The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in locations in which it is
legal.  If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may be posted as part of a  review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive sights. 

Copyright 1999,2000 by E. Z. Riter. 

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com      

Please!        Give me your comments!

Dear Reader: This is the story of a wife and mother who meets the man of her dreams. 
Unfortunately, that's her daughter's fianc‚.  I'm interested in whether you, as a reader, thought
the story codes were correct.  Thanks to Sara and Gail for their input and other invaluable
assistance. Please enjoy.  E.Z.


KAREN

Have you ever met a man you instantly feared?  Who made you quake deep down inside?  

I don't mean a physical fear.  I mean a sexual fear.  

A fear he would possess you as his own.  A fear he would reach deep into your woman's heart to
seize your innermost feelings, making you eager to do what he wished of you. 

And a fear he might do nothing.  A fear the deep gut longing for him would be unfulfilled,
leaving you aching and wanting.    

I'd heard other women speak of such fears.  They're referring to movie stars or rock musicians
they drool over in a fantasy.  In my life, my real life, I'd never met such a man.      

I was almost forty. My husband, George Phillips, and I had been married twenty-one years. We
have two wonderful daughters, Polly, 20, and Patty, 18. 

For the past twelve years, George and I worked hard to build our business.  For ten of those
years, the business grew and prospered.  But for the last two years, the business suffered a steady
and steep decline because George's overly ambitious expansion plans exploded in our faces.  We
were threatened with bankruptcy.

George started to drink heavily.  Alcohol and stress turned his previously kind disposition to a
sour and depressed mania. Our children suffered with us.  Seeing their parents depressed was
hard on them.  We couldn't afford for either of them to go to college. 

George is fifteen years older than I.  In a way, our  relationship was father and daughter.  We
began dating when I was seventeen. He took my virginity when I was eighteen.  When I became
pregnant with Polly, we married.  I'd never had another man. Our major marital disagreement
had been over the number of children.  I wanted four.  George insisted we have only two.  He had
a vasectomy to prevent additional children. I missed those days.  I missed the feel of a baby, of
the life in me, of nursing my child.  I missed the closeness with the man who made that baby with
me. George and I began to drift apart after those early, baby days. 

Sex with George was pleasant and sweet, but never exciting.  When I married him, I knew it
would never be the bomb bursts my friends gossiped of.  Our sex was more passive than that. 
When the business began its downturn, he became impotent. It'd been two years since we made
love. For the last year, we slept in separate beds, not even touching during the night.  

I'm five five and in good physical condition.  I'm told I'm pretty.  My daughters inherited my
dark blonde hair and green eyes, my smile with the one dimple.  My breasts are still high and
firm, but my bottom and legs are my most attractive feature.  

I never intended to attract men.  I dressed demurely, preferring loose blouses and long, full skirts
to hide myself from prying male eyes.   I lived a life without carnal desires,  keeping myself
chaste except for my husband.   I was a modest and faithful wife.

During this siege of unhappiness, our bright spot was Polly.  She'd fallen desperately in love with
a man.  We hadn't met him yet, but she said he was magnificent, very intelligent, well educated
and successful in business.  His name was Eric Winston. 

His only negative, from what she told me, was that he was thirty-two, twelve years older than she
was.  As Polly pointed out, George was fifteen years my senior so I couldn't complain about the
age difference.  Polly gushed about him, revealing a depth of love and wanting beyond anything
I'd experienced.     

During the next month, the business continued its relentless slide toward bankruptcy. George
fought to survive, even if the hope of survival seemed dim.  I knew if he failed after redoubling
his efforts, the loss would be much more devastating.  Too often it seems, a man's self worth is
tied inexorably to his company and his position. I worried constantly about his mental and
physical health.

George and I were home one Friday night about ten, getting ready to go to bed.  We were
exhausted from the demands of the business.  As usual, it had been a long and difficult week. 
Patty was already asleep.  The front door burst open.  Polly, giggling and wiggling with
happiness, charged into the room with a man right behind her.

"Mother! Dad!  Eric asked me to marry him!  I said yes."

I saw Eric Winston for the first time. Hot, prickly fingers walked down my spine. I flushed. 
Lights dimmed except around him.  I was giddy and nauseous. Every sense was overloaded.  I
stared at him as he shook George's hand in greeting.  He turned to me and smiled. His eyes held
me.  Heat flashed through me, like a heavy blush, leaving my nipples erect and a wetness seeping
between my legs.

I'd met him - the man who could possess me. The man who could take me and make me his. 
Never before had I felt the intense, demanding, female need to throw myself at a man. 

"Mother, are you all right?" Polly asked, taking my hands.  "Why are you crying?"

"Your mother's just happy for you, dear," Eric said.  "Let me help you, Karen."

My right hand in his, his left hand at my waist, he guided me to a chair. Was my robe on fire
from the heat of his hand on me?  Could no one else smell the scent I extruded?  When I sat, I
looked up at him. He could feel it.  He could smell it.  He knew.  

Polly and George solicitously murmured around me.  Didn't they see the sexual need in me?
Didn't they feel my agony? Oh, god, what was I going to do? I wanted him so much.  

I must resist him! I must!  He was my daughter's fianc‚, her man not mine.  I took a deep breath
and prayed.  Karen Phillips, wife and mother, pushed her unbridled carnal desire to the
background and smiled benignly. For the first time since he arrived, I took a normal breath. 

Physically, Eric was about six three.  He was lean and raw boned, with big wrists and hands. His
chest looked powerful, his arms strong. His hair was black and cut short.  He was graying at the
temples.  His face was ruggedly masculine and handsome. 

His most dominant feature was his eyes.  They were large and deep set in large eyeholes, under
thick, long black lashes and below heavy black eyebrows.  Their color was a startling, deep, blue. 
They were compelling eyes, demanding eyes, eyes which might well be cruel.   Those eyes could
be soft and kind, too, as they were now.

He sat on the couch with Polly next to him, both her hands hidden by one of his.  His voice was
very pleasant, a well-modulated baritone.  Its smoothness, the easy rhythm of his words, the
timbre, all were pleasing and reassuring. It was hypnotic.

I was dressed in a long flannel nightgown which covered me head to toe and wore over it a thick
and fleecy terry cloth bathrobe. But when he looked at me, I felt naked.  

Polly was ecstatic, beaming brightly in her joy.   She extended her hand to flash a solitaire
diamond engagement ring.  Her wriggling fingers distorted our view, but its size and quality were
self-evident.  I noticed a new necklace around her lovely neck.  It was a gold choker with a small
ring in front.  From the ring dangled another diamond which matched the one on her finger. 

