Author: Albright Benton (pseud.)

About: Another rare Ophelia from the later years. Doctoral candidate Marc Chappel leads a humdrum married life, until one day when the wrong coed gets caught cheating in his classroom. They have a meeting where it's clear the young prof is overmatched. And things get very interesting from there.

Excerpt:

“Hello, Doctor Chappel. This is my brother, Ron Roberts. I told him about our conference this afternoon and he really seemed interested in meeting you, so we decided to ride over. We aren't interrupting anything, are we?”

“No, of course not, Miss Roberts—Lynda. Come in. Come in, Ron.” They shook hands; Marc sensed the reserved power behind the grip of Lynda's brother.

Joan finally came out of the den. Marc made the introductions hinting that Lynda and Ron were there to discuss classes. But Ron ruined that with, “I hope we weren't too forward, making a social call on a hostess we hadn't even met, Mrs. Chappel.”

Marc noticed that she almost blushed at the low, sexy tone in his voice. He didn't get mad; her obvious attraction to this young stud served to ease his conscience. “Joan, I have a few things to discuss with Lynda. She's in my World Civilization class, you know. Why don't you entertain Ron for a few minutes, then we'll be out for drinks and small talk.”

This was as smooth as any one of the four could have asked for; there were three answering smiles and they separated. Marc and Lynda watched Joan and Ron go into the den, then retired to the study. Marc closed the door behind them, turning to snap at Lynda, “What the hell is the meaning of this? What exactly did you tell him?”

“Well, you don't have to get mad. I didn't lie to him. I told him I sucked you off and you fucked me up the asshole, that's all. He wanted to see what your wife looks like, that's all.”

“That's all, is it?” Marc reached out to grab her arm. “No, Lynda, that's not all! In the first place, you made a perfect score on that test, so you weren't really cheating. In the second place my wife is not available to your well-hung brother, under any circumstances. In the third—”

“Wait a minute, Marc. There's no need to get upset. Ron knows about every blow job I ever gave, so you don't have to worry about that. And the women he screws beg him for it. So don't worry about your wife; she won't be forced into it. But, if she does, or if she finds out about you and me, neither one of you can do anything about it.”

“Why not? I have a full professorship, you know. That carries a certain amount of respectability with it.” Marc refused to be bettered by this girl. He was determined to dominate her.

“Not as much as a Senate seat.” Lynda smiled as if at an outwitted child and began to remove her blouse.

“What do you mean, 'a Senate seat'?”

“Come on, Marc, who did you vote for in the last election? Whose picture did you see in the paper in the society section, posing with his lovely daughter? Whose picture did you see in the sports section, posing with his record-holding son?” She had her blouse off, and proceeded to follow it with the rest of her clothing. But she left her hair up this time.

“Senator Frank Roberts.” Marc looked absently at Lynda's nude body. “Maybe you'd better give me a full explanation before we go any farther.”

“Okay. I guess you ought to know it all,” she said, sitting on the floor beside his chair. He sat down and she took his drink. “We are what you would probably call a sick family. There are only the three of us left now—my mother died in an 'unusual accident' while horseback riding. Anyway, Father taught us a lot of things when we were very young—things most adults don't know about. He also taught us how to give the appearance of being perfectly proper, which was necessary since he is a public figure. So nobody knows of anything at all any of us has done wrong. But we do a lot of things that people call wrong. We do them with each other, and we tell each other when we do them with other people.” She paused to find a cigarette and take a sip of Marc's drink. “There's one other thing you might have suspected. I can't have sex with you the normal way; I promised Father that I would stay a virgin. We are a part of society, you know. I will probably marry somebody who expects blood on the sheets. So anything else goes, but you can't expect that of me.”

Marc retrieved his drink, downed what was left of it, and wanted another. He fumbled for a cigarette; Lynda lit one and gave it to him. He sat back to let his mind absorb what he had just been told, but Lynda decided to become a distraction. She rested her head on his leg, her cigarette in one hand and the other hand playing with the lowest button on his shirt. He looked down quickly; she pulled at his shirt, wanting him to join her on the floor.

“We can't, not here. What if my wife—”

“Ron has instructions. Come down on the floor, Marc. I want to kiss you.”