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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: Sisters1.txt
Authors name: M. West
Story Title : TWO SISTERS
Chapter 1 of 8
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Sybil slapped four slices of bacon into the electric frying pan. She
could hear her husband Sid in the bathroom and knew that when he came out,
he'd be ill-tempered because the alarm clock hadn't gone off this morning
and he feared being late on this, his first morning tutoring the wealthy
Dunlap sisters. If she had her way she'd be lolling in bed right now,
instead of staring at raw meat and slimy eggs, but she'd made a vow long
ago that she'd never force her husband into making his own breakfast---
he way her mother had forced her to as a child. Not that he gives a damn,
she muttered, stepping back to escape a sizzling spit of bacon grease.
"For Chrissakes, isn't breakfast ready yet?" Sid poked his head in
the kitchen door, his fingers working at the buttons of his short-sleeved
blue shirt. His eyes were still puffy with sleep.
Sid sat down at the table, throwing the morning paper to the floor
and sliced a wedge of butter to scrape over the toast that Sybil had
dumped over his shoulder and onto his plate. The irritating noise was
torture to her as she was already beginning a sinus headache from the
heavy Los Angeles summer time smog inversion that had settled over the
valley, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at him.
Wordlessly, she served him breakfast and sat down opposite him with a
cup of black coffee. Sybil never ate breakfast; maybe because she'd
cooked so many over the seven years of marriage.
"You wouldn't have to rush if you had the girls come over here, you
know," Sybil put in, knowing her suggestion would be met with a barrage of
negatives. Still, she persisted. "Certainly if the Dunlaps have that
much money they could afford to send their kids over in a cab ..."
Sid tacitly cursed her with one of his 'don't tell me how to run my
business' looks and chomped on the crunchy toast, then dabbed the crust in
the yellow pool of egg yolk and raised it to his mouth. A tiny speck of
yellow egg dribbled from his black mustache, and Sybil had to look the
other way to keep from gagging.
He does that just to bug me, she thought, distracting herself by
thumbing through the society section of the paper. The sinus headache put
her in a rotten disposition, and when she felt rotten she spoke her mind.
"Really, Sid, I don't understand why you made such a big deal of converting
my sewing room into a classroom for you if you never use it ..."
"Knock it off!" Sid grunted, wiping his mouth clean with a paper
napkin. Sybil knew it was useless to push the point; you couldn't push
Sid into anything But it was time she started asking questions, she
decided.
When Sid had come home from the interview with the Dunlaps yesterday
he had, in answer to her questioning, admitted to being successful in
being hired, but that's where the conversation stopped.
Then, too, she'd noticed how strange he was acting when he came home
last night from his interview. He had a funny look in his eye, and she
couldn't help but notice that there was an obvious bulge in his trousers.
The way he kept staring at her, too as if he was debating or mulling
something over in his mind and was trying to find the answer in her eyes.
It made her uneasy ... she'd been afraid that he'd try and make her do
disgusting things that night in bed. But he had just rolled over on top
of her, without so much as an "I love you ..." and roughly spread her legs
apart. As usual after seven years of marriage, she tried to be responsive
and to show some sigh of arousal, but his coarse jabbing with his thick,
hardened penis only disgusted her. She'd just lain there with her eyes
closed, as he thrust into her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when,
with a few heaving grunts, he'd emptied his semen into her. She could
hardly wait for him to roll off her again, before she dashed into the bath
room to wash away the outward signs of their 'lovemaking.'
Sid broke into her painfully lingering thoughts with a curt good-bye
and it was with a feeling of relief that she heard the door slam behind
him.
* * *
Automatically, she began to clear away the breakfast dishes. A dull
plodding resentment governed her actions. Used and humiliated ... that's
how she felt ... a piece of property to be used and abused at Sid's whim.
Being a good wife had always be en her goal, and she kept the house
immaculately clean and cooked good meals, and she knew that for her
thirty-two years she had a good figure. She squeezed a sticky pool of
dish detergent into the dishpan and began to tidy up the other rooms.
