This is chapter 4 of the story and before reading this you should read the previous chapters. The chapters are not self-contained but part of the same developing story. I wish to thank all the many people who have emailed me their appreciation of the story so far, I really appreciate all these comments.
The battle of the sexes: What turns such strong physical attraction; the need to be with the opposite sex, their acceptance and validation that overwhelms us and twists around our personalities. How does it degenerate into a battleground? What drives such strong insatiable need into a person forcing them to assume the role of a tormentor who must degrade, belittle and ridicule their partner? Is it because men are driven to destroy what no longer challenges them? their obsession with their need to be the conqueror and not the conquered? Their desire that once satisfied evaporates like some will-o-the-wisp? Men who look for a whore and once they find one suddenly realise that what they really desire is a mother? How can a woman be both a whore and a mother to the same man? What chance has she to fulfill such conflicting roles? Does she not get duped into becoming the mother only to find him chasing another whore down the street. It is not possible for a man to caress this girl he loved when he is torn apart by divided needs. Always there must be something lacking, something to yearn for elsewhere.
Yet for the woman too, is she not susceptible to similar contradictions? Does she not want to be seen as the person she is, capable and intelligent as well as beautiful? As well as beautiful: yes there it lies, a few simple yet tricky words. Does she not seek a man who will understand her and be attentive towards her? Yet at the same time, does she not yearn for the animal in him to desire her and to take her, willing or no? To be the object of desire that he cannot control, is that not also what she seeks? How often does the girl run off with the philanderer and leave the supportive steadfast husband behind? Yet what a terrifying admission it is for her to own up to, acknowledging that she will yield to his demands just because he has demanded access to her. Is it not little wonder she shrinks from accepting this truth locked within her? So she too lives the lie, the inbuilt contradiction that will keep her forever not quite fulfilled. She wants to be an equal and she wants to be hunted too. Oh what a delicious contradiction that keeps both sexes hungry, never able to find and keep that perfect partner...
* * * * *
Sara stood in the doorway staring at Ricky, her heart thumping in her chest as she felt the electrifying tension of excitement and fear. She wanted to be angry with him for just turning up uninvited; she and Tom had just got in from work and were about to prepare dinner. She was still dressed in her suit from work, and the sudden overtaking of family routine by this unexpected confrontation with her sexuality unnerved her. Ricky was just smiling at her waiting to be invited in.
"Who's that?" Tom called from the kitchen.
Sara let Ricky pass, telling him, almost a murmur, that he'd better come in. Ricky called out to Tom as she closed the door and followed him into the sitting room.
Ricky slouched on the sofa feeling at home, his legs spread revealing the bulge in his crotch as he surveyed her standing above him. Sara stood uncertain. She seemed drained of the confidence she would normally have in her own home, entertaining her guest. She sensed her feelings of being hunted by this man, unsafe even at home, even so close to her husband. She felt a fear and became aware that her pussy was involuntarily opening and quivering in anticipation. Sensations of being filled by this man's cock, it sliding into her and the lurch as it struck home, hitting her cervix overwhelmed her. The dryness in her throat choked her as she pictured the veins of his penis pushing past her lips parted in compliance to his insistent desire. She had to escape, she was exposed and had to run. She had to flee this predator, yet from somewhere deep inside her, a dark locked door that she couldn't open, she knew that she would not permit herself to escape. However desperate she may feel, however much her conscience screamed to stir her into flying, she was hooked like a little fish on the end of a line. She would allow herself to be reeled in, to be taken, because it was inevitable. She felt powerless to do anything, not because Ricky had deprived her of the power, but because she had robbed herself of it. Because somewhere there was a need burning deep inside her and she could not understand where this need came from, but it riveted her whole body on the spot in the glare of his gaze.
As these thoughts pushed her to distraction she was unconscious of the fact that she stood in front of Ricky legs parted. Not obscenely spread, but not held together. She had not moved away from him, nor signalled any lack of interest, but had stood before him waiting for him to release her. She was there for his inspection, lost in those dark grey eyes of his, deep pools in which she would swim and drown herself. There she could escape the uncertainty of what lay inside her head, what was driving these impulses that she battled so hard to suppress. It would be like a breath of fresh air sweeping through her if she were rid of the doubt, the soul-searching that unnerved her so, the need not to let go when all she wanted at that moment was to feel the strands of decency slip through her knotted and clenched fingers.
