The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website), contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.






Subject: UnhlyDes (1/7) "An Unholy Desire" 

An Unholy Desire



Chapter 1

     The June sunshine fell warmly through the French window of the blue 
bedroom onto the half-naked torso of the naked full breasted young blonde.  
In her simultaneous yawning and stretching, she made her full, melon-
shaped breasts rise and fall as she breathed in the fresh morning air, her 
long blonde hair cascading sensuously over the satin pillow slip.
     Ann Dexter stretched her lithe body as she awoke, blinking slightly 
as the cool morning air, mingling with the soft sunshine, gently stirred 
her awake.  When she and Carl had gone to bed the night before, she had 
forgotten to draw the drapes.
     But it did not bother the voluptuous young woman to miss an hour or 
two of sleep.  She was feeling sunshine all over lately -- particularly up 
between her firmly curved thighs, and the fact that Carl had been more 
than occupied -- obsessed, perhaps a more apt description -- with his work 
had helped to keep her natural sexual interests rather keen.  And this 
spring warmth with its soothing, tantalizing fingers of yellow light was 
like dried kindling to her desires.  But she didn't mind.  In fact, the 
young woman rather enjoyed it, because then her orgasms -- when they did 
come -- were all the more lusty and overpowering.
     Ann shrugged and all of the sheet fell away from her lushly opulent 
contoured body, revealing, beside the ripe fullness of her lust inciting 
breasts, her nicely rounded belly, the tiniest of waists, flawless white 
skin, and just the hint of straw colored hair at the center of her loins.  
She had the usual kind of blonde coloring, only hers was a true blonde, 
with not so much as a hint of peroxide: bright blue eyes and pink cheeks, 
with high cheek bones accentuating a perfectly shaped nose and nostrils 
that had a tendency to flare with just the slightest provocation.
     As she stretched she fluffed out her wealth of thick, wavy blonde 
hair, which had only been cut twice in her life: once on her fifteenth 
birthday in sacrifice to her young lover who deserted her for her next 
door locker neighbor at high school, and the other time in retaliation to 
her fiancee who had called her a prude in a most untimely situation.  But 
her husband, Carl, was crazy about her hair and, like most men, that was 
the first thing he noticed about her.  But the men also paid rapt 
attention to her magnificently put together body as well.  Curves no man 
could resist, she had been told more than once.
     Ann smiled softly to herself as she thought about this in one flash 
of deja vu.  Taking both of her protuberant pink nipples between thumb and 
forefinger, she toyed with them until they stiffened in self-defense, 
imparting pleasant sensations into her swollen breasts and a matching 
tingle deep down in the center of her belly.  She was not an over-sexed 
whore, but only a normal woman who had come to enjoy sexuality of late.  
Consequently, every morning when she awoke she seemed to be more aroused 
and anxious for her husband's fond attentions than ever before.
     Not that Carl noticed.  Indeed, lately he didn't seem to notice much 
of anything.  And it showed.  He'd lost weight from skipping lunches, or 
just grabbing a bite for dinner.  He and his assistant, Dr. George Everett 
had just started an extensive research project under the auspices of the 
Medical Center where he and his colleague were studying the psychological 
causes of unnatural sexuality and the changing sociological patterns that 
resulted, always with an eye to the ideal zero population growth theory.  
To Ann, it sounded complicated as could be, with all those big words and 
demographical terms and gobbledygook that she didn't give a damn about 
hearing, although the sexual case histories were another matter entirely.
     Ann patted her breasts and then pushed her hands up in back of her 
lengthy hair, and let it fall again.  Her pretty head couldn't really get 
much interested in her professorial husband's affair.  All she knew was 
that Carl just didn't seem to care much about being in bed with her very 
much these days.
     "Ann, have you seen my tie clasp?" came a cross voice from the 
bathroom, and then her husband was standing in the doorway, fiddling with 
his tie, his shock of graying hair falling forward over his forehead.  He 
was clad only in his underwear and his shirt, and her eyes locked 
unavoidably on the spot where his genitals nestled between his legs, but 
as usual, there was no tell-tale bulge there to encourage her to expect 
more than a peck on the cheek for a good-bye.