We visited about wedding plans and their future.  My eyes were constantly drawn to his,
requiring conscious effort on my part to look away. They were as hypnotic as his voice.  He
enjoyed our eye game and my distress from it.  Once a special smile flickered across his face.  It
made me shiver.  It was the smile a man gives a woman when he intends to have intercourse with
her.

I don't know why Polly and George were oblivious to his flirting with me.  Couldn't they see
what I saw?  Couldn't they see how he appealed to me, how I wanted him?  Couldn't they see
this seduction in progress? Couldn't they see I was helpless?

Polly's exuberance invigorated us, but it was the presence of Eric Winston which energized me. 
We'd talked almost an hour when Eric changed the topic.

"Polly told me a few things about your business problems.  That's my area of expertise.  I'll be
happy to assist you anyway I can," he said.  

We talked until two in the morning.  George and I unburdened ourselves, releasing our business
worries like a dam burst releasing the water of a thousand brutal rains. Eric acted truly interested. 
His knowledge, insight and certainty impressed me. Every thing about him impressed me. 

During those hours, our eye game continued. I saw that look again and again.  Its implications
were constantly in my mind.  As a mother, I was angered  my daughter's fianc‚ would look at me
like that.  As a wife, I resented his giving me that look in my own living room with my husband
present. As a woman, I was terrified.  He wanted me.  He'd stop at nothing to have me.  My
anxiety bubbled like a cauldron. 

Karen, it's you that's flirting with him.  Stop it, a voice in my head said. It's not me, I thought in
reply.

"I think I can help," Eric said.  "When can I take a look at the books?"

"I've got a golf tournament with my biggest customer this weekend.  How about Monday?"
George answered anxiously. 

"I'd like to do it tomorrow," Eric replied. "Karen's the accountant, isn't she?"

"Of course! She can show you everything.  You two won't need me," George said.

"No, I couldn't," escaped me. 

"Sure you can, honey," George said emphatically.

George's tone of voice and expression were clear.  He wanted me to meet Eric on Saturday. 
Polly still hadn't noticed Eric's dance with me. And Eric smiled at me in a way which drove me
mad. I was horrified I would be spending the better part of my Saturday alone with him, no
matter the reason.  I hid my reservations, warmly saying I'd be glad to meet him.  We set a time
and ended our evening.   After he left with Polly, George and I went to bed. 

"Karen, he's the answer to our prayers.  Don't hold anything back.  Give Eric whatever he
wants," George said intently.

I slipped out of my bed and walked to his. I knelt beside it and took his hands in mine. 

"I love you, George," I whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied. "Why are you crying?  You've sure been teary this evening."

"It's been an emotional evening, what with Polly getting married and help in the business," I lied.

"Can you believe it, Karen? Eric may help us.  He's the first person in two years to give us hope. 
Real hope.  We've got to make it work! There's something about him that makes me trust him.  I
know this will work, unless we blow it.  We can't do that."

"What if he wants more than you're willing to give?"

"He can't," George said with a snicker. "I'd give anything. Damn it, Karen.  This may be our last
chance."  George patted my hand.  "But I'm exhausted now.  I'll sleep the sleep of the dead
tonight."

"I hope I do," I replied. 

"Get some sleep.  You need to be sharp for him tomorrow.  He'll probably run you through the
wringer."

"I'm sure he will," I said and kissed him on the cheek. 

Sleep was long in coming.  I was dreading tomorrow.  When sleep finally came, I had an erotic
dream, a dream stronger than I had in years.  The dream was of Eric Winston . . .  and me. 
Agitated and fearful, I awoke in a sweat.  George's snoring and my labored breathing were the
only sounds in the room.  I prayed for strength and fell asleep again.

I was tired and confused in the morning.  I selected my least appealing outfit. I wore no makeup
and old, scuffed, flat-heeled boots. 

George greeted me in the kitchen with a kiss.  He was ready to walk out the door to go to the golf
course. 

"Karen, you look frumpy.  Put on something nicer.  Something with some oomph. We want Eric
to think the best of us," he said.  

I cried when I redressed. My husband had ordered me to make myself prettier for a man who
wanted me.  My emotions were overloaded just thinking about Eric Winston.  As I looked at
myself in my full length mirror, I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.  No, you don't, the
voice in my head said.  You're looking forward to it.  No, I wasn't. I wasn't. 

As I drove to the plant to meet him, I reviewed my situation.  It was surreal. I was eight years
older, his mother-in-law to be, and married to someone else.  He was considering assisting my
husband and me in our business.  For him to give me such sexual signals didn't make sense, not
in my experience, at least.  

The drive to the office was slow.  I talked to myself the whole way, telling me this was wrong.
The last block of the drive I saw Eric in a blue Mercedes in my rear view mirror.  He followed
me into the driveway, parking beside me. Apprehensively, I watched him walk toward me.  He
was dressed in a button down, Oxford cloth, blue shirt, blue jeans, and white sneakers.  He
looked long and lanky and strong, like a modern day westerner.  

"Mr. Winston," I said coolly. 

"Mrs. Phillips," he replied, a twinkle in his eye.  "Shall we begin?"

Eric and I worked hard. Like a huge vacuum, he sucked up information I struggled to feed him at
the pace he demanded.  His clarity and precision of thought, his quick mind, had me in awe. 
However, I lived those six hours in fear of what would happen later.  I was constantly aware of
his maleness and dominant air, even as we discussed such mundane and non-sexual things as
lease financing.  I felt the sexual tension the entire time. 

It wasn't my imagination.   He touched me every chance he got. First, it was finger tips on my
hand when I passed a file to him. I didn't respond, telling myself I didn't want to offend him. 
The touches became bolder. When he looked at me, he had a devilish twinkle in his eyes.   I
knew what he was thinking. He was thinking about taking me.  He wanted me to think about it,
too. I could think of nothing else.  

His toying with me was discreet except for one overt comment made after we'd been there about
four hours.  I'd finished telling him the relationship with our largest customer.  

"Do you have any questions?" I asked.

"Tell me, is your pussy wet from wanting to fuck me?"

The room reeled as I started to faint.  He grabbed me, his strong arms around me, his body hot
against mine as he guided me to a chair and eased me into it. His hands slipped down my body,
leaving a trail of fire.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"What?  What did you say?"

"I said, 'Tell me your percentage net on the Fulton contract'.  What did you think I said?"

