but then thought if Sybil had
suggested it, it must be all right. "I'd love to, Amos."
He led her out to the dance floor where the small combo was
playing one of the quiet old favorites. She was taken by
surprise when he curled her warmly in his arms, pushing the
sharp, full tips of her breasts deeply into his chest. She
wasn't sure how to react at first, and stiffened
automatically as he hugged her close.
"Don't be afraid, my dear," her boss whispered warmly into
her ear. "I'm not planning to bite you."
Melanie's face flushed in the dimness of the dance floor as
she felt him push forward harder and spread her legs
slightly so that the mound of her loins were forced against
the top of his thigh. The soft silkiness of her dress
seemed to hide nothing from her senses and she could feel
the resilient flesh of her right thigh brushing tightly
between the older man's legs as they moved slowly in time
to the music. Inadvertently, she made contact with the
softness of his trousered penis, and with a start, she felt
a slight stirring of his manhood beneath his pants.
"We... we shouldn't be dancing like this, Amos. It... It
doesn't look too good to be this close, and your wife might
object."
"Oh, she won't care," Anderson said in an offhand way.
"She doesn't care what I do."
"B-But you're a married man," she stammered in a whisper.
"And... and I'm married, too."
"Yes, my dear," Anderson replied with oily smoothness.
"That always makes it more exciting, don't you think?"
Melanie suddenly lost her tongue, surprised as she was by
his strange-sounding words to her. Before she could think
of a proper answer, the music stopped and the combo leader
announced it was time for intermission.
"Your husband is a very good dancer," Melanie managed to
say, trying to cover the blushing she was feeling in her
cheeks.
"Sybil is too," Anderson said, smiling broadly. "Used to
be the best in Vegas, and not too many years ago, either."
"Don't listen to him," Sybil said to Melanie. "When a man
is as good a leader as he is, I could have two club feet
and still dance well." She tipped the glass of scotch to
her lips and drained it in two swift swallows, then
collected her purse and stood up. "Well, I must be off."
"Oh," Melanie said, "must you?"
"If you want a party tonight, I do. I'm not sure when I'll
get back, so you go ahead and have another drink, and I'll
see you all at the house later on."
"Goodbye, dear," Amos said, and kissed his wife lightly on
the cheek. He knew there was no turning back for the young
wife sitting next to him now. With Sybil leaving, the
stage was set for his seduction, just as they'd been
planning for the last thirty days. Yes, he was going to
enjoy playing husband this evening with Melanie, now that
his own wife had made her excuses and left. A slight
twinge of anticipation rippled between his thighs as he
pictured little Melanie nakedly groveling before him.
"Well," he said warmly, turning his attention to the lovely
young innocent sitting next to him, "Here's to us, Melanie.
Here's to us and our getting to know each other better
before the night's over."
Melanie tipped her glass to his and took a large, deep
drink of her Brandy Alexander, her eyes sparkling at her
handsome boss over the rim of her cocktail.
Another round of drinks was brought, and the two of them
continued to sit in the Dew Drop Inn, talking for almost
half an hour. For some reason Melanie couldn't explain,
she was beginning to feel uneasy about being alone with
Amos Anderson. She already felt wicked and worldly for
being out with another maneven though it was not a datebut
it was something else bothering her slightly which she
couldn't quite put her finger on. She knew that it was
perfectly all right in this day and age for her to be in
the company of a nice man like him, as it might not have
been in her mother's day. She knew nothing would happen,
just as she'd told herself in the ladies room, and Amos
Anderson had been the very soul of gentlemanly discretion.
Yet still there was a pervading air of something wrong,
something deliciously wrong as though she were skirting
some forbidden fate. She tried to recall what might have
caused it, but she could find nothing on which to base her
small twinge of apprehension. As she set her glass down,
she decided to relax and stop being such an old wet
blanket, and that the tingling sensations in the depth of
her belly were only the result of one too many Brandy
Alexanders on an empty stomach.
"Well, my dear," Amos Anderson eventually said, "shall we
drink up and be on the way to my house?"
"Yes," she replied gratefully. "Yes, let's. Maybe your
wife will be there with the guests by now."
"Perhaps," Anderson said suavely, but inside his head he
was thinking: not a chance, little one. Sybil won't be
where you can see her, and there won't be any guests around
to save you now...!