But she felt no joy in her work, no reward ... not even relief. This big
beautiful house seemed like such a waste of space. And Sid was the one
who'd insisted on having a study where he could tutor children in the
summer inter-session to make few extra dollars to augment the meager
salary he earned at the 'Free School' where he taught pre-teens every-
thing from gymnastics to French. And Sid was so ungrateful for her
support and backing!
She couldn't help feeling that most of the fault of the trouble in
their marriage lay on Sid's head. She had taxed her patience, skimping
here and there on the household budget, remaking last year's fashions into
this year's mania, taking in alteration and sewing jobs to bring in a
few extra dollars. Nothing helped! Sid just didn't appreciate her
efforts at conservation.
Her headache still throbbed above her eyes, so the housewife decided
to treat herself to a long, hot bath and ease some of the tension in her
taut, stressed body.
As the bath was filling to the brim, Sybil slipped off her breakfast
robe and nightdress and scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror. On
the whole, she was pleased with what she saw. Her tummy was a trifle
rounded, but knew that it was not unattractive. "Titianesque ..."
as Sid called it. Apart from that small imperfection, she still had
the figure she had that day, over eight years ago, when she'd met Sid
at college and he had stared so rudely at her. Goodness! she was young
then ... so much had happened in those fifteen years. And not all for
the best, either! she sighed, stepping into the tub.
She lay back, covering her shoulders with the calming hot water. The
ends of her Raphelite strawberry-blonde curls floated for a moment and
then sank into the water to straighten into slender strands of silk. A
sigh of contentment broke from her chest as the warmth seeped into her
pores, internally massaging her aching muscles and tight, tension-taut
neck muscles.
As she lay there soaking, she reminisced on those lost fifteen years,
remembering how at seventeen she'd been cheerful, vivacious, full of hope,
self-promises ... a far cry from the lonely, depressed person she was
now. What had gone wrong? Again she asked herself the question that
tormented her daily. Had she make a mistake in marrying Sid?
She knew the difference in their attitude and life style was
overwhelming and now they didn't even have the same interests. Sybil,
raised in a wealthy family in Memphis, Tennessee ... daughter of a
debutante and banker, had been blessed with everything a young girl
could want: Money, clothes, parties, her own car ... Like the Dunlap
girls, mused Sybil raising a steaming wash cloth to dab at her cheeks.
And Sid ... idealistic Aquarian that he was, with no desire for
material wealth sometimes even eliminating comfort. Education, learning
... that's all he cared about. Oh, sometimes they went to movies
together, but most nights he read and she watched television.
Tears blinded her eyes as she thought of the endless litany of
unfulfilled nights ... their frustrating sexual encounters ... they were
almost strangers to each other. In fact, she'd witnessed him with some of
his students, and he showed more appreciation for their curiosities then
he did for her cooking ... more concern over their emotional whims than
he showed over his wife's feminine needs.
Was it her fault, as Sid so darkly intimated? She knew that coming
from a conventional, wealthy family she was a little inhibited. Strange
that the very quality her mother had labeled 'sophistication' should bring
a barrage of expletives from her husband! "Up tight, bitch!" he'd called
her one night when she couldn't do that disgusting thing in bed with him.
But if Sid was so patient with the students, couldn't he try and help his
wife, be patient with her and carry her out of the repression of a religion
dominated way of life? But no ...
Sid was too selfish, too caught up in his teaching and studies to
take time and find out what his wife needed. Tears flowed down her face
and all the misery of her unhappy existence unflowed from its pentup
hiding place.
A memory came flickering back ... a thought she tried to banish
forever from her mind. An image of herself in Sid's apartment, under the
surging poundings of her boy friend's penis! Wildly shaking her head, she
tried to blot out the memory of her own premarital surrender, but her lewd
words, screamed at the height of depraved passion, seemed to echo through-
out the room.
"Fuck me ... fuck me harder ...
She clasped her hands over her ears to shut out the lascivious
memory. Where had she learned those words? She never used them, before
that time or since, and felt a pang of distaste whenever she heard her
husband use them.