Was I going crazy?  He hadn't said that!  Had he?  Had he asked a question so innocuous?  No. 
No.  He was playing with me.  He must be. He must.  I couldn't read his expression. Had he said
it?  

"Oh.  I thought you said something else."

His hands were on my knees.  The pressure was gentle but increasing.  He was trying to pull my
knees apart! No.  Was he trying to hold them together? Oh, god, what was happening? I started to
cry again, burying my head in my hands as I sobbed.  He disappeared and returned with a Coke.
He took my hand and wrapped it around the cold can.  I shivered from the coldness.  Or was it
from his touch?

"It's going to be all right, Karen," he said softly. His hand stroked my hair.

Stop! Stop! Don't touch me! I wanted to scream.  I'm a wife, not a slut.  I'm a mother.  My
daughter is your fiancee. This is wrong. It's wrong for me to want you so much.  

I fought for composure.  Eric waited patiently.  When I was ready, we started the business review
again.  He continued his game of cat and mouse, leaving the mouse exhausted and her feelings
raw and exposed.  

After six hours, he said we were through with the business review and excused himself.  I
collapsed in the chair at my desk as I tried to sort through my confused mind the reason behind
Eric's treatment of me and my acceptance of it. Acceptance? No. Desire.  Why was I silent when
he touched me? That's the reason his touches became bolder.  The last time his hand slid down
my back to stroke my bottom before pulling away. 

When I looked up, he was sitting in the straight chair across from me.  One leg was bent, his foot
on the edge of my desk; the other was splayed straight, foot on the desk.  He was displaying his
crotch to me.

The bastard was teasing me!  I felt the blush rise.  My face was beet red.  My hands trembled.  I
took several deep breaths, trying to control myself. I could feel his eyes burning into me, see him
rocking gently back and forth as he leaned back in the chair.  Finally, I looked him in the eye.

"What do you want?" I asked.  My voice was tense, forced.  

"I know what I want," he replied quietly. "I know what you want. We both want the same thing. 
The question is how do we start."

No. Not now.  I'm not ready to resist.  I'm too weak right now. Please god, give me strength.

"What do you think of the business?" I asked.

"Don't change the subject," he said.  There was a twinkle in his eyes. 

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe he means something else. 

"What do you think I want?" 

Why did I say that? Why?    

"You want to be hot and sweaty and naked, writhing in desire on my bed, begging me to fuck
you."

"You disgust me, you perverted bastard!" I spit out at him without thinking. 

I was in a rage! Every muscle and sinew tightened.   I shook in anger at this overbearing male. 
My fists were clenched, my jaw set.  In my mind, my own mother stood over me.  Was that what
my resistance was about?  My mother's mores?  My mother's prejudices?

"I'll tell my daughter!  And my husband!  How dare you treat me like this!"

He laughed.  The sonofabitch laughed at me.

"I'm glad you're resisting, Karen.  I love playing the taking game with a woman, particularly a
woman who desperately wants to be taken."

"Touch me and I'll charge you with rape!"

He didn't respond as I glared at him.  His expression was inscrutable.  His eyes held mine.  The
emotion drained from me.  Anger ebbed; frustration and helplessness flowed.  I looked away as I
started crying again.  I couldn't stifle my sobs.  He waited, letting me stew in my own juices.  I
was unable to get away.  A prisoner in my own office, I sat awaiting his next comment. It seemed
hours before he spoke. 

"Karen, look at me."  

He spoke so quietly I had to struggle to hear, but there was no doubt it was a command.  Once
again, I looked at him.  Those eyes.  They held me as if he held me in his arms. 

"Karen, if I'm wrong, get up and walk out. Walk out the door and leave. I won't stop you."

Stand up, my mind screamed.  Stand up and run from him.  Run.  Get away. Hide. Don't look in
his eyes.  Fight for control of your emotions, Karen, Polly's mother in me said. Oh, please god,
help me. The tension's killing me.

"Eric, I can't leave."

"Yes, you can.  Go ahead."   

"I can't.  Our company needs you."

"I'll assist the company no matter what happens between us.  This is between us, you know.  I
want you and you want me.  You're afraid to admit it, that's all."

"I can't trust you to help us if I don't give myself  to you," I gasped out. Of course you can trust
him, you stupid woman, the voice said. You've told him how to take you.  Isn't that what you
want?  Eric Winston to take you?  Yes! No, no! I don't know.  

He looked puzzled. Then a big grin crossed his face and a devilish gleam appeared in his eyes.

"Ah. I understand. I'll build a box around you so you'll have no choice."

No choice?  I already had no choice.  I wanted him so much I was dying inside.  Couldn't he see
that?  A storm rose on his face, but the sunlight glimmered through the clouds in his eyes.

"Don't fight me.  I'll leave you and George homeless and penniless unless you do exactly as I
want. Karen, I want you on your knees.  I want your obedience. I want your surrender."

"George would rather lose everything then have me give myself to you," I said weakly. George's
words rang in my ears. 'Give Eric whatever he wants,' he'd said.  Did George know that meant
me?  Was he trading me for his financial future? No.  He couldn't mean that. Could he see I
wanted Eric? Was he giving me permission to have an affair? Why had he told me to dress in
something nicer?  Did he know?  

I wanted five minutes.  That's all.  Just five minutes alone someplace quiet where I could think. I
couldn't think. The world was spinning in wild, erotic gyrations.  I wanted it to stop so I could
think.  

"Undress, Karen.  Let me see your body."

I shook my head no. Quickly he stood, towering over me like an implacable giant. My tears
started anew.  I staggered to my feet and stumbled to the plate glass window overlooking the
plant floor.  It was a magnificent overview, letting me see the product of so many years of hard
work. George and I would have nothing to show for those years if we lost it.   

I sagged against the air-conditioning unit that extended from the wall at desk height.  I sensed
him behind me. I started to turn.  He drove his body against mine.  The timing and force of his
assault drove my legs apart, his knees inside my thighs. His height and strength trapped me with
only my toes touching the floor.  He crossed my wrists in front of me.  The long, powerful fingers
of his left hand wrapped around my wrists and forced them downward. 

"No! Goddamn you! No!" I screamed.

"Sshh.  It's okay, Karen.  It's all right for you to surrender to me," he whispered soothingly.  

I slammed my head back, hoping to hit him in the face. He trapped my head with his right hand
and held it there. Trapped, unable to get leverage with my legs, his strong arms wrapped around
me, I screamed and cursed, fought and struggled, using every ounce of energy and power in me.
When my struggles slowed, he relaxed his grip, giving me false hope of escape.  I struggled
harder which exhausted me more quickly. 