* * *
The ride to the Anderson home was beautiful, Melanie
thought as she sat beside Amos in his large convertible.
The road wound through the lovely wooded hills in back of
Greenridge, and she could see out of the windows the
flat-lands below with their myriad of twinkling city lights
shining like a thousand fireflies. She was impressed by
the rolling, well-landscaped grounds around his spacious
house when they arrived. But it was quiet, and the house
was dark, with no cars parked in the large driveway, and
Melanie realized that her employer's lovely wife had not
yet returned from picking up the other guests. Amos
noticed this as well, and as he drew up the car in front of
the double-doored garage, he said jovially, "Well, my dear,
we're on our own for a while longer. Come on in, and I'll
get things ready for the party, hmmm?"
He shut off the powerful engine, and was hardly out of his
side of the car before he was opening the door for her. He
offered his hand, and Melanie had a fleeting urge to refuse
the proffered assistance, but then she took it and allowed
the older man to help her out. They walked up the driveway
to a crushed oyster-shell path which led around an
outcropping of moss-covered rock. She could hear a soft
trickling of water as a stream fell pleasantly over the
rocks and flowed into a small Oriental pool. The path had
a wooden bridge over the water, and then came to the front
porch, where a massive wood door was recessed in green
tiled framework.
Amos opened the front door, and Melanie followed him into
the living room, where he switched on the overhead lights.
The lamps were soft and warm, easing Melanie's small sense
of apprehension, and she gazed around in wonder at the size
and luxury of the room. All of the furniture except for a
long white English lounge were of the finest Early American
maple. One whole wall was glass, with sliding panels so
that a person could step out onto the flagstone patio
beyond. A large oil painting of the modernistic school
hung prominently near a white porcelain fireplace.
"Sit down, my dear, and make yourself comfortable,"
Anderson said as he crossed the room to a maple console.
"Slip out of your shoes, why don't you? I'm sure your feet
must be tired after standing on them all evening."
"Thank you." Melanie answered, and she did as he
suggested, removing her flats and then sitting down on the
couch. She drew her bare legs up under her on the cushion,
and primly tried to pull her short mini-skirt down as far
as it would go.
Anderson leafed through a record album and said over his
shoulder: "Would you like a little music while we're
waiting?"
"That would be nice," she replied, dimpling. "Something
soft and soothing, if you have it."
"I most certainly do, my dear." In a moment, violins and
muted horns drifted across the room like a cloud of
relaxing warmth. "Percy Faith, I hope you like him?"
"Oh yes, very much." She tucked her legs further beneath
her as Amos Anderson came over and sat down on the couch.
She was pleased to see that he didn't try to sit next to
her, but actually sat a little further away than was
socially necessary. She had been foolish, she thought to
herself. Amos was a handsome, appealing man with a certain
allure which fascinated her, and that was the only reason
for her slight uneasiness. Herself! And certainly she
wasn't going to do anything wrong!
"It is nice, my dear, it is indeed." Anderson closed his
eyes and tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch as
though the only thing in the room were the strains of the
music. For all his aching desire to thrust his rapidly
hardening cock up into the narrow slit of her tight little
cunt, he knew that to suddenly attack her would be the
worst plan he could follow. She would have been pawed half
to death by school-boy dates and more than likely by that
oaf of a husband of her's, and he figured correctly that
before any physical conquest of her tender young flesh, he
would have to lessen her mental barriers with a
sophisticated approach. And he had just the thing to do it
with, too...
He picked up a scrolled silver cigarette case from the
table beside him and opened its hinged lid, selecting a
thin brown cigarette from its contents. He held out the
case.
"Have a cigarette, my dear?"
"No, thank you. I have my own in my purse."
"I noticed that you are just about out. Please try one of
mine and see how you like them. They're as mild tasting as
your filter-tips, only with more flavor."
"Really? What kind are they?"
"Mexican, my dear," Anderson said, and then to reassure
her, he added: "The soil down there makes the tobacco look
different."
"Well, I"
He urged the case closer to her hesitating fingers. "Just
take a few puffs slowly and see, my dear. Go ahead. If
you don't like it, put it out, and I'll mix you a drink."
"All... All right," she answered falteringly, and took a
cigarette, bending her head so that Amos could light it for
her.
