The Penitent

Chapter Two - Wally-1

Chapter Two - Wally

That night, in bed, she told her husband what had happened. She left several things out, but it was clear that she had taken Wally a beer, accepted his invitation, and been subjected to some abuse at the Hawthorne bar. It was also clear that she had asked Wally to come to their home on Friday when Jeff would be in Philadelphia. When she finished, she waited for what seemed several minutes. Finally, Jeff stirred beside her. “Friday?” he asked. His voice was little more than a whisper.

“Yes, Friday.”

“Here?”

“Yes. If I can’t have him here, I’ll meet him somewhere.”

“You want him that much?”

“Yes. I don’t know why. It’s not just for s*x. It’s something else, something that goes back a long way. At least, that’s part of it, I think. I’ll know afterwards, and I’m sure this will be the first and last time. It’s...it’s something I have to do, Jeff, something I have to find out about myself, or more like something I have to resolve.”

“And what about me?”

“I don’t know.” There was a long silence. She didn’t expect him to rage and strike her, but it was possible. Even gentle Jeff must have a breaking point. They had been college sweethearts at a time when it was cool to sleep around, to experiment. But she and Jeff weren’t cool. They were the exceptions. Their relationship was old-fashioned and proper. On her wedding night she had been a virgin and so, she knew, had he. Since their marriage, she had never even kissed anyone until this afternoon. s*x between them had been satisfactory for a while, but as her s****l needs grew stronger, his diminished. She propped herself up on one elbow, “This past year...” she began.

“Yes, I understand,” he said. He closed his eyes. “If you can promise me you’ll be safe, then I guess it’s okay, if that’s what you need, if it’s what you really need.”

She had expected a scene: name calling, packed suitcases, maybe even talk of a divorce. Odd how sometimes the simplest things can become impossible and how the most complicated things can suddenly become simple.

“And you won’t interfere?” she asked.

“I’ll be in Philadelphia.”

“And when you come home?”

“As long as it never happens again, I expect and hope things will be the same.”

“No recriminations? No sending me on guilt trips?”

“No, I promise.”

She trusted him. He had never gone back on his word. She also loved him. Except for the s****l disappointment, her marriage had been all that she’d ever hoped for. Jeff was intelligent, handsome, caring, and gentle. They shared the same interests: books, the theater, tennis, golf, the country club. They were open with each other and happy. They laughed together, often and easily. Why, then, had she taken the beer to Wally? Why had she gone to the bar in Hawthorne and subjected herself to his drunken abuse? Why had she asked him to come to her? And what about Jeff? Why had he accepted so easily? Although the questions bothered her, she did not find it difficult to separate her feelings for Jeff from the compulsion that had driven her to Wally. She loved her husband. Of that, she was certain. But the hour she’d spent in Harry’s Bar was one of the most exciting she’d ever experienced.

It did not stop raining until late Friday afternoon. Wally’s grader sat where he had left it, a silent but imposing reminder. Just as well, she thought, I’d have gone crazy watching him.

At six o’clock she began to prepare herself. A long, hot bath, then a shower, her hair, the painting of her nails, her fingernails filed to sharp brilliantly red points, her body perfumed and rubbed with oil. She took meticulous care with her make-up: the lining and shadowing of her eyes, the careful outlining of her lips, accenting their fullness. Over the rich red lipstick she smoothed a transparent oil that made her mouth glisten. Her face and body were nicely bronzed. Yesterday, before he left for Philadelphia, she had asked Jeff to shave her p***y. She’d remembered Wally liked young girls. She wore no panties or jewelry.

She put on a white sheath skirt that buttoned up the front. The skirt restricted her movements but sharply outlined her legs and pulled tight against her buttocks. Her blouse was shear white nylon. Her breasts and pink n*****s were clearly visible through it. Unlike the blouse she had worn to Harry’s Bar, this one had no buttons. Thin spaghetti straps were tied in bows at her shoulders. A slight tug at each bow, and the blouse would fall away. Her spike heels were new. They enhanced her tiny ankles and the swelling curve of her calves, and the hard round firmness of her ass.

She had never prepared for any occasion with this much consideration. Every choice was calculated, every decision reviewed, every final touch refined. She wanted to make herself as beautiful and as desirable as it was possible for her to be. She wondered how she might dress to entertain fat Ezra Stein. The thought of those pig-eyes, the cold puffy hands, the sweating pig’s body made her tremble. Why...why had the old and ugly fat man disturbed her so? Stein, she concluded, would no doubt instruct her what to wear should he condescend to visit her.