Like an insect in a spider web, I futilely struggled against an unavoidable fate.  Like the insect, I
was ultimately exhausted. I collapsed against him, lying still and helpless in his arms.

Somewhere in my bifurcated mind, the woman who was me watched us from above. She saw me
in his arms. She felt his strength and my struggles and futility.  She felt his cock hardening
against my bottom as I rubbed against him.  She felt our muscles war.  She smelled our sweat,
mine made pungent by my fear.  She heard our sounds, the gasps and grunting, the words spewed
mindlessly by me. She felt the heat. 

The woman knew the outcome before it occurred.  She relished the delicious male/female battle
she observed. She tingled in anticipation of the female's surrender to the male who entrapped
her.    

His erection laying against the crack of my bottom and his arms around me dominated my
thoughts. My bottom moved against the bulge in his trousers. Stop rubbing against him like some
wanton hussy, the voice said.  I can't, I cried. 

I didn't feel him unbutton the two lower buttons of my blouse. I first felt his fingers on the wet,
hot skin of my belly.  His fingers moved over my rib cage.  I groaned as they unsnapped my front
attaching bra.  Gently, those fingers wrapped around my breast, squeezing, testing, evaluating,
and, yes, tantalizing.  Thumb and forefinger closed on my nipple and rolled it back and forth.
Desire raced through me.

"Please.  For God's sake," I whimpered.

"You've lovely breasts, Karen.  I'm going to enjoy them," he whispered in my ear. "I'm going to
enjoy all of you.  You're a very sexual woman.  Why you've repressed it, I'll never know.  But
you'll repress it no more.  You're my woman now and I expect unbridled sexuality from my
women."

His woman? How could that be?  

His voice was soothing and reassuring.  It was warm, the kind of warmth a man's voice has when
he has bedded a woman who has pleased him, or when he is pleased with the woman he'll soon
bed.  I didn't misconstrue warmth as weakness.  He intended for me to fully comply with his
demands.  

"You have a lovely neck, too," he murmured as he nuzzled the side of my neck under my hair. 

His lips, his tongue nibbled and caressed my neck. Electricity flickered through me. Chills went
down my spine.  He pulled my head back and kissed me, nibbling at my lips, tongue caressing
mine, his breath hot and sweet in my nose. He kissed me again.   

Strange, isn't it? Cursing and weeping, I'd struggled until exhaustion. Now I lay passively in his
arms as he kissed me and fondled my breasts. I felt secure and warm. I was weightless, his body
still supporting mine as my toes brushed the ground. His hardness throbbed against me. Heat was
rising again and sweat oozed from me. Heat from a different source; heat of a different kind. 

My resistance ceased.  Limply my hands lay before me.  Eagerly his hands sought the button and
zipper at my waist.  Resistance flared.  I grunted and pushed against him. He jerked me hard
against him, knocking the wind from me. His teeth dug into the muscles of my neck, like a
stallion holding a mare in place as he mounts her. Something happened: maybe release of
hormones from primordial urges.  A warm tingling sensation overcame me.  I resisted no more. 

He slipped my blouse and bra off, lay me back on the soft carpet and finished removing my
clothes. I watched as he dropped his trousers and boxers. When I saw his cock, I gasped. It was
so red and hard.  I wanted it so much.  He knelt between my legs. My wrists were crossed and
pinned over my head. My legs were doubled and trapped under his arms.  His cock nestled
between my lower lips. Our eyes were open.  His face was a picture of male pride and conquest. I
felt every millimeter of his skin as he slowly entered me.  I juiced to ease his way.  I spasmed
around him, expanding for him. He stopped, only partially in me.  

I lifted my hips to hurry him.  "Please don't stop." I whimpered.  

A victor's smile on his face, he slammed against me, driving me into the floor.  His cockhead hit
my cervix.  

"Oh, God.  I'm cumming," I murmured.

Large, hard, demanding, his cock plundered me again and again, drawing from me orgasms I
didn't believe possible. I, who'd never experienced more than one orgasm, felt the power of
multiple ones crashing over me. Sweat covered us. Heat radiated.   I whimpered and mewed
under him, rewarding his taking of me with my pleasure at having been taken.

"Look at me!" he demanded. Buried in me to the hilt, he stopped.  His face contorted.  He began
to shake as he pumped his seed into me.  Ecstacy covered his face as he emptied himself. He
released his hold on my legs and slumped on me.  

I should've pushed him away.  Instead, I put my arms around him and held his hard body tightly
against mine. His cock softened in me as our bodies cooled. My hands stroked his back.  My lips
nuzzled his neck. He raised up to look in my eyes.  I saw a gentleness in him.  I saw pride: pride
of bringing a woman to sexual nirvana; pride of ownership.  What did he see in me?  Happiness?
Satisfaction? Joy? They were there.   

"Now Karen, we'll always end the same way.  Use your mouth to clean me," he said after he
rolled to lay beside me. 

I had no urge to resist or disobey.  I took him in my mouth, tasting our juices coating him.  He
stroked my sweat soaked hair as I eagerly complied. His hand was gentle, his touch reassuring.  

"Well done," he said softly.

I stopped to gaze into his eyes.

"Take your hand and gather my cum from your pussy.  Lick your fingers clean.  No, Karen. 
Always look at me when you do it so I can share your joy at tasting me."

My eyes were locked to his as my fingers sought the nectar he left.  The tingling urge to again
open myself for him crept over me. As I licked my fingers, I saw his cock jump and swell.  He
wanted me again. Me! I was thrilled and eager for him.   
 
"I'm sorry to end this," he whispered in my ear, "but we need to go to dinner.  Polly's cooking.
We're all eating together."

I cringed at the mention of my daughters and husband.  Shame filled me.  A cold, sick dampness
crept across my skin. Even my tears seemed cold on my face.  With my back to him, I sought my
clothes and quickly redressed. When I turned to face him, he had a soft smile.

"Why are you doing this to me, Eric?" I asked timidly.

"Does it matter?  It's happening."

"Please tell me.  I need to know."

"You shouldn't feel guilty about this, Karen.  You resisted, but I was too strong.  I took you.  All
you need to know is that you're mine now.  Mine.  And I'll do with you as I wish."

Guilty?  My guilt was an albatross around my neck. It devastated me. I was crushed by the weight
of it . . .  but, oh god, why did I feel this way? Why did I feel warm and happy?  Why did I enjoy
him so much?  He extended his hand to me.  He helped me to my feet and pulled me against him.

