Stacy stood in her shower and let the scalding water spray over her subtle body.
She had to make sure there was no trace of that man, Rufus, on her in case her husband unexpectedly returned home from the capital in Richmond.
The memories of her time with Rufus in the hay loft came flooding over her, causing her a mixture of pleasure and horror. She could scarcely believe that she had committed an infidelity, and with a black man, no less. She had seemed like a different person, as if her body had been possessed by some evil demon bent on destroying her marriage and her reputation. How careless she had become!
The joy she had experienced giving Rufus Johnson oral pleasure did not justify the risk. Luckily, no one had seen them in the loft or her state of dishevelment as she walked guiltily back to her SUV to leave the stables where he was employees as a mere workman. But what did she know of the man? Was he the type to kiss and tell? Or, in this case, the type to get a blow job and tell?
The revelation of her disgraceful behavior would be her ruin, and that of her husband's nascent political career.
As the shower pummeled her hair she shook her head in puzzled disbelief. The sight of Rufus' oversized organ jamming in and out of her greedy mouth played over and over in her mind's eye.
She wiped the mirror clean of steam and looked deeply into her face. Was there any sign of her debauchery? She had feared that she would have stretch marks at the corners of her mouth, but all looked right and proper. Although she had brushed her teeth three times since coming home, she could not escape the faint salty taste of his jizz in her mouth. She knew it must simply be in her mind, but she again blew into her palm and sniffed, straining to detect any trace of his pungent aroma.
She wrapped her head in a towel and put on a plush bathrobe and went to the railing of the second-story walkway outside the master bedroom.
"Jezelle! Jezelle! Where are you, you lazy wench?' she called.
A pretty black maid appeared in the foyer downstairs.
"Yes, ma'am?" Jezelle said meekly, fearfully.
"Do try to have my riding togs dry cleaned today! I may require them tomorrow!"
"Yes, ma'am. I will see to it immediately," the black girl said.
If Jezelle's mother had not been a trusted employee of the Garner family for so many years Stacy would fire the wench. Not that the poor girl did not try, but she was as brainless as a mop, and had to be watched constantly, lest she make some terrible error and ruin something of value in the Garner mansion. Of all the household servants she required the most vigilance.
Stacy lay on her bed staring at the canopy overhead. Try as she might she could not remove the images from her memory of that morning. Deep inside, she did not want to forget. It has all been so taboo, so wicked, so terribly erotic to the young woman. But unacceptably dangerous. Stacy knew that some of her society friends carried on occasional trysts with lovers behind their husbands' backs, and the husbands surely did the same. But Stacy had always thought she was above such base behavior. She had always held her passions and emotions firmly in check, but a crack had appeared today in her stony virtue. She could attribute it to the repeated and long absences of her beloved husband, Stanley. She was a twenty-three-year-old woman, with all the desires and bodily cravings of any normal woman. But she had to hold herself above her animal instincts, for the benefit of her county and her state and, with a little luck, her country.
Stacy vowed not to return to the stables, tomorrow or any day. She would board her horse at another establishment or keep him here on the estate. She would never see that Rufus Johnson again!
Stacy's SUV made a crunching sound as it slowed to a stop in the gravel parking lot of the stables the next morning. She cautiously glanced about the ground of the stables, looking for a particular black man. She did not see him.
She wore her freshly cleaned English riding kit again, her helmet high on her head. She quickly saddled her horse, Spark, and rode briskly from the stable area onto a seldom used and infrequently rode path leading into the surrounding hills.
With the stables and outbuilding safely out of sight behind her she could relax a little. The morning was already warming up, and the birds and cricket's music filled the air. A gentle breeze rocked her blond ponytail and cooled her temples. It was a flawless morning and Spark was riding uncommonly well, so the young woman let her mind drift and merge with her surroundings. Riding was the supreme joy for Stacy, the commune with nature, the joining of horse and rider into a single unit all elated her spirits and helped her forget any troubles.
But as she rode, her thoughts defiantly returned to Rufus Johnson. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Was he having his breakfast, or mending some fence on the property. Had he thought of her that previous evening, lying in his bunk somewhere? Had his organ become engorged with the remembrances of their short time together? Had he taken it in his large fist and brought himself to climax as he imagined her lying wantonly beneath him? She found the idea that Rufus had engaged in self-abuse while invoking her memory particularly erotic, and she felt a gentle stirring in her womanly parts as a result. It would be flattering indeed!
What Stacy could not bring herself to admit, even to herself, was that she badly wanted Rufus in her mouth again. Or in her body.
Stacy cut her ride short and returned to the stables. Her head swiveled from side to side, looking for Rufus. She returned Spark to the stable and did a miserable job of brushing the horse down. By now riders were rambling around the stables and talking, some riding out.
Stacy went to the main club building and ordered some breakfast. But she could not eat, and sipped her coffee slowly, nervously glancing around with a look of expectation.
Maybe Rufus had been dismissed, or had suffered some injury and was even now in the hospital. The idea made her ill. Several times she rose, intending on seeking out a foreman to make an inquiry about Rufus, only to sit down again and marvel at her impetuosity. A woman of her class, a white woman, making inquiries about a hired black man—no, that would not do.
She returned to the stable building where she and Rufus had their encounter. She stared longingly at the hay loft, her mind racing back to those frenzied moments with Rufus in the hay.
At last she saw a young black boy, obviously the son of one of the employed hands, and she approached him.
"Boy? Oh, boy?" she called to the child.
"Yes'm," he answered.
"There was a workman here yesterday—I forgot to thank him properly for... helping me. I believe his name was Rufus. Might you know where he is today?"