"Slowly, slowly," Anderson instructed her. "That's the way
they taste better." Melanie watched him as he took a drag
and inhaled very gently. She followed his example, and
found a strange but not unpleasant taste. She inhaled
deeper on the next puff and held it down a few seconds.
After three or four inhalations, she could hardly feel it
go down her throat at all, it was so smooth. She continued
to smoke, holding the air down for as long as she could
each time...
"Do you feel anything?" Anderson asked blandly as she
neared the end of her first cigarette.
"Why yes, I do. I feel... feel very nice," Melanie said
in a voice that didn't seem to be her own. She glanced at
the man sitting beside her, and he suddenly looked to be
miles away. "What... What kind of cigarette did you say
this was, Amos?"
He answered with a soft chuckle. "Marijuana."
"Marijuana!" She had heard about the drug only fleetingly,
and then mostly to do with its being smoked at wild
parties. "Will... Will this make me do things I don't...
I don't want to?"
"No, of course not, my dear," Anderson scoffed. "You smoke
it because it doesn't make you dull and sleepy like alcohol
can. It leaves you mellow and feeling smooth, that's all.
Isn't that how you feel now?"
"Yes, Amos, yes it does..."
Anderson smiled back at her, passing her another thin brown
cigarette to replace the one she'd smoked. Without
thinking, Melanie pressed it to her lips and pulled deeply,
feeling this one heightening the pleasant sensation the
first had caused. She felt strangely and euphorically
bodyless and liked it, and the longer she held the curling
smoke in her lungs, the softer her world became. She
noticed the lights of the room becoming fuzzy, but the
thin, brown cigarettes had dulled any fears she had about
what she was doing... or should be doing. She was
beginning not to mind anything now with the delicious
warmth of the marijuana filtering through her blood and
mixing headily with the alcohol she had already consumed.
She could feel her flesh tingling all over deep inside...
deep down where she had never felt anything before in her
life...
The corrupting movie-maker caught the almost imperceptible
relaxing of Melanie Cartwright's natural defenses, and
inwardly gloated with obscene delight. He continued to
talk with her as he watched her smoke the strong marijuana,
his tones as warm and calm as the music and the cigarettes.
He was experienced in the sensing of the most subtle of
moods, knowing perfectly when to retreat or advance, and he
moved inexorably from innocuous subjects at first to other,
more intimate discussions. He was well aware that even the
mention of sexual things would produce a passionate
response in the drugged soul of this innocent young woman
and cause a sensual tingle which would fill her slender,
firm body until she would not be able to resist it... Or
him...
"How are you feeling now, my dear?" he asked, handing her
a third marijuana cigarette.
"I feel so wonderful, Amos. I wish I never had to go
home."
"It must be miserable, there all alone without a man."
"Even with Tim, it's" Melanie caught herself just before
she blurted out all her innermost troubles. She put the
back of one slim hand to her mouth in a gesture of silence.
Anderson moved closer, sliding himself across the cushions
of the couch until he was almost touching her voluptuous
young body. "What is it, my dear?" he asked in a soothing
voice. "Tell me, what is the problem. Maybe I can help
you."
Melanie shook her head, taking another deep puff of her
cigarette in an effort to still her beating heart. "N-No,"
she managed to whisper. "I... I can't tell."
"You should confide in somebody, Melanie. I can see that
you're very upset about Tim for some reason, and it's no
good to keep it bottled up inside you."
"M-Maybe not, but I can't." She swallowed thickly, her
mind dreamy from the effects of the marijuana and brandy.
"It... It has to do with sex, you see."
"Everybody has sex lives, my dear. In this day and age of
sexual freedom, sex is talked and shown everywhere you go.
Look at the advertisements, the books, the movies I show at
my theater. You shouldn't be afraid to talk about sex with
me..."
Melanie was dimly aware of Amos Anderson touching her
shoulder with his hand and draw her closer to him. His arm
feels good, she thought to herself, and so comforting...
She pulled again on the cigarette in her lips. The musky
odor of Amos' cologne filled her nostrils, stimulating her
more, and she allowed herself to be pressed close against
the firm supporting chest of her employer. She lowered her
head against his muscular leanness and thought wretchedly
of her marriage to Tim and how he hadn't held her in such a
warm embrace for an awfully long time.