"You're a good lover, Karen," he said softly.  "You'll be better when you surrender. You'll be a
sexual animal. My animal."  He kissed me.  "I'll see you at my house."

He kissed me again and left me in the quiet of my own office. 

I thought of nothing else but his taking of me as I drove home to bathe and change.  As I drove to
his home, I lectured myself. You need to end this affair, I said.  You must stop it for Polly's sake,
and for George's.  I was George's wife.  I was Polly's mother.  I couldn't be Eric's woman, too. 
Could I? Could I answer the sexual call my body gave me each moment I was with him?  

By the time I parked my car in front of his house, I was eaten by turmoil and indecision.  

I fought back tears as I rang the bell.  Polly answered and greeted me warmly.  Dinner was
delicious.  My daughters were scintillating.  My husband was buoyant from a day's victory at the
golf course and the promise of relief in the business.  Eric was the perfect host and son-in-law to
be.  

No one noticed the change in me.  What did you expect? the voice said.  You're not wearing a
scarlet letter. But do they know? 

At first, I was very self-conscious.  Numbness infused me. With great effort, I successfully
compartmentalized the day, letting me enjoy part of the evening with my family.

George's golf tournament continued through Sunday.  Eric and I agreed to meet at the plant in the
morning to "continue what we started."  The others believed what we'd started was his review of
our company. Only he and I knew what those words really meant. 

He spoke but once of the relationship he insisted we have.  We were alone in the kitchen. He
cupped my mound through my dress. He squeezed, his finger finding my opening.  "Mine," he
whispered in my ear. Chills went through me. 

Standing there in his kitchen, I bolstered my resolve to fight him.  I decided to tell my family his
plans, to tell them right now.  I couldn't allow further assignations with him. But when I
reentered the living room, they were on the floor in an intimate and animated discussion. 

"Oh, Eric, will you really pay for my college?" Patty was saying.

"Of course, until your dad gets back on his feet again," Eric replied positively.  Patty threw her
arms around him and hugged him warmly, her happiness radiating from her face.

"And that'll be real soon, honey," George responded, getting his warm hug from Patty as he did.

I couldn't confront him in front of them.  I couldn't crush their hopes and joys even for my own
protection.  As I looked at Eric with them, he appeared to be happy and a part of the group.  

I wondered what in him was driving him to do what he was doing to me.  How could he be so
sexually tyrannical with me and pleasant with them?  Whatever it was, I must deal with it by
myself.  Deal with it? Relish it. Be honest with yourself, Karen. 

That night at home, George quickly succumbed to sleep. My sleep was intermittent.  Wild sexual
dreams repeatedly awakened me in a hot sweat and with a pounding heart. Once my hand was
between my legs when I awakened.  I cried myself back to sleep.  Each time, a troubled sleep
brought dreams again.

When the alarm aroused me, I stumbled into the bathroom dazed from lack of sleep and hurrying
not to be late. I don't remember dressing.  I was half way to the office before I realized what I
wore. Once again, I'd selected one of my all encompassing blouse and skirt combinations.  This
one was the most revealing I owned.  Its materials were silky and clingy and tight around me.
And I was braless.  I'd never gone braless in my life.  The weight and movement of my freed
breasts was a constant reminder of the conflict in me. 

Twice I pulled off the street to cry. I told myself it's only a lack of sleep. It's guilt.  Yesterday
won't happen again I said.  But I knew it would. He would have me again.  Only this time,
there'd be no going back.  This time I'd belong to Eric Winston.

I called George from my car phone.  He was pulling into the parking lot at the golf club.  He
didn't even notice I was crying as he told me to make sure Eric was impressed. Impressed?  Yes,
Eric was impressed.  By me. By my wanton surrender.  By my whimpering as he fucked me.  I
cried I could cry no more. 

I resolved to resist Eric. Why? Who knows?  The war in me was titanic.   I wouldn't let him take
me as he had only yesterday.  I must end what he had begun. 

When I arrived at the office, Eric was sitting in his car reading the Sunday newspaper. He hopped
out and gave me a big smile.  When he leaned over to kiss me, I turned away.  Both his arms
were full so he couldn't grab me and make me kiss him.  He lugged a suitcase and a sack of food
as he followed me to my office.  As I was making coffee for us, I heard the furnace roar to life. 
Soon, hot air was blowing into the room. I wondered why he'd turned up the heat.   

In my office, he'd moved a straight chair to the center of the floor.  In front of it was a blue
exercise mat big enough to lie down on. The mat extended to the edge of my desk. He was sitting
in my chair.  His blue eyes locked onto me.  

"Coffee's ready," I said, trying to make my voice light and happy.  I placed his coffee on the desk
in front of him and started to sit down.

"Don't sit, Karen," he said.  "Today's devoted to our pleasure. I expect total obedience from
you."

"No, Eric.  I'm ending it," I said as I sat in the chair in flagrant disobedience to his order. 

Don't listen to my words, Eric.  Please.  Listen to my body language.  Take me. How could I
think that? How could I not think it?  End my turmoil, Eric.  End it! 

"Don't try to resist, Karen.  I took you yesterday.  I'll take you again today and every day I
desire." 

"Eric, I'm to be your mother-in-law. I'm married to another man. This is wrong."

"No.  It's right. I won't allow you a way out. If you disobey me, you'll be punished."

He opened the suitcase and removed a flexible leather shaft about three feet long. Blood crashed
through my veins.  I feared his answer, but I asked.

"What is that?"

"A whip.  I'll whip you for your disobedience."

"You wouldn't?" I gasped.  

"Yes, I would. I'd do it without hesitation. Would you like a demonstration?"

My head shook "no."

Gracefully and quickly, he moved beside me, taking my hand.  He guided me to the mat and
instructed me to kneel on it facing the chair.  The sweat broke out between my breasts, a droplet
running down my belly.  For a moment, I considered resisting. His grip tightened on my arm.
Trembling and red faced, I knelt on the mat. My eyes teared and overflowed, silent wetness
running down my cheek.

"Spread your knees shoulder width," he ordered. 

What was I to do? He'd left me no choice. I couldn't risk the loss of everything for an act of
disobedience. Now he had added the fear of swift and painful punishment if I resisted but a
moment. Slowly, I opened my knees, making me acutely aware of my femaleness.  He's making
me ready for him, I thought. 