     "No, I haven't dear," sighed Ann and tried to help him find it by 
looking around in the bedroom a little, but she couldn't find it amongst 
her feminine debris littering the dresser tops and the bathroom.  "Guess 
you're just going to have to settle for a bow tie, Carl."  Finally he 
changed his tie and Ann slipped a housecoat over her glowing body and went 
to the kitchen to start breakfast.
     As she broke eggs into the frying pan alongside the spitting bacon, 
Ann could not help but wonder if this was the life she chose or if this 
was simply her fate.  For a moment, she listened to her husband in his 
study just off the living room rattling his paper and throwing books into 
his already-over-stuffed briefcase.  Turning the bacon with a fork, 
wincing as it shot a flying speck of burning grease onto her hand, Ann 
felt the same surging, growing resentment well in her chest as it had for 
the past two years of marriage to the near middle-aged, professorial 
husband who had unwittingly ensnared her with security and his 
intellectualism, qualities she'd always treasured -- until she found out 
that in the end, it all balances out, and every tidbit of intellectualism 
seemed to rob the sensual character of her husband.
     Love him?  Yes, oddly enough, she knew that she still did in some 
ridiculous sort of way.  But what she had in mind, what had begun as a 
mere student-professor relationship until he'd asked her to marry him.  In 
the beginning, she had hope for their marriage, but the sexual 
frustrations had quickly extinguished those hopes, leaving some sort of 
sterile bond between them.
     Now, in the second year of their marriage, Ann Dexter asked herself 
more than once a day just why she'd married him in the first place.  Their 
affair had created such a stir in the private junior college that she'd 
been forced to leave, the Dean of Women having politely asked her to 
enroll elsewhere.  Something about intellectual men had always turned her 
on.  Maybe it was because of her journalist father, she wasn't sure, but 
whatever that magic ingredient was, she'd wasted no time finding it in the 
man who was to serve as her protector -- her security blanket to replace 
the loving father who was now dead.
     So, having left school, Ann had become Carl's part-time assistant, 
helping him in the lab by typing up reports, most of which were case 
histories, in preparation for the final report that the sponsors would 
most certainly demand to read after two years of financing.  It got her 
out of the house, if nothing else, and there were people to meet at the 
lab.  But God, all Carl did was work; there was none of the typical chase-
the-secretary-around-the-desk games that you see in magazine cartoons.  
Not Carl!  He was all research and study.
     Ironically, from the case histories she'd typed up in the past 
months, she'd learned that there was always a sexual problem between a 
middle-aged husband and a young wife.  And it was true!  She was about to 
lose her mind!  She was twenty-two and Carl twice that.  It wasn't the 
paunch he was showing traces of that bothered her, but his performance in 
bed.  He was destroying the most intimate of her possessions -- her 
sensuality!
     She turned the bacon now, listening to her husband's voice calling to 
her from the hallway.  "Ann, do you think you'd have time to come down 
this afternoon and type a couple more interviews with our experimental 
subject?  Our quarterly report is about due and I'd like to get a head 
start on it.  Good for the image you know," he said dryly, pulling up his 
chair in front of his plate of bacon and eggs with a piece of of toast, 
dripping with butter, lining the edges.  "I know this is rather sordid 
literature I'm making you type, dear, but it's certainly appreciated," he 
said, crunching into his toast.
     "Hey, come on, Carl," she teased.  "Just because I'm younger than you 
doesn't mean I don't know anything about sex.  In fact," she continued, 
standing over him and filling his coffee cup, "I find it rather 
interesting learning about these sociological theories of yours.  I'm sure 
that sex research is going to be the thing of the future -- maybe even 
more important than missiles and bombs even.  Sure would make the world a 
better place to live if we all made love instead of war," she quipped, 
hoping he would catch the double meaning in her statement and the 
desperation in her fired loins that ached for fulfillment.
     And part of that ache was the work she did for her husband!  Ann had 
always considered herself a normal, desirous female with basic tendencies, 
but her husband's case histories of married and divorced men turned gay, 
of woman turning to each other for physical love instead of their husbands 
and confessions of incest and sodomy.  God, it was better than pornography 
because it was all true and it had generated tingles of forbidden 
temptation inside her the likes of which she'd never even dreamed of!  