Sara looked towards the door to the kitchen as Tom entered to greet his boss. They talked and Tom's face was lit up. It was obvious that for Ricky to come round to see him of an evening was an act he valued highly. Sara felt resistance slipping inside her. It was just too easy to tell herself she would give herself to Ricky so as to help her husband promote himself at work.
"You two make yourselves comfortable. I will prepare us a feast." he said. Through his smile Sara detected a wary sidelong glance at his wife. He was unsure of Sara's reaction to Ricky turning up out of the blue after the fuss she had created about never inviting him round to the house again. He hoped that she would take it ok, would not think that he had arranged this with Ricky, and to try and placate her, he wanted to let her relax and feel free of any stress or pressure to prepare a fancy meal.
Ricky smiled wickedly up at Sara as he put down the drink she had brought him. Tom was clattering about in the kitchen.
"You don't look very comfortable. Here I've brought you a present." He held out his hand and lying in his palm was a pair of thin almost transparent panties. They were white and very sheer, made from some synthetic material.
"Why don't you slip out of that hose and panties you have hidden up there under your skirt and try them on."
He was so bold, as if uncaring whether Tom could hear him from the kitchen. He seemed supremely confident that she would comply with this outrageous demand, and Sara felt the surge of rebellion rise in her chest. Sara hesitated, feeling her heat rise, feeling anger and feeling shame. She had allowed him to be able to talk to her this way by her actions at his last visit. The lump in her throat robbed her of speech as her mind vacillated between showing indignation, or escaping the confrontation by looking away and doing as told. She had to stand up to him, yet somehow her willpower could not muster the resistance. She hung in limbo not wanting to do what she knew she was about to do. Why could she not stand up to him!
"Go on. You'd better be quick before your husband comes back in."
Her eyes never left his as she leant forward, reaching up under her skirt. She felt the weight of her breasts shift as she bent at the hips. The material, so safe, so warm and so protective, was slowly dragged down her legs. She had hold of hose and panties together and lifted her leg. She tottered in front of him, and almost urged herself to fall forwards into his lap, as she struggled to unhook the material around her ankle where it had caught. Yet she managed and the other leg was simple. Meantime, Ricky had taken out a small bottle holding a clear gel and had smeared some of it slowly over the panties he had brought for her. He rubbed the material in his fingers to spread the sticky oil and she watched as it oozed out from between his palm and thumb. A trickle of clear viscous liquid which slid down the side of his hand. All the while in the background she could hear the bustle of her husband in the kitchen. Neither of them spoke, yet both conspirators communicated their complicity by the way they stared at each other. His gaze held her and drove her to comply, never leaving her a moment through which to escape.
She held the panties open and gingerly stepped inside them. Her business suit, which made her look so much in control of her destiny, seemed somehow incongruous as she slid the oily material up her legs. As it rose inch upon inch over her calves Ricky's eyes were glued to its progress, watching it like some thoroughbred he had put money on. She slowed her progress to enable Ricky's eyes to dwell upon her legs a little bit longer, craving their attention. Long before the panties reached her crotch she shivered in anticipation of the cold of the gel against her pussy lips. She pulled them higher and raised her skirt draped over her wrists; she slowly revealed her hidden thighs to this man. In a distracted air she wondered what was the hold this man had over her. Why she could not refuse him? What was it about his requests (demands?) that no matter how outrageous forced her to comply?
The panties were now slipping over her hips. She felt the pull of the material as it stretched wide across her pelvis, the cloying coldness of the gel sliding over her pubic mound and the slimy gusset drawn tight up against her groin. Her legs forced apart by the material and the shrinking of her flesh from the cold. Ricky lifted the front of her skirt to view the last ascent and as it locked into place he reached forward with his hand. He cupped the material and pressed it firmly into her mound. She stood over him, her hair falling around her face, her hands now lifeless at her sides as his active hand rocked between her thighs. She felt the slipperiness spread and smother her as his hand slid back and forth forcing the material to slid effortlessly across her sex, his finger pushing the material with each lunge forward further into her opening, brushing her labia, coating them and then withdrawing.