Eric handed my coffee to me and sat in the chair I faced.  He moved it forward until his knees,
which were spread wide, were on either side of my head.  Suddenly, my world was the small
v-shaped area bound by his legs.  Acutely aware his cock at the tip of the V would soon be in me
again, I unsuccessfully struggled to look away.  I sipped my coffee and waited.  Waited for him
to take me again.   

The office and the coffee were hot. My blood was churning.  Perspiration rolled down me in
torrents.  My blouse was soaked. It was plastered to my over hot and wet skin, making me more
visually tantalizing than if I wore nothing. My nipples were erect and easily seen. I didn't pull the
blouse from my skin to hide myself from him. My skirt stuck to my legs.  I adjusted it, smoothing
it over my thighs.  After I did, I realized my legs were more visible that way.  Why hadn't I
thought of that before?

I waited, the minutes numbing my senses, the tension playing with my mind. Finally, he lifted my
chin to look in his face. His countenance was hard, his sexual need open and obvious. He sat
back.  When I looked away, the stiff tip of his whip under my chin brought my eyes to him again. 

"We both know you wouldn't hurt your family.  I saw that in your face when you left the kitchen
last night.  Is that correct, Karen?"

"Yes."

"My taking of you is between us.  You and me.  We both know I'll win. We both know I'll have
you as mine."

"You can take me.  You can rape me and I won't report it.  But I'll never be yours."

I said it with all the strength in me. Was I convincing?  Was I believable as I knelt obediently
between his legs, my own legs spread in inviting supplication, my body hot with wanting?  

"You've already mine, Karen."

Was he right?  I thought as he sipped coffee and stared at me with those hypnotic blue eyes.  I
was on the edge. - the very edge - of that great canyon called surrender.  I was at the precipice:
herded there as a sheep herded by a sheep dog; trapped there by the box he built around me.  The
unwalled side was the precipice.  

I'd go off the edge.  I had no doubt about that. He would accept nothing less.  Would I make him
push me off that edge?  Or would I jump?    

All my senses were on full alert.  The color of his jeans was vivid and bright. Their tightness
around his muscular legs enthralled me.  The bulge at the V of his legs was never out of sight or
mind.  The weight of my breasts was full and heavy. I felt them move enticingly with each breath
I took.  My spread legs created an emptiness needing to be filled.  My cheeks were wet with my
tears.  I could feel each drop of the sweat slipping down my body.  I could smell us, both of us.  I
could smell my moisture excreted between my legs.  When, absentmindedly, I stroked my skirt
taut over my thighs, it seemed I could feel the pattern of the cloth. 

I waited.  The tension increased.

"I'm going to give you a mantra, Karen.  When I say 'mantra', you'll repeat it continuously until I
say 'stop'.  You'll live by this mantra.  It'll be the thought which governs you.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes, sir, is your proper response," he said.

"Yes, sir," I repeated.  If I had any will to resist, my voice didn't reveal it. 

"Good.  This is your mantra.  'I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

"I'm not yours. I'm not," I whimpered. 

The whip hissed through the air, slamming into the blue mat beside my leg. It sounded like a rifle
shot.  I screamed in panic, doubling over, holding myself in fear. Eric was a patient man, a
patient man with laughter in his eyes he struggled to hide.  He'll never use that whip on you, the
voice in my head said. I know, I answered, but isn't it erotic to think he might?  Eric waited until
I composed myself.  When I looked up at him, I saw the message in his expression: Surrender. 
You have no choice. 

"Shall we try again?  Say your mantra, Karen."

You know he'll win, why are you fighting? The voice inside my head said.  Yes, I know it. I want
him to take me. I want to surrender.  Why am I resisting?    
 
"Eric, please," I begged, my tear filled eyes on him.  

"Say it!" he demanded.    

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I said.  Each syllable caught in my throat like gravel.  I forced
myself to form the words and utter them, my voice constricted as if bound in steel. I wanted to
scream this is wrong.  Instead, I repeated my mantra. I knew I would live by it.  That thought
terrified and excited me.  

The tip of the whip moved into my sight. I froze, not breathing, as it traced the outline of my
nipple plainly visible through my blouse.  I jerked in reflex at the thought of that rod striking me
on such a tender spot.
 
"Keep saying it."   

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

I repeated my mantra again and again, but my eyes never left the whip resting against my nipple.
I'd said my mantra maybe twenty times, when the tip of the whip slowly pulled back a few inches
from my nipple.  It flicked against me.  The flick of the whip on my erect and tender nipple was a
match, creating a bright and white but short flame.  It lit a fuse which sizzled down my body to
ignite the firecracker nestled between my legs. My thighs and back tightened. My breasts were
pushed toward him as my back arched.   I shuddered. A groan escaped me.  Through my
unfocused eyes, I could see his knowing smile.

"Say it," he whispered gently as his eyes shone at me.

I said it, the words coming easier this time.  Again I said it, and again.  I repeated it until it was a
natural to say those words as calling my children's names.

Eric took my head in his two giant hands. His thumbs wiped the sweat from my forehead.  The
rhythm of my voice, my hypnotic chanting, never wavered as I said my mantra over and over.
With his thumbs, he closed my eyes. All was dark as I continued chanting.  I felt him stand, heard
the rustle of his undressing, felt his movement to kneel behind me.  

Slowly.  He did everything so excruciatingly slowly.  He moved my hair from my neck.  I felt his
lips at my nape.  Tingles shot through me. The top button of my blouse moved. The air, warmed
by the heater but so much cooler than my skin, chilled me where my blouse was opened. Again,
his lips on my spine.  Again, tingles. 

Coolness of the air. The heat of his lips, of his hands, as they released another button.  The
greatest heat was between my legs.  It was a swamp of wetness and heat.  I felt that moisture on
my thighs. 

Slowly.  Another button.  Another tantalizing touch of his hands, his lips.

I don't remember leaping off the precipice, but I knew I was in the air falling toward him.  I'd
surrendered. 

He made me wait, torturing me by the slow removal of my blouse as his lips and hands and the
very air itself teased and caressed my naked back. When he pushed the blouse over my shoulder
and it floated toward the floor, I ached for relief, ached to have his hands on my breasts, ached to
have him in me.  I felt each finger tip slide from back to front across my rib cage to close firmly
on my breasts, to feel their softness and tweak my diamond hard nipples.  I moaned. 

He whispered in my ear, "Stop and keep your eyes closed."

My heart pounded in my throat as he gently lifted me into the air.  I extended my legs and stood. 
His hands were on my skirt. The cool air rushed over me when the skirt fell away. He slipped my
panties down and pulled them off my feet.  I was naked before him. 