Amos felt the soft, resilient flesh of the unsuspecting
young wife press tightly to his own body, and her firmly
ripened breasts pulsing against his chest. He let the soft
strands of her honey-colored hair brush against his
nostrils as he whispered to her: "Maybe I can help,
Melanie... Please let me help you..."
"No," she moaned against him. "No, nothing can make it
right."
"Shhh, you're getting too upset, my dear..."
"Oh, Amos, I'm miserable!" she heard herself mewl
involuntarily. "I'm so terribly miserable!"
"Then tell me about it, my dear. You'll feel better..."
Then, haltingly, she found herself unable to stop from
pouring out her heart to him. Even though she knew she
should be more discrete about her marital secrets, she was
gripped by an overwhelming urge to confess to this strong
handsome man who was holding her as her father had after a
nightmare. Perhaps it was his soft, reassuring voice, or
the influences of the brandy and the cigarettes, but
whatever was urging her on, it was uncontrollable, and she
unburdened her misery to Amos Anderson. She told him in
half-sobbing, broken words about what had happened to her
that last night before Tim had left for New York, and the
nights which had preceded it in her less-than-perfect
marriage, and she even included the sordid incident in
Tim's parked car when they'd been engaged. It all came
out, and when she was finished, she pressed her
tear-streaked face tight against Amos' chest, sobbing as
though her heart was broken.
The lecherous older man stroked her hair lightly in gentle
comfort, and then he stroked the satiny skin of her arm, a
small smile playing across his handsome tanned features.
So... just as he thought! A rutting boar of a husband,
and a frigid mother! And yet, he could tell that irately
Melanie was a very passionate woman beneath her surface,
only waiting for the proper combination to stroke her
furnace to the boiling point. And he was just the man to
do it.
By God, he was... and would be tonight!
In the same tone of voice as he'd been using all along,
Anderson said softly into her ear, "Don't think about it
any more, my dear. Don't think about how your husband took
you all those times so brutally... Don't think how he hurt
you inside..."
Despite herself, Melanie was beginning to slowly experience
an almost soporific dream as she remained huddled in
Anderson's strong, gentle embrace. His words were soothing
and hypnotic to her, and though she was aware that he was
telling her not to think of what she had done and felt with
Tim, the visions were more clear in her mind than ever.
She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't seem to
help herself. She clutched the thin material of Anderson's
shirt, finding security in his masculine nearness and the
gentle stroking of his hand on her bare arm...
Anderson could feel her warmly throbbing breasts harden
beneath her thin sweater, and he knew his words were having
the desired effect on her mind. She was thinking about it,
seeing her and her husband mentally, and the images were
causing her unmistakable, if unwanted, arousal in her body.
It's working, he thought gleefully. I'm going to fuck this
bitch yet!
"Don't think how he would press his naked body down on
your's and force his hardened penis deep up inside your
tender vagina with brutal force. Don't think how he would
pump up and down frantically inside you..."
Strangely, perversely, the images of Tim raping her
painfully swollen pussy came back to her a hundredfold.
The marijuana and brandy swirled heatedly through her
bloodstream, and her nerve-ends seemed to tingle for
reasons she could not understand. She could feel a
taunting tendril of some unmentionable sensation creep
slowly through her loins, and a strange moistness seep out
from between her tightly clenched thighs to wet the soft
white nylon of her panties. Her nipples were hardening
under her brassiere, even though she willed them not to
with all her strength. The images continued to grow of
their own volition, and Amos was too close, too exciting...
"Don't think about you and Tim, Melanie. Don't think about
how he was fucking you. Yes, fucking, my dear... fucking
is exactly the right word to describe how he slid in and
out of your sweet little cunt until he came with his sperm
deep up inside you..."
Anderson could feel Melanie trembling beneath his arm, and
now with other emotions than just misery and shame, he
thought victoriously. Her loneliness, her physical needs,
the aphrodisiac marijuana, and the alcohol in her blood
were all working in harmony, on her basic sensual nature,
breaking down the barriers of her false prudishness and
baring the hot, wild woman beneath. He couldn't control
his eagerly pulsating cock from leaping into full erection
at the idea of sliding his own male hardness up inside the
pussy which her husband had foolishly rejected. Damn, he
couldn't wait another moment! She was breathing faster and
faster with every word he cooed into her ear, and if there
was ever going to be a time to make his play for her, it
was right now!
Now was the time to strike!
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