At eight-thirty she was ready. She had chilled the wine and seen to the candles. She had also placed several bottles of beer in the ice bucket and arranged two pilsner glasses and napkins on a try. Finally, she had heated and perfumed a plastic bottle of baby oil. She placed it on the nightstand beside the bed.

At nine-fifteen, she began to pace. At nine-thirty she was looking for the phone number of Harry’s Bar when she heard a car in the driveway. “Oh, thank God,” she said aloud. Before Wally was halfway up the walk she had opened the door. He didn’t look any different than he had on Wednesday: blue sweat-stained shirt, jeans that hung loosely from his hips, the same dirty work shoes she had seen him piss on.

She stepped back from the door. He closed it behind him and stood looking at her. She could see he was impressed. She knew he’d never had a woman as beautiful. This tall, skinny, homely man had never had anyone remotely like her even in his dreams. “How’s your tit?’ he asked. She crossed to him and took his hands in hers. Looking up into his eyes, she raised his hands to her breasts. The n****e was still sore, but when he touched her the hot rush spread downward. He reached up to pull the bows on her blouse.

“Not yet,” she said. She unbuttoned his shirt. His thin chest was white and pimpled. With her tongue she circled his n*****s until they stiffened. His hands were on her ass pulling her into him. She could feel the length of his c**k pressing against her belly.

“Do you like that?” he asked, thrusting his prick against her.

“Yes,” she said, “yes, I like it.”

“And whatcha gonna do with it?”

She looked up at him, her red mouth glistening. “I’m going to...to...”

“Suck it, say you are gonna suck it.”

“I...I...I’m going to, going to...suck it, Wally.”

His bony chest was rising and falling rapidly. His hands moved to unbutton her skirt. She spun away from him and walked quickly to the ice bucket offering him a beer. He took it. His hand was shaking.

“Slowly, Wally, please...let’s make it last.” She held the glasses out to him. He filled them and sat down in the big leather chair to drink. She turned off the lamps so the room was bathed in soft candlelight. The CD player clicked and a jazz album fell into place; just flute, bass, and drums in a slow primitive rhythm. In front of the leather chair stood a sturdy glass topped coffee table. Kathy stepped up on the table and faced him. As she began to move to the beat of the music, she unbuttoned several of the bottom buttons of her skirt, enabling her to move more freely.

“Take it out,” she said. He fumbled at his fly. His monstrous p***s emerged like a red and purple snake. She had felt it earlier and knew it would be large, but its length surprised her. She unbuttoned her skirt to a point just below her shaved crotch. He began to stroke himself, his c**k continuing to swell and harden. “No,” she said, “no hands, Wally.”

She sat on the edge of the table, opening her legs as she place one foot on each of his knees. With both hands she spread the lips of her cunt. He drew in his breath sharply. She pointed her toes and thrust the gleaming butterfly toward him. “My shoes, Wally,” she said. He didn’t seem to hear or understand. “My shoes,” she repeated, “take them off.” Gently, he removed her shoes. “I think it’s time now,” she said. She stood before him and unfastened the four remaining buttons on her skirt. It fell to the floor. Then, with a hand on each shoulder, she pulled at the bows that held up her blouse. It dropped around her feet and she stepped over it.

Wally put a hand on his c**k. “Suck it,” he said.

She had never sucked a man’s c**k, not even her husband’s. But she had thought about it. She thought about it on that first morning when she took him a beer. He was waiting. “Yes,” she said. She got to her knees before him. She took his c**k in her small hands and leaned down to circle its rim with the tip of her tongue. Her lips were wet and red, and her mouth was hot with saliva. She closed her mouth over the head of his c**k, leaving a red mark around the glans. He eased himself back into the chair moaning with pleasure. She withdrew his c**k from her mouth and stood up. “Carry me,” she said.

He lifted her easily. She put her arms around his neck. He carried her down the hall and into the candle lit bedroom. He stood, for a moment, beside the bed holding her in his arms as if she were a child. She kissed him, sliding her tongue deep into his mouth. Then, she kissed his scar and ran the tip of her tongue down its ragged length. He placed her on the bed and looked down at her. “Take your clothes off, Wally,” she said. He removed his pants. His c**k swung back and forth awkwardly like a long red stick. She watched it, then slowly spread her legs.

“You want it?” he said.

“Yes...yes, I want it.” Wally tried to pin her down, but she slid out from under him. She handed him the heated oil. “Rub me,” she said. He poured the hot oil on her breasts. She winced slightly and shuddered. His hands spread the oil over her body, down her belly, and along the slit of her shaven p***y. “Not inside,” she said. Gently, he rubbed her legs and feet. She turned over and squirmed as he smoothed the oil on her ass. In the soft light, her splendid body glowed. Still on her stomach, she reached back and spread her ass cheeks. He rubbed oil into the pink and brown pucker of her anus. Then, tentatively, he began to push the tip of his long bony index finger into her. “No!” she said quickly turning away from him. “Not there.”