She'd even been tempted to experiment with some of the wanton tales that 
subjects -- people just like you and me -- had told the interviewer, such 
as which positions offered the greatest penetration, if they preferred a 
hard mattress to a water bed -- things she'd never considered in her 
husband's missionary style lovemaking.  For him, lovemaking was a fifteen 
minute affair.
     His maddening pattern of inability to satisfy her, in fact, had grown 
even worse before her increasing, passionate springtime need, until the 
typing of his reports had, like an aphrodisiac brought her to this very 
morning!
     "How about some ketchup for the eggs, Ann.  You know I like to have 
ketchup with my eggs ..." he muffled behind his napkin that dabbed at his 
mustache.
     A grating twinge immediately gnawed at the young wife's belly at her 
husband's demand.  Okay, lover man, she mocked under her breath.  He'd 
been that the night before, all right.  As usual, he'd driven her almost 
to the peak of the mountain, then left her there to get over the top by 
herself, or slide back down, whichever she preferred.  He'd been too tired 
to know how she'd managed it, but she had and by stealing a few minutes in 
the bathroom while he's snored like a disgusting, satiated ox in the bed, 
she'd brought herself to fulfillment with her fingers.  It was then she'd 
decided something had to be done ... and it was that something that had 
brought a smile to her lips this morning.
     "Ann?" she heard him, this time turning to her just in time to 
retrieve the bottle of ketchup offered him.
     "Here it is, Carl," she returned, carefully keeping the irritation 
from her tone, and it wasn't too difficult.  With the morning sunshine, 
she realized that she had again slept away the frustrated hurt and anger.  
That, along with the sensuous intentions she'd set her pruriently fevered 
mind to in luring her husband's assistant into an affair, left her no room 
for resentment.
     Still, Ann couldn't help but remember with a series of tingling 
sensations just how close Carl had come to satisfying her last night.  
She'd made him her special dinner -- beef stroganoff with noodles and 
spinach salad which they ate to candlelight and soft music.  The mood was 
set, but Carl's wasn't, his only concern being the stack of tapes on his 
desk in the study that needed sequential numbering.  She'd ignored his 
mutterings, as she skipped around in her see-through nightie to fill his 
wine glass before curling up beside him on the sofa and letting him 
lustfully run his big hands over her nearly naked, erogenous curves -- he 
should have ended up a sex crazed maniac after all that foreplay!
     He'd been a panting, rutting animal, and even staggered when they'd 
made it to the bedroom for the final course.  Smoldering, she whipped her 
nightie over her head, bouncing nakedly onto the bed into a lewd, thigh-
spread position like a child playing statue, except that she'd been a very 
hot young wife with no intentions of taking an immobile part in the game!  
"Oh, my dear Annnnn," he'd purred, thick tongued in a hoarse voice, 
pulling at his clothes while she laid there watching him.
     Sure, he was getting soft with age and noticeably paunchy with an 
overhang of spare-tire around the middle, but the long, thick hardness of 
his lust swollen cock standing out from his strong, loins immediately 
dwarfed all else.  Trembling sensations of shameless desire had shivered 
over her exciting nakedness, her craving eyes riveted on his large, sperm 
bloated testicles heavily swaying between his legs.  God, how desperately 
she had hoped ...!
     Suddenly, he'd been on top of her, kissing her with wine dizzying 
passion, nibbling at the hardened pink nipples of her swollen breasts, 
running his big, searing hands over her wetly throbbing pussy, while his 
cock throbbed against the sensitive flesh of her thigh.  He'd muttered and 
panted to her sensual writhings beneath him, choking out obscene, 
stimulating words and phrases of love that had fervidly goaded her to a 
point of whorish lust.  God, she'd suck him if he'd let her!  But no ... 
no, not first!  He had to ... had to make her cum at least once before 
anything else, and she wanted to do nothing that might destroy that 
possibility!
     He drunkenly crawled between her trembling thighs which she'd 
anxiously spread wide for him.  "I'm going to fuck you right out of your 
mind, my dear, Ann!" he'd lewdly promised, using the right four-letter 
words to spur her on.  Their graphic sounds fired her with wild chills of 
intensive passion.
     Was this really her husband saying, "Put it in, baby!  Stuff it in 
your hot little cunt!"