"Mantra," he whispered.

Smoothly, easily, without effort and with desire, I said, "I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

The words flowed from me.  They were true.  I was his.  I was burning with heat.  I desperately
wanted him to take me.  

How I longed to see his face, see his reaction to my nakedness, to the hot and willing body which
belonged to him. But, obediently, my eyes were closed.  He knelt behind me as I remained
standing.  His touch, his lips were hot on my skin, his hands insistent as they traversed the plains
between my legs, sliding on the lubricant my desire had excreted.  I was ready, so very ready, yet
he caressed me further.  A groan escaped my lips as his lips traced the tendon down the back of
my leg.   

"Oh, God, yes!" I moaned as his two long, strong fingers plumed my depths and a thumb found
my clitoris.  The strongest orgasm I could remember exploded in me.  I collapsed on him, softly
landing in his arms.  He rolled me on my back.    

He took me quickly, my legs bent and pushed against my breasts, pounding into me in a carnal
rhythm.  The power of my explosions was beyond my experience, even beyond my fantasies, as
he brought me pleasures undreamed of.  There on a Sunday in my office, on a blue mat slickened
by our sweat, he introduced me to the power of our sexuality.  I orgasmed until I was too weak to
raise my head.  

He hadn't cum when he pulled out of me.  His strong hands moved me as he wished.  His cock
touched my lips.  Without thinking, I took him there, tasting my own sweet juices on him. Like a
child on its mother's breast, I sucked him as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Something very cold fell on my cooling, but still hot, body.  Startled, I squirmed to get away.  His
hand was tangled in my hair.  His cock was in my mouth.  My head was anchored against him.  I
squealed against his cock as he ran an ice cube down my spine. He laughed when he released me.
I twisted away to look at him.  His eyes were tender, twinkling.  A broad smile covered his face.

"Back to the land of the living?" he asked with a sweet softness in his voice. I blushed and
smiled back at him. 

"Refreshments?"  

He offered me a glass of juice and a donut. I ate and drank as I knelt as his feet with my legs
spread. Deliberately, his eyes moved from mine to traverse down my body.  His eyes were like
fingers.  I could feel their touch on me, feel their caress.  My breasts tingled when they lingered
there.  I felt them tracing down my stomach. I twitched between my legs from the heat they
created. 

Refreshments finished, the guided me to the position he wanted. I knelt on all fours.  My legs
were spread wantonly, but not to his satisfaction.  He spread me wider. My breasts swung freely
under me. 

"Mantra," he said softly.

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman," I answered. 

His hand touched my leg.  I groaned.  After a lifetime of small, infrequent orgasms, I'd
experienced the greatest ones ever only minutes ago.  How could it be?  

I wanted more.  I wanted him to fuck me until our fucking comprised my entire reality. This is
wrong, the voice inside my head said.  Be quiet, I told it.

His hands traced my tendons. They slipped over my skin which was again slick with sweat.  I felt
his fingers at the back of my left knee as he gently stroked there. 

"Eric, please."  My voice caught. 

"Mantra," he replied.

"I'm Eric's hot, willing woman."

His fingers leisurely caressed my leg and slipped over my ass. One finger traced down the crack
until it rested on the opening. I felt it quiver as he tested it and withdrew.  My voice continued as
his hands kneaded my ass cheeks and tantalized my stomach and legs.  

"Stop," he said as his hands left my body.

"Karen, I want you to be more vocal. When we make love, you're a quiet as a little mouse. I want
to hear from you.  Share your joy, your passion. Talk.  Talk when I touch you, when I fuck you."

"Yes, Eric," I replied.

"Not only do I want to hear screams of passion from you, I want you to talk freely about your
feelings."

"Yes, Eric."

My voice was soft and sexy, making the saying of his name a caress of us both. He heard it as I
did.  He gently stroked my face. Like a kitten, I pushed my head against his hand.  

"Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked.

"Between my legs."

"That's your pussy.  Say it.  Say 'pussy'."

"Pussy."

"What do you want?"

"Stroke my pussy, Eric. Oh. Oh. Yes. Like that. No. Don't stop. Please."

"What are you?"

"I'm your hot, willing woman.  Please take me again."

My words reverberated in my head.  I'd said it voluntarily.  I said what I'd been denying. Tears
moistened my cheeks. The admission was a weight lifted from me.  A weight of sexual denial.  I
sobbed tears of joy.  Oh, god, it felt so good! Free of the weight of denial.  Free from self-
imposed restraints on my sexuality.  Free to be his. But you're not free.  You're George's wife,
the voice said. No, I'm Eric's hot, willing woman.  I'm his, I told the voice. 

Eric pulled me into his arms.  Crying, I curled up in his lap as he whispered sweet nothings in my
ear and comforted me.  He was tender and loving.  It felt good to be there, surrounded by him,
held against the strength of his body.  He kissed me.  Not a controlling, demanding kiss, it was
soft and gentle. His hands caressed me. 

I looked up into his eyes. 

"What are you? Tell me again."

"I'm yours, Eric.  I'm your hot, willing woman.  Please make love to me."

"Make love?"  

He was teasing me. Yes, I wanted him to make love to me, to possess me sweetly and tenderly.
Later.  Now I wanted him to fuck me, to overpower me, to pin me against the floor with his cock. 

"Fuck me," I whispered. "Fuck me long and hard.  Fuck your woman until she passes out."

I turned beet red and goose bumps popped out all over me. My own shyness and modesty had
always prevented me from using dirty words like fuck. Those words weren't dirty now. They
were good words, words which expressed how I felt about a man.     

Eric smiled as he said, "Get on all fours again, Karen." 

As I took the position he wanted, I began to shake in eager anticipation of what we were doing,
of his commanding me, of my own willing surrender. Wetness again oozed from between my
legs.  Sweat formed on my skin.  

"Talk to me," he said.  His voice was soft but firm.  Very firm. "Tell me where my hands are,
what they're doing to you, how you feel."

"Yes, Eric.  No. Don't stop."

"Stop what?"

"Eric, please."

"Talk to me."

"Stroke my breasts again."

"How?"

"Oh.  Like that. Your fingers sliding down.  Pulling my nipples. Squeezing them."

"You like that?"

"Yes. Please."

"And this?"

"Yes."

"Be still."

"I can't be still.  Your hand.  On my leg."

"What do you want?"

"Move it.  No.  Not like that.  Higher. More. Eric, why are you torturing me?"

"Is this torture?"

