Donna Allen

Naughty nympho wife

CHAPTER ONE

She was alone at this party. Candice hated being alone at a party. She told herself it was Martin's fault. Martin was her husband and he was to be here with her. Instead he was out of town on one of his business trips. She was a married woman and she ought to be with her husband at a party like this.

She felt lonely. She knew some people here but most of them were single and more carefree than she was. Nearly all the people at the party seemed to be having a good time except her. You're depressed, she thought. Was she depressed? Not in general, no. But maybe she was depressed about her life. She was twenty-eight and she wasn't that satisfied with things. She thought a woman of twenty-eight ought to feel better about her life than she did.

What did she have to feel blue about? It certainly wasn't her looks. She could tell by the way men looked at her what they thought about her. And Martin, too. She had what men liked. The right curves, the height, nice legs, a firm little ass that showed up well in a tight dress. Martin said she had the face of an angel and the body of a whore. Or at least he'd said it a thousand years ago when they got married. These days he hardly looked at her body, let alone talk about it. He was too wrapped up in his career in that rotten job he had that took him all over the country. Someone ought to put up a billboard telling women never to marry a national sales manager. Don't marry anyone who does a lot of traveling. What happens, is you wind up at parties without your husband.

She had a good job of her own. She managed a busy art gallery in the center of town and she liked the work. Many of the artists were crazy and some of the buyers were snobs, but all things considered she liked the business and she liked her job.

The other women at the party all seemed to be enjoying themselves. They seemed relaxed, laughing quietly at someone's jokes, sipping their drinks. Candice thought the women looked chic. She was sorry she hadn't worn something more daring. Maybe what she needed was to be less conventional. Was she that conventional? You're getting drunk, she thought. She was on her third vodka highball and she was starting to feel them.

It occurred to her that maybe it was better to be single. She guessed most of the girls and women at this party were single. They looked it, anyway. And the men, too. She thought most of them looked like single people on the make. One girl across the ram sat on the floor with a great deal of thigh showing. Bare white thighs above the tops of her black net stockings, one of the straps of her garterbelt clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look. Candice never wore stockings like that. She didn't even own a garterbelt. She had black net pantyhose, but she hadn't worn them tonight. She had on her ordinary beige pantyhose and now she wished she'd worn the black net. She could show them what a knockout pair of legs looked like. She had a pair of black pumps with four inch stiletto heels that she hardly ever wore because she thought they made her look too much like a tramp.

But women were wearing shoes like that now. Martin certainly liked them. The last time she'd worn those shoes they'd gone out to dinner and then at home he'd made her walk around with nothing on but the shoes and a string of pearls. She'd felt so self-conscious doing that. But then they laughed together about it and afterward Martin fucked her silly on the living room rug.

I ought to have worn the shoes tonight, she thought. Just to have the men here look at her that way. Just to make her feel better.

"Well, well," a man's voice said, "if it isn't the queen of the empire, Candice Leonard. My heart-throb, my one and only love."

Candice sighed. "I heard you'd be here. If you don't keep your voice down, I'm disowning you."