Slowly she rolled over to face him as he knelt above her. “Jesus, Kathy, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She waited a moment then staring directly into his eyes corrected him. “Mrs. Ryan,” she said. “It’s Mrs. Ryan, Wally.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Ryan. Say it, Wally. Say ‘Mrs. Ryan, you’re beautiful’.”

He understood but hesitated. She pulled his face close to hers. “Say it,” she repeated.

“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. She kissed him long and deep. He tried to push his c**k into her.

“No,” she turned away, “later.” She pushed him onto his back and turned around positioning her head at his crotch. She spread her legs so that Wally could see the glistening come ooze along her crack. He reached for her p***y. “No,” she said, “just look.” His balls were small but hard. She cupped them in her hands, then bent her head to lick them. With the tip of her tongue, she drew circles on his balls and with her pointed fingernails she gently raked the underside of his c**k. Then she sucked his balls, taking them one at a time into her mouth, careful not to hurt him. She had not yet placed her lips on his c**k.

She spread her own legs wider, jamming one of her small feet under his arm. He began to gasp, turning his head back and forth on the pillow. She dug the fingernails of one hand into the base of his c**k and scratched her toenails hard into his armpit. With her other hand, she squeezed his balls and pushed the sharp point of her nails into them. Wally cried out in pain but did not resist.

At several places her fingernails broke through the skin and drew little flecks of blood. His c**k grew harder and deepened in color until it was almost purple, the thick veins bulging and pulsating. She drew the skin back tighter at the base of his c**k increasing the pressure of her grip. Then, she began to run her tongue up the underside of his throbbing prick, lingering on the spot just beneath the swollen head, pausing, digging in her nails, hearing him whimper, feeling him pull back, squeezing his balls, and once more the exquisite laving of his c**k, now moving her lips as well as her tongue along its slimy length, feeling her lips swell and her mouth fill with hot spittle, feeling in his balls and along his c**k the beginning surge of an orgasm. Stopping then. Digging in her nails. The stabbing pain followed by the tender ministrations of her mouth.

“Let me come,” he cried hoarsely.

“Say ‘please’,” she said. She flicked the tip of his c**k with her tongue.

“Goddamn it!” he yelled, and began to reach for her head. She clawed his balls and jerked the base of his c**k back fiercely.

“Beg, Wally,” she whispered. She did not look up at him. She concentrated instead on his c**k, her lips lightly touching it as she spoke. “Beg,” she repeated.

“Please!” he cried, “please!”

“More, Wally,” she said.

“Suck me, please...Mrs. Ryan, suck me!”

She opened her mouth wide and closed it over the ugly head of his c**k. Putting both hands on its shaft she worked it up and down in rhythm with her head. He came immediately, not in short hot spurts but in a long flow of warm mucus. She held his c**k away from her, milking him with one tiny hand. He tossed his head from side to side. She turned again and smiled down at him, “For shame, Wally...for shame,” she said. In less than a minute Wally’s c**k went limp in her hand.

She got up and went into the living room. Wally lay on the bed and did not move. She brushed her hair and reapplied her makeup. In a way it had been awful, touching his loathsome c**k with her lips and tongue, then taking it into her mouth. Jeff had a beautiful c**k and she had never done this for him. She tentatively touched her p***y. It was very wet. She spread her legs and looked down at her shaven cunt. Her vaginal lips and c******s were red and swollen. She drew her finger over her c**t and shuddered. She hadn’t felt like this since those dark afternoons in her uncle’s basement.

Returning to the bedroom, she stood in front of Wally and slowly rubbed herself with oil once more. “My turn,” she said as she lifted her leg over his face and turned to face the foot of the bed. He tried to pull her p***y down into his mouth, but she moved forward straddling him, her head toward his c**k, her ass on his chest. His c**k had begun to stiffen again. She poured a few drops of oil over it, and taking it between her hands began to stroke it.

She raised her ass pushing it back toward his face but forcing him to lift his head to lick it. He wanted to tongue her p***y, but she kept it well forward offering only her anus to his mouth. “Kiss it,” she said. As he licked and probed with his tongue, she leaned back, finally, sitting on his face. She continued to stoke his c**k until it was a rigid as before.