"Yes.  Oh god. Don't stop!"

"Stop what?  Tell me."

"My . . .  my pussy.  Stroke my pussy. And my breasts.  Pull my nipples. Oh, yes."

"You like that?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"And this?  Do you want me there?"

"Yes.  There too.  I want you everywhere."

"Do you like this, Karen?"

"Yes."

"Talk. Tell me what you like."

"I like you touching me, your hands caressing my body.  All of my body. I like you commanding
me, taking me, owning me. Please, Eric, don't ever stop."

"Stop what?"

"Pull them.  Pull my pussy hairs.  It sends shocks through me. Oh, god, Eric.  Fuck me! Eric,
enough foreplay! I need to be fucked!"

"When I'm ready," he said. 

In a flash, I spun.  Like a tigress, I sprang, knocking him on his back. He looked startled as I
straddled him. I grabbed his cock and held it where I wanted it.

"Now!  Like this!" I snapped as I slammed my hips downward, burying him in me. 

An orgasm started in my curling toes.  I threw back my head and laughed. I heard him grunt as I
was lifted up.  His cock came out of me, leaving my orgasm unfulfilled. 

"No!" I screamed as he slammed me on my back.  His strong hands held my crossed wrists over
my head, pinning me.  I squirmed trying to find his cock with my pussy.  I struggled to breathe,
gasping loudly. My skin was on fire.  I was crying again.  

"Goddamn you, Eric," I yelled in his face which was over me like an animal over its prey. "Fuck
me, you sonofabitch!  Fuck me hard! Fill me with your cum! Make me preg . . .  "

The word caught.   Pregnant.  

We were frozen in time: he over me; I pinned under him.  He looked shocked.  It'd never
occurred to him I wasn't using birth control.  

Why was I unprotected? Why had she tricked me? She - the woman who wanted to be possessed
by him. Why didn't I realize it? I hadn't thought of it before that instant. It dawned on me like a
light clicking on.  She wanted it.  She wanted this powerful, masculine creature to give her his
child.  She wanted her belly bloated from him.  Hers?  My belly.  Me. Not she. Me.

Stop! You can't have another man's child! the voice is my head screamed. The humiliation, the
shame. Stop!  Do it!  You want another child.  You want Eric's child.  What am I doing?  What?

I screamed "no, stop" and pushed with all my might to free myself.  I didn't break his hold on me
as he pinned me to the floor. I didn't budge him.  It wasn't my decision. Not now.  It was his.  
One word.  One thought.  Such power in one little thought.

Eric's intensity exploded. His face was red and wild.  His were animal's eyes, like a lion on the
scent. Roughly his hand spread the lips of my pussy.  His cock slammed into me. He rutted like a
wild beast, with small grunts - uh, uh, uh -  each time his pubis hit mine. 

He wants you to have his baby, the voice said.  Yes, I replied.  

I felt the warmness again, the same warmness I felt when he bit my neck.  My body opened to
him, my legs wide and relaxed, my arms flaccid above my head. Externally I felt a numbness. 
Internally, I felt my pussy relax on each powerful thrust to give him the deepest access to me, and
tighten on each withdrawal to keep him from leaving.

I felt like my womb was opening, like a flower in the sun - a flower who wanted to be pollinated. 

"Fuck. Me.  Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me," I chanted.

Eric growled as his face contorted.  His frantic pounding intensified. 

"Hard. er.  Hard. er.  Put. your. seed. in. me."  

Incoherent words spewed from me as his fingers dug into my shoulders.  He gasped and thrust
with a last mighty lunge, holding himself deep in me.  I felt his explosion. I heard his laugh.

The muscles of my pussy spasmed in a rolling, pulling motion.  My pussy held him in her and
milked his seed from him.  She pulled his seed toward the opening of her womb - toward her egg. 
There was no blinding orgasm, only a series of small ones: an orgasm each time my pussy milked
his cock. 

"So good.  So good," I mewed. 

He collapsed on me. Neither of us moved except the twitching of relaxing muscles.  He softened
there, his cock plugging me to prevent the escape of his precious liquid.  When he slipped from
me, I cleaned him as I'd been taught.  I took from me what he had left, tasting his nectar and
licking my fingers clean. 

We dressed in silence.  He had not spoken since he pulled out of me that last time. He was lost in
thoughts he didn't share.  He locked the office door and helped me to my car. 

"Eric?"

He looked at me for the first time since he was in me.

"All you all right?"

"Yes.  Are you?"

"Yes.  I'm very much all right."

"Are you fertile?" he asked.

"I'm ovulating now," I answered.

I said it proudly. I stood erect with my shoulders back and breasts thrust forward. My head was
held high.  Unabashedly, I looked him in the eyes. I was a female animal, confident of my
sexuality. I relished myself, my gender.  I was woman. I was the woman this powerful, virile man
wanted, took and made his.   

His eyes were questioning, probing.  Then, his expression changed.  He smiled and exuded
masculine power and confidence.  It was not evil or cruel.  It was loving, showing the pride of a
man with his woman.

"You're my woman now, Karen. You belong to me."

How can that be? the voice said.  He's engaged to Polly. You're married to George.

"Yes, Eric.  I do." 

"We're just beginning.  I'll expect much from you."

I moved against him, pressing my breasts into his chest, my arms around his waist, my face
raised toward his.  His leg was between mine. I rubbed my pussy against his thigh. 

"I'll take whatever you give.  I'll do whatever you ask," I said before I kissed him.

No one was home when I arrived.  I took a long, hot bath. My shoulders and hips were bruised
where he'd held me.  I could see the tips of his fingers blue in my flesh. My muscles ached from
exertion. My pussy was sore, a good soreness from the pleasure we'd shared.   My heart soared. 
My over wrought mind day dreamed of him. 

I'd surrendered. I was Eric's.  His woman.  His hot, willing woman.  Anyone could see that in
me.  See it in my face, my eyes, in the marks on my body he left when his passion took me. 

What they could not yet see was the greatest evidence of my surrender.  It was hidden deep in my
body.  It would grow there until it was hidden no more, until I blossomed as proof of my
belonging to him.  

Exhausted and satisfied, I crawled into bed.  

You've given yourself to him, the voice said.  Yes, I answered.  You'll feel horrible about what
you've done.  Maybe, but for now I'm floating on air.  You're pregnant with his child, she said. 
Yes. I am.   But what about tomorrow?  I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Hush now.  I want
to sleep. 

In a moment, I was in a deep and sweet slumber.



Please!  Give me your comments.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