     She'd been that certain of the 'at last' moment when she'd reached 
down and grasped the heated length of his solid, thick cock to splay open 
the moistened lips of her hungrily throbbing cunt, placing its fleshy head 
at the mouth of her cunt.  Impatiently, she'd spread her legs even further 
as she raised her steaming loins up to him, confident that this time his 
fantastic hardness was going to do it for her, and not caring how hard he 
fucked that first time!  Getting it in was the main thing.
     He had!  His huge, hotly throbbing cock had raced into the liquid 
channel like a flash, filling the dilated core of her seething young body 
with an enchantment of fury.  Yes ... yes, this time it would happen for 
sure!  She'd fervently reasoned, straining beneath this powerful man, her 
husband, in sluttish abandon!
     His raging cock had wildly pounded in and out of the tight, pink 
opening up between her legs, while he grunted and spewed deliciously foul 
words and phrases down at her, each and every one inciting her all the 
more.
     "Oh ... oh, Carl ... lover!  It's wonderful!  Yesssss ...!  Fuck me 
out of my mind ... just like you promised!"
     "Yehhhhhh ... right out of my beloved's mind!" he gasped.  "Your 
lover man's really filling you this time, isn't he?"
     "Oooooohh yes, darling ... yessss!  A-and I'm going ... going to suck 
it for you ... make it cum right in my mouth!" she'd obscenely hissed up 
at him, realizing now that her lewd promise had been her first mistake 
because he had gone out of his mind in excited anticipation.
     She'd felt the tremble of muscular tension ripple over his big heavy 
body above her.  "Goddamn!" he blurted.  "And ... and you mean it, too, 
don't you, Ann?  S-suck me off ...!  Oh!  Get ready, Ann, Carl's coming 
in!"  And then a quarter of a second later, "Oh, damn, oh damn, oh damn!''
     And he had, his cock had raced into her frantically churning pussy 
and began to spew its life draining, masculine semen into her.  With 
bitter frustration, she'd dug her long red nails into his naked ribs, his 
arms, his shoulders!
     "Oh, no ... ooohhh, noooo, Carl.  Please!" she begged, even knowing 
it was useless as she thrust her wetly pulsating loins up at him to accept 
his warmth puddling into her belly ...!
     Until finally, there'd been nothing but the rolling of his passed out 
frame off of her, the wild burning hunger aflame in her loins and belly 
nearly driving her to tears!  She wasn't about to try and haul him up onto 
the pillow; in fact, he could have died right there and she would have 
celebrated!  The bastard!  The stupid old selfish bastard!  Oooohhhh ... 
and she'd been so ready and so hot!
     With a loud "hmmmppphhh" she sat up, taken Carl's hand to place his 
thick fingers the way she wanted them, and then wormed two of them up into 
her hotly seething cunt.  She locked her naked thighs to hold his fingers 
in place while she obscenely squirmed and writhed her naked loins onto 
their semi-limpness, at the same time fingering her tiny, sensitively 
erect clitoris.  In the interim of building climax, she'd lustfully 
fondled his long flaccid cock and played with his emptied balls, but all 
of it together as she remembered it now, had hardly been a night of love 
... anything but the erotic scene she'd so desperately hoped for!
     "You think you could be at the lab in about an hour or two?" her 
stodgy husband wanted to know as he pushed his chair away from the 
breakfast table, his napkin neatly folded at the place setting.  He was a 
most meticulous man.



Chapter 2

     The Medical Center was nestled in a grove of Eucalyptus trees on the 
west side of the hill, separating the hospital from the research center 
and classrooms that were scattered over the hills.  Everything on "Pill 
Hill," as the doctors, professors, and research students called it 
affectionately, was painted white and now, in the late morning sun, the 
hill had a magical feeling to it.  Buzzing with activity, students rushed 
to and from classes, eyes glued to the sidewalk in worry ... spring time 
was a time of completion -- graduation, diplomas and careers all pending.
     And so, too, Ann Baxter shared in this elation of growth, although to 
a minor degree in her involvement with her husband's research project.  
Not that she didn't have any plans of her own!  For if the young blonde's 
fantasies had any foundation, today would be the final test!
     The gears of the Dexter's second car -- a blue Volkswagen they bought 
two years ago when new cars were purely a thing of the future  -- ground 
and meshed as Ann maneuvered the car up the forty-five degree hill to the 
underground parking lot, slowing only to drop two quarters into the slot 
and waited for the mechanical machine to spit out a piece of paper as her 
receipt.