Suddenly, she swung around and, in a stooping position, straddled his huge p***s. Very slowly she let herself down on it. She could not take all of it and raised herself up until only the knob rubbed against her slit. Then she lowered herself again. He put his hands on her hips to pull her down, to drive his c**k into her. Quickly, she reached back and dug her nails into his scrotum. He let go of her immediately.

She bent over to kiss him, brushing her n*****s against his chest. Then straightening up, she placed his callused hands on her small breasts. “Squeeze,” she said, “squeeze hard.” Her hips moved faster now, lifting up and down on his c**k. She was taking all of it. She leaned forward to feel its length rubbing against her c**t, feeling its length filling her v****a, feeling his hands roughly kneading her breasts and pinching her n*****s.

She looked down to watch his purple c**k slide in and out of her shaven cunt. It seemed to her like the dark prick of a huge dog, glistening with slime. She leaned down again, touching his lips with hers, teasing him with the tip of her tongue, letting her saliva drip into his open mouth. He put his hands on her ass and pulled, slamming her against his balls. She pushed down hard, spreading her legs wider, wanting even more. She sat back, her nails digging into his chest, “Harder! Harder!” she cried.

She came with him, thrashing, and squirming, and screaming. She crushed her breasts against him. She bit into his lip and tasted blood. Her hands were tangled in his hair holding his head back, her pelvis moving in quick, circular, grinding motions, her c**t pressed tight against his c**k. They lay for a while in each other’s arms.

“Damn!” he said, “nothing like that ever happened to me before.”

“Me either,” she laughed, “well, not quite like that.”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, turning to kiss her.

“That depends,” she answered, avoiding him, quickly getting out of the bed. “It’s late. You’d better get dressed.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

When she came out wearing a white nylon robe, he was in the living room completely dressed. She handed him a beer. “For the road,” she said, leading him to the door.

“But what about us?” he said. “What do you mean depends? Depends on what? Goddamn it, I want to see you again!”

She smiled and opened the door. “Yes, Wally, but this time there’s a condition.”

“What? Whatever it is, you got it.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about that day in Harry’s Bar. Your friends were interesting.”

“You mean you want a party? Me and some of the guys?”

“Wally, I can’t think of anything more disgusting than you and those other Neanderthals at Harry’s. No, not that at all. I’m interested in only one of your friends.”

“Cliff! I should have known. All you rich high society ball-breakers got the hots for a big black stud.” He shook his head. “Well, Cliff’s no problem. Hell, he paid ten bucks for your panties.”

She smiled. “No, Wally, it isn’t Cliff.” For a moment she felt a wave of fear, the sure knowledge that she was starting down a dark path toward something that she could not control and the conviction that unless she stopped now, things would never be the same again. She would never find her way back. But she also felt the hot rush begin to flow into her cunt again and the odd hollow sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Well, who?” Wally asked.

“Mr. Stein,” she said, “bring Ezra Stein to me, Wally.”

“You must be out of your f*****g mind! Stein’s fat, and ugly, and old.”

“Bring him,” she repeated.

“But he’s weird, too.” Wally protested. “I mean he could hurt you. He really don’t like women. He hates them. It’s a fact.”

“Wally, either bring Mr. Stein or don’t ever come back.”

“But what if he won’t come?

“Tell him how good it was with us. Tell him everything. Tell him it will be even better.”

“He ain’t gonna do it. I know the guy. He’s a mean son-of-a-b***h and I don’t think he’s normal.”

“Either bring him or...”

Wally held up his hands, “Okay, okay, I’ll try but don’t count on him coming out here to see you. But I’ll try. I’ll try.”

She remembered the contempt with which the pale fat man had looked at her, the cold wet touch of his pudgy fingers, the bright pig eyes set in the pig face, the clammy feel of his spit sliding between her breasts.

“Convince him to come, Wally. Remind him he has something that belongs to me.”

“When?”

“Next Saturday. If you bring him, Wally, the following Saturday will be yours.”

“I wish you’d change your mind.” She could tell Wally’s concern was real. “Stein just ain’t right, especially not right for you. He sometimes scares me.”

She knew if she so much as touched her c**t she would come immediately. Stein was no delicate priest, no sweet but boring husband, and Stein wouldn’t suddenly become a whimpering, pleading, ass-licking adolescent like Wally. No, he would never be even remotely like any of them. He would give her what she needed.

“Mr. Stein,” she said again.

“Okay, I’ll do my best. Maybe you could phone him at Harry’s on Wednesday afternoon. In the meantime, I’ll talk to him.”

“Yes, that’s good. I’ll call on Wednesday.”

“Well, so long. It was the best.”

“Goodbye, Wally.” She closed the door. She leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes. “Mr. Ezra Stein,” she said, touching herself.