Above the half-unconscious young wife, Larry Johnson was marveling at the ease with which his plan had succeeded. Even taking into consideration the whiskey and the shock of bad news, Sandi had allowed herself to be manipulated into this situation with the ease of a key slipping into a well-oiled lock. It was really incredible – if someone had told him last week that he'd be feeling up his star stunt-rider's prissy, conceited wife, he'd have laughed in their face.

Still moving cautiously so as not to jolt the crooning blonde out of her propitious trance, the lust-driven older man untied the small satin ribbon which served as the only fastening on Sandi's obscene lingerie and eased the translucent orange nylon away from her body. Jesus, was she a gorgeous chick! Johnson couldn't remember when he'd last seen such a cock-stirring figure, and now that her unblemished skin was coated with a thin sheen of perspiration, she might have been a polished sculpture created by a master craftsman. Inside his tight jeans, his impatient cock was throbbing in wild anticipation.

Massaging now with increasingly fervent strokes, the amoral motorcycle show manager tweaked Sandi Smith's tiny pink nipples into taut, swollen buttons. From the way she whimpered, Larry was certain that the little nerve-filled tips were shooting hot, tingling waves of desire throughout her unresisting body.

"Yes, Verne, yes!" Sandi breathed.

A warm, melting feeling identical to the one she experienced whenever her handsome young husband caressed her was now building up inside the young wife's frustrated body to a point where she required more stimulation than gentle strokes, and she gave a low mewl of relief when the strong male hand slipped down over her churning belly to brush teasingly across the curl-covered "vee" of her pubic mound.