     With anxious, shaking hands, she smeared on a fresh layer of reddish-
brown lipstick and an extra smudge of black mascara to make her eyelashes 
look like spider legs.  Ann couldn't remember when she'd been more 
uptight, unless it was at her wedding when one of her old boyfriends who'd 
warned her that a marriage to a man twice her age would never work, 
slipped her a piece of paper with his phone number on it, and right in 
front of Ann's mother, too!  From that moment on, she'd looked on Carl 
with cooler, less ardently loving eyes.  It was an omen she'd ignored.
     From the underground parking lot, it was only a short walk to the 
elevator that zoomed her to the mezzanine level of the student union and 
from there, a half block to the Research Center building overlooking the 
sun-warmed city.  Spring is in the air, chirped the birds hidden in the 
low hanging branches of the shrubbery following the sidewalk in parallel 
lines.  Ann's heeled sandals slapped at the pavement as she half ran to 
the building, glancing down at her watch to see the hour hand glide past 
the seven.  Carl hated for her to be late, especially since they'd given 
her a more substantial chunk of their grant in return for more 
responsibility ...
     "Well, hello there," chimed George Everett the second Ann strolled 
through the door, looking as calm and unhasseled as possible considering 
her plan of attack.
     Her blood pressure quickened when with a handsome smile, the 
thirtyish, tall and broad shouldered doctor appeared, offering his hand in 
helping her out of her coat.  When was the last time Carl had shown such 
chivalry?  Little twinges of lurid excitement immediately stirred in the 
depths of her belly at the way he carried himself; but there was something 
else in her belly -- an apprehensive knot forming there too.  God ... she 
could never go through with it, even if Carl wasn't in the same office.  
Imagining having an affair is one thing, but going through with it is 
another entirely!  When it actually came down to the nitty gritty ... what 
would she do?
     She turned in time to see him hang her trench coat on a hanger that 
clattered on the back of the door.  Instantly, she wondered where Carl 
was.  Was her courage lessening?
     "I hear we have a report to get out soon.  Is that true?" she asked, 
falteringly, feeling the need to close the obvious gap in conversation 
that seemed unavoidable whenever Carl was in the office.
     "You heard right, Ann.  Lots of work to be done.  Hope you got a good 
night's sleep!" George suavely beamed.
     "More than I'd expected, yes," answered Ann, hoping the desperation 
in her voice wasn't as obvious to him as it was to her trembling body.
     Jesus, she thought self-recriminatingly, what am I trying to do?  
Just because he asked me out for a drink the other night, I've been having 
these fantasies of starting an affair with him.  He's married, I'm married 
... it's ridiculous, now just cut it out, Ann Dexter, before you get 
yourself in trouble!
     "For starters we have to finish those interviews -- they'll be very 
influential in getting us a grant next year to complete this damned study.  
Oh, and when that's proof-read and copy-tight, we have to take it to the 
photocopier.  Think you can get that all done by this afternoon?" he 
laughed at the ludicrousness of his own demands.
     "Whew!" whistled Ann, more relaxed now that the subject of 
conversation had turned to work, the only common denominator.  She wiggled 
into a comfortable position in her desk chair near the window, and began 
sorting through a stack of edited copies of interviews.  Out of the pile, 
only a few would be selected -- the ones most applicable to the study of 
course; the rest would be filed for further reference.
     She turned her head at a scraping sound to see George pull up a chair 
and with a flirtatious grin, announce, "Carl suggested you and I work 
together on these interviews.  He's back there drawing up comparison 
charts.  You think you can stand working with me all day?"
     Ann's nostrils flared.  Was it her imagination or was he really 
coming on to her?  Jesus, she wished she knew; it certainly would make her 
decision a bit easier.  Somehow it's always more innocent and exciting 
being chased than chasing.  It would also make it simpler to explain to 
Carl, if it ever came down to that.
     "I ... I think I could tolerate that," was Ann's nervous reply as she 
carefully folded the typewriter cover and drew open the bottom drawer of 
her gray metal desk that housed everything that could not fit on her 
crowded desk.
     "Are you sure?" George softly questioned, gazing up at her with deep, 
dark eyes, the trace of a smile flickering about his attractive mouth, as 
with super-sensitive hands, he opened a manila folder.
     "I'm sure we'll know before the day is out."  There, she'd said it, 
now she'd let him take it from there.  "Now don't take me personally," she 
quickly added, reluctant to discard her original bailing temptation.
     "First let's start with these two interviews, m'dam."  He crossed his 
knees and pulled his swivel chair closer to her so that she could almost 
taste the sweet smell of his fresh breath.
     The alluring young wife tossed her long blonde hair in a 
characteristic gesture, then swept it back over her shoulders.  The act, 
she was well aware, had made her bra-less, ripely full breasts nipple in 
provocative freedom.  She was hardly conscious of her husband, Carl, 
entering the room, and she could barely contain the smile she felt tugging 
at her wetly parted lips at her handsome colleague's visible uneasiness.  
It registered that he must have enjoyed many sensual panoramas at her 
feminine expense before.
     At the moment, while his perceptive hands were skillfully flipping 
through the file, Ann couldn't help but notice how soft and well-manicured 
his hands were.  My God, it looked as if he polished his nails.  God to 
have hands like that running all over her body!  She swallowed hard, 
blinked her eyes to shut out the tempting sight, but opened them only to 
be drawn to the short, black masculine hair lightly enshadowing their 
backs, a sensory shiver dancing up her spine.  She leaned forward then, 
supposedly to observe the case history number, coyly playing with the top 
button of her black knit dress, but not without a certain gracefulness.  
The nervousness had long since passed.
     "Mmmmm ... I think I can read your handwriting, Dr. Everett," she 
said for the benefit of her husband who had slipped into the coat room, 
which doubled as a supply room, for a cup of coffee.  She continued to 
pretend to study the editing marks in assorted colors, but from the corner 
of her eyes she saw the lusty gleam leap into his deep, dark ones as they 
flitted back and forth, overly lingering each time they focused down her 
generous cleavage.
     "How's it going, folks," asked Carl dryly, as he sipped at the 
instant coffee steaming in a Styrofoam cup that he always kept in his desk 
drawer.  Carl was the practical sort.
     "Just ... just fine, Carl.  We're going over the interviews now so 
that Mrs. Dexter can get at them.  No problems, I assure you."
     Mrs. Dexter? thought Ann.  Shades of guilt before the eye-hungry 
husband?  Something's astir and I don't think it's my imagination.
     "Everything is under control, Carl," finished Ann, hoping that would 
send her husband back to the catacombs where he belonged.  Over her 
shoulder, she could almost feel George's eyeballs snapping back, then he 
lowered his head as if studying the file folder's contents, his gentle 
fingers flipping through the pages, but Ann wasn't fooled.  While his 
broad brow hid the recesses of his eyes, she knew he was straining them 
damned near out of their sockets to feast on the alluring, hardened 
nipples beneath her black knit dress that molded her lithe body.
     "Should we glance through the second one now?"  He fumbled, dropped 
the folder, retrieved it.  Almost pathetically, he looked up then to catch 
her suggestive little smile of understanding.
     Angelically, Ann crossed her hands in her lap and, which her blue 
begging eyes asked, "Now what kind of paper do you want this typed on?  
All I have in my desk right now is canary.  That can't be used for 
Xeroxing, can it?"
     "I'm sorry, Dr. Everett, but I don't know where to find it ..." she 
turned her blonde head, looking in the direction of the multi-purpose room 
behind them that served as a store room and coffee room, the only nook of 
the four room office that offered any privacy.
     "I'd be more than happy to show you," George eagerly replied, rising 
to his feet and glancing out the window, almost as if he couldn't weather 
another dose of her voluptuously presented charms.
     Ann was delighted!  She'd reached him, all right!  In fact, she'd 
wager that the slight bulge in the front of his trousers he was 
uncomfortably trying to conceal wasn't perpetual.  Damn, she sure had 
reached him, and in good style!  "Yes, I think we should use the heavy 
bond ... takes wear better," he managed.
     "I'll help you find it," announced Ann, looking him straight in his 
perplexed, burning dark eyes.
     "Of course, come along ... it's back here!" he finally got out, his 
nearly tremoring voice cracking twice.  "It shouldn't take a minute."
--