Sanity returned to her troubled mind, and she lay back again, the
tears drying on her cheeks. She felt cold and began to scoop up the soap
bubbles. Idly, she smoothed them over her breasts, delighting in the way
the frothy lather coated her creamy orbs. As she covered them with
bubbles, she noticed how the nipples, a deep blush pink, stretched and
awoke and the crinkled brown skin around them began to contract and
squirm. She continued to massage them, enjoying the relaxing sensation,
until the reddening buds jutted out boldly from the soap-covered mounds.
A shiver raced through her and she sank further back in the suds. She
began to soap herself, lifting one graceful leg and then the other,
lathering it right up to her thigh. A tingle erupted deep in the pit
of her stomach as her hand grazed the wet clinging curls of her pink
triangle. She rested her palm momentarily on the glistening mound and
a forbidden tingle shot through her. She felt her nipples stiffen again
and involuntarily, he r hand flew up the hungry orbs. The tingle in her
stomach had grown to a jabbing fire and horror crept over her as she
realized she was becoming sexually aroused.
But, almost of its own volition, her hand dropped lower and began to
search gently in the swelling folds of her pulsating vagina. Her ringer
brushed against the tiny erogenous knob of her clitoris and she gasped at
the electrical shock of the unexpected contact. A twinge of guilt prodded
at her conscience ... memories of the childhood warning instilled in her
that to touch oneself there was evil, dirty ... but the incredible hunger,
borne of years of frustration would brook no sidestepping, and she began
to trace the hot, throbbing lips of her vagina, swollen to fleshiness,
with her ringers. Her fingertips glided over the slippery flesh of her
inner folds, and slid toward the clasping, viscous opening. Her breathing
was ragged and a series of sensual visions tumbled about in her head and
she felt swept along in the increasing erotic frenzy that she was con-
juring up in her mind. She raised up her knees to afford her probing
fingers greater access to her burning vagina and she began to thrust
her finger into the moistness of her vaginal orifice. Her loins were hot,
and her head was spinning with the strength of her overwhelming need.
With a savage mewl, she sunk her finger into the inflamed opening. The
warm fleshy walls closed in ravenously over her finger and a gnawing
hunger told her that one finger wasn't enough.
Desperate now, she plunged two more of her fingers into the hot,
moist opening and began to frantically swirl them around in her cavernous
depths. Her other hand began to knead at her breasts and her nails dug
deeply into the doughy fleshiness, trying to rout out the overwhelming
fire that was raging in them. She was moaning incessantly now and her
hips were jerking and twisting in time to the incessant probing of her
fingers. The lewd rhythm of her undulance gained momentum until her
whole lust-crazed body was thrashing wildly in the water, whipping up
a new froth of bubbles and lashing the water out over the sides of the
tub. The back of her head was totally submerged, and only her face was
above water. Her hips rose up in paroxysm after paroxysm of delight and
every muscle in her body was tensed, waiting for the final release.
Then Sybil's lithe, young body was convulsed with a gigantic spasm
which seized her trembling loins and held them teetering dangerously over
the edge before sending her shattering into the water, her luscious hips,
flailing spasmodically like a fish on a hook as wave after wave of hot,
screaming tremors raced throughout her entire body, crashing against the
deep secret inner walls of her womb like the Pacific surf. For inter-
minable seconds she was unable to breathe and her heart seemed to stop in
the wake of her shattering climax, until finally she sank back, exhausted
and satiated.
When the momentary pleasure of orgasm had passed, a feeling of
mortification engulfed her. Fresh tears streamed down her face and rising
up from the tub, now a thing of horror to her, her legs, weak from the
daring surge of her passion, gave way an d she collapsed on the carpeted
bathroom floor, her body racked with guilty heartfelt sobs.
Then a sixth sense edged its way in as she lay face down on the blue
fuzzy bath mat. Something was terrible wrong, and intuitively she knew it
had something to do with Sid.
CONTINUED IN PART 2...
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