It wasn't because she wasn't attractive enough. Carol was indeed a beautiful woman, an inch or so taller than average, with long, silky, dark-blonde hair and sparking green eyes. She had the face that would have launched a thousand ships in olden days. She was slender and well built with shapely tits as tight and firm as always, with nipples straining out, pointing upward.

And she had a hot, juicy cunt.

Her lack of experience was due to her shyness, and that alone.

Even when her husband spoke of some erotic thing he would enjoy, she would turn from him with a burning face and refuse. But in her mind she was screaming for him to do those exciting things to her, to make her – force her – to do them.

Stepping from the car, Carol smoothed her skirt over her hips and thighs, feeling the wetness in the crotch of her panties. Sliding under the wheel of the convertible, she backed out carefully. When she got home, the panties would be hidden in her drawer, with the rest of them. She would bathe and change into her other panties, probably put on a bra, then a housedress. Her other panties, although bikini style, were simply utilitarian and not sexy at all. Her pretty, frilly panties were to be worn only when she fantasized and finger-fucked herself.

She was still feeling ashamed of herself by the time she parked the car and entered the house. Sometimes this sense of guilt lasted for hours. She hated the feeling.

The house was quiet as she walked to her room. She wondered where Roger was, but wasn't worried. He was usually down the street with his cousin, Ginger. She could call later and have him come home. She was glad her sister and brother-in-law lived so close. It not only gave Roger someone to play with that she liked, too, but she could always talk with her sister. Roger and Ginger had used both houses as if they lived in them, running in and out and doing whatever they